Page 103 of Outlaw Ever After

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Aulay called MacGregor and Graham’s names. Peigi eyed him apologetically. It bolstered his pride, but no, it was better this way. It discredited the argument raised yesterday that he’d somehow stacked these odds, and restored faith in the others that the competition was fair.

Even if he suspected MacGregor had conspired with Graham to stab him. Would he attempt to sabotage him today, too, despite the pact he’d made with Seamus?

And speaking of Seamus… He’d seen him ride out early from his window, fit to travel. Where had he gone? Donegal now ran about in Seamus’s stead, no longer at his sentry post outside Alex’s nursery door.

The Wild Hunt, an imitation of Odin’s celestial hunt to usher in Yule, was a tradition his people had once celebrated under his sire’s command. Peigi had thought to include it.

What a fine chatelaine she made. Each event, chosen with care for the folk here, not herself, even though it was her wedding. Each tradition, handpicked to demonstrate that she was here to serve them and not the other way around. Even after collapsing, she’d risen with no care for herself, to hurry children, who by all accounts were the offspring of her clan’s enemy, to safety.

She was too good for him. She looked serene this morn, calmer, whereas he hadn’t slept at all, his heart twisted up in competing knots about what this woman who he’d loved thrice had confessed.

But lo behold our lovers dear whose worlds collide on three, for only when the veil thins can their love be free , she’d been singing when he and Auley had found her and the bairns.

Can, not will.

He wasn’t fated to win. Only fated to have three chances to keep her, and he’d already surpassed number two.

MacGregor and Graham drew straws. MacGregor held up the short straw, to utterances among the spectators watching the launch, but then Peigi began to fiddle with something…she twisted a ring upon a necklace— his ring—her finger slipping in and out of the loop while she chewed her lip nervously.

Hope swelled. His grin lifted. The sign he needed from her to persist. He winked and notched up his chin to rally her. Whichever hunting party he was chosen for mattered nay. He’d lead them to victory.

And MacGregor’s eyes fell to him . “Sir Alexander!”

Graham groaned. “That’s nay what we just agreed…”

MacGregor shrugged. Ah, so MacGregor had made some sort of deal with Graham that he was now breaching to gain the upper hand?

Paint Alex surprised at MacGregor’s dirty play.

Invigorated, Alex smirked and tapped Faunus forward, his arm sweeping wide.

“Friends, friends ! No need to fight. There’s plenty of me to share,” he quipped as he passed Graham and pulled up alongside MacGregor.

MacGregor scowled and the crowd chuckled.

Graham raised his eyes to God in exasperation, taking hold of the cross at his throat. Alex chuckled. The man ought to pray for divine help, for he looked about as equipped for hunting as he had for competing at Burning Sticks: he had not even a bow and arrow.

“Laird Gordon!” called Graham instead, and the burly Gordon trotted forth to join Graham.

“Laird Maxwell!” MacGregor chose.

The selecting alternated, until all ten men were gathered in parties to begin strategizing.

Graham eyed Alex’s party over his shoulder, theirs quickly falling into debate.

“We should start at the crab apple grove,” said Maxwell in Alex’s huddle. “A likely spot for game.”

Alex said nothing.

MacGregor eyed him. “Speak yer mind, Sir Alexander. Ye’re generally nay short on words.”

Alex flashed his grin at the slight. Bastard, who was proud of lashing the back of a lad of twelve. More than ever, he was determined that MacGregor should not win.

“I think we should wait to see where Graham’s party goes first. And then head in the opposite way.”

“Why?”