Page 105 of Outlaw Ever After

“I’m an orphan. But I have family who are Stewarts, so I used that name for me studies.”

“Indeed. That’s the one. A sept of Stewarts hailed from nearby once, aye?”

Until they’d been frightened off in those early years of reaves. Before that, they’d lived here on the isle delineated by the river that MacGregor’s sire had tried to acquire for his Grant bride, and the nearby holdings had remained in his maternal line until being bequeathed to him under his faux name.

MacGregor’s questions were getting too personal. And lo and behold, as MacGregor contemplated his next question, the woods thinned. Meadow grasses and fresh saplings overtook the unruly damson, pear, and apple trees that were returning to the wild, flitting with birds and squirrels.

His mother’s orchard.

And right in the center rows climbing with weeds and woody vines choking them…

“I’ll bloody be,” breathed Maxwell.

“That’s the finest stag I’ve ever seen…” Ross murmured as an enormous stag lifted his antlers, draped in a vine and coated with velvet, thick with muscle and wrapped in a burly mantle of shag around his withers. It stared back at them.

Walking around him, munching upon the fallen mast, were a score of does, at least.

An old king among ordinary deer. This had always been the favored place for deer to forage for sweet, fallen fruits. This was always where his sire and he had hunted on the Wild Hunt every autumn. And a part of him pinched with anger that he’d had to share the secret with outsiders.

“Weel done, Maxwell,” Alex whispered.

Maxwell puffed his chest up proudly, but he felt MacGregor’s eyes burning into him.

He flashed a grin at the whoreson and notched up his chin, whispering, “Who could have kenned?”

Chapter Thirty-Three

The sun was hovering low over the woods and painting the spindly branches in gold when out of the trees walked a man leading a proud Frisian with a feathery mane, an enormous stag draped over its back…

“They won… They won!” Peigi squealed to Aileana, Gertie, Elizabeth, and Joslyn, hands gripping hands.

She ripped out of their cheering embraces and scurried down her dais. Graham’s party had been returned for hours!

Lumbering in the lead, walking his mount with scythe and bow crisscrossing his back, Alex’s eyes found hers. Villagers swarmed out from beneath the ropes. His face split into that beautiful grin and he dropped the reins as she threw herself into his arms.

He captured her around the waist and twirled her.

“That’s two out of four! Ye made it to the wrestling!” She gripped his face and—

Bodies converged around them, villagers and spectators cheering. No one needed to weigh the two parties’ stags to see which one was bigger but Mon Dieu, what am I doing? She wiggled to get down, but Alex’s soft look of pride was enough to please her.

“I promised to win,” he murmured in her ear, “and ye should nay be running, lass, after last night.”

Darkness laced his affectionate scolding. And the way he dragged his knuckles softly down her cheek was haunted with tenderness. As if he didn’t feel worthy of redemption.

She wanted back his spark.

Just having told him about the babe, and the way he’d held her as if he couldn’t bear to see her in such pain, had been a balm on a festering sore. Together, with someone to shoulder the burden with her, they could get through this loss. The pain might always be there, but perhaps there would be new chances, new babes, to soften the hurt.

He was still here, undeterred. Their life wouldn’t be the one of solitude on a remote shore like she’d once hoped—he’d take on his rightful lairdship, if indeed her hunch was true, and she’d be destined to the life of a highborn lady protecting her castle walls against enemies—but it would be enough, wouldn’t it? They could forge a new vision. If he was the outlaw, he deserved to win this back, didn’t he?

He dusted a surreptitious kiss to her lobe and pulled away, when she spied MacGregor atop his horse, frowning at her.

A chill racked her frame.

“Laird Graham, that is two losses for ye and yer team! Ye’re out !” Aulay called. More cheers from the villagers. “Tap the cask! A blessed Soul Mass it will be!” Aulay whooped.

The excited procession buzzed up the stairs into the courtyard where tables draped in linens were set with platters to be shared, as the deer were hauled away to be processed.