Page 88 of Outlaw Ever After

“Sing we now to fae folk, sing we now to Sidh.

The mantle ’twixt our world and yours is open for to see.

When blessings made and curses cast are open to the Sight,

Can the souls lost through the years be found on Samhain night.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fury burned a path through Alex’s veins at her tears as the galloping pounded closer, at this despair that had clouded her heart. He turned away from his woman forced to dash into the night, as Aulay darted out of the trees, skidding to a stop, a sickle in hand.

“What can ye report?” Alex demanded.

What if she collapsed again and he wasn’t there to help? Guilt tore through him that it might be too late to make it right. That even if he won, the months had changed her in a way that would never be reversed.

Aulay huffed for air. “Canna tell in the dark. A score, likely—mounted.”

“Please , son. Take yer horse and go,” Alpin begged him again, Faunus cavorting with excitement at the bit. “Ye’re yer sire’s only blood.”

“Like hell I’ll leave ye to fend for yerselves,” Alex scoffed.

Alpin pleaded, “We’ve withstood years of reaves. We’ll be bruised, but we’ll come out of it all right.”

There it was. He’d failed these people, too. Failed to become the laird they’d needed, leaving them to withstand such hardship and conquering.

He jogged Faunus to the side of the road, smacking his rear to send him into the trees, then stepped into the middle of the path. “I failed ye as a lad.” I failed her as a man . “I’ll nay fail ye again.” More than ever, he was determined not to fail the tournament—to finally protect them from Seamus.

The thundering rounded the bend, shadows flashing in the slants of moonlight, pounding toward the blockade of villagers.

“Move!” boomed a familiar voice. “Or be trampled!” Christ, it can’t be!

“Seamus is making war during his sister’s bride tourney?” Alex’s brow furrowed. He didn’t hold Seamus in much regard, but that seemed low even for the bastard.

“Odd,” Aulay breathed. “He hasna done so in years.”

Alex’s brow furrowed at the curious remark. Who’s done the reaving, if nay Seamus?

“Mi laird,” breathed Alpin beside him.

“Hold …” Alex commanded softly.

He held his arm across the villagers beside him as if to keep them in place. They were fighters by requirement but not by skill. He trained his sights on Seamus, itching to cut the curved edge of his weapon across the man’s throat for terrorizing his kin.

“The lady of Freuchie is missing!” boomed Seamus, as the hooves thundered closer , finally close enough that Seamus’s face became distinguishable and his eyes were locked on Alex. “Where’s my sister!”

Alex held.

“I swear on my honor, man, I will finish what I started last night if ye’ve done anything else to her!”

Alex lifted his war scythe. Eyes hard on this enemy who’d once dragged him behind a horse for miles , only to thrust him in a dark granary where Seamus had used that lash—

“The only one doing anything to her right now is ye!” Alex thundered. “Run these folk down! Terrorize them! It’s what ye do best!”

“The last place she went was here!” Seamus continued, his sword drawn.

Ah, hell. The feast. It was likely underway, and the maid of honor was nowhere to be found. Because she’d been here. Happy, in what he suspected had been the first time in three months.

“The village has done naught except welcome yer sister around their fire! Are they to be punished for it? Guilty! Seamus, the judge and executioner!” He swung his arm wide like a lawyer before parliament, voice full of mock superiority. “Determining guilt even when he’s wrong!” His eyes narrowed, knees bent and coiled to spring, he took aim. “But punish them at risk of yer own heartbeat! For I will die in a rush, but the Reaper’s taking ye to hell with him!”