Page 58 of Outlaw Ever After

Let them think they’d trapped him. Donegal’s guard was down now. Judging from how untouched these furnishings were, it was safe to say that Seamus Grant didn’t know many things about this castle that he did, and he had a dear cousin to drink whisky with in the hamlet.

Chapter Eighteen

The Burning Sticks and Communion of the Dead. All Hallows Eve. Thirty-first day of October.

The crisp air stung Peigi’s cheeks, and the clouds hovered above, a blanket of gray pregnant with unshed snow.

She rolled the promise ring in her icy fingers, caressing the signet of the scythe and lyre as commotion for the day’s first event dinned.

“What is that?” Elizabeth asked. Peigi looked up. “A ring? Where did ye get it?”

A cheer went up among the spectators, who parted for the suitors walking down the footpath from the castle. She searched the procession, looking for him . Her eyes narrowed. Where was Alex? She counted nine men. Counted nine again . Graham with his dour expression. The young, good-natured Laird Ross laughing with Laird Gordon beside him. Of course, Sir MacGregor, wearing a superior smirk, gaze fixed on her.

Gathered at the base of the dais where Peigi would sit to draw the contestants’ names, she looked this way and that, pushing up on her toes, frowning.

Mistress Joslyn arrived at her other side as Gertie tussled with the wolfhound. “Yer sister wishes ye to ken that she’ll join us when she’s finished feeding Calum… Ye look piqued, mi lady.”

The woman tucked a loose strand of Peigi’s hair into her fur-lined hood and adjusted the pins against the bite of the wind, as the sky finally dusted a snow flurry against her cheek. Kindness? Joslyn had been kindly enough since Peigi’s arrival, but this was the first time Mistress Joslyn had personally assisted her.

“Ye should have eaten this morn,” the woman admonished.

Peigi pocketed the ring. “I had little appetite.”

“Nerves about ten men fighting for yer hand?” Elizabeth teased.

“What’s wrong?” Joslyn continued.

“There are only nine.” Again Peigi searched the procession for Alex’s charismatic grin, as sporadic cheers lifted from the crowd along the bunting for their laird as each passed. “Alex is missing.”

“Alex?” Joslyn murmured at her familiarity with a side-eye.

“Alexander ?” Elizabeth asked. “The man Seamus made a spectacle with last night? Peigi, do ye ken him?”

She swallowed. No sense in lying. “He was the man I-I met at Lughnasadh.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened with comprehension. “Yer song. Eyes of deepest greenwood… The one I thought was about Laird MacGregor.”

Elizabeth began looking around, too. MacGregor’s green eyes glinted gently as the procession halted before her.

“Lady Peigi.” He bowed along with the other suitors gathering alongside him. “Good morn to ye. Ye look fine indeed,” he complimented.

She forced a smile.

“True, Peigi, the man is nay here,” Elizabeth concurred.

“Who?” MacGregor asked, straightening from his bow.

“Alexander Stewart,” Peigi said. “The contest is ready.”

A fire burned in the middle of the pitch, whooshing sideways as the wind whipped where sat several sticks wrapped in waxy fabric, ready to be set aflame for the Burning Stick tradition. As soon as the distant bell of the kirk of Duthil chimed morning prayers, the contest would begin. And missing an event was akin to a loss.

“Ah, him. Yer brother detained him this morn, I believe. I do hope he makes it in time.” MacGregor looked back to the castle, as if he’d be glad for Alex to miss it.

“That isna fair of Seamus to waylay him.” Did Seamus hope to sabotage Alex’s participation?

She turned to hurry away—

“Are ye saying ye prefer him?” Sir MacGregor arched a brow.