Page 12 of Outlaw Ever After

The handhold felt good, even if a strange darkness niggled at the way he’d referenced taking a head. As if it were nothing, when once she’d lived beneath her brother’s lust for such vengeance. She’d oft seen Seamus brooding when he thought no one watched, staring at that horrid depiction of a skull, and knew he was remembering the day their father had died.

She plucked up the man’s beard, twined it about her finger contemplatively as his warm breath caressed her skin. Her hand burned to ashes in his tender touch. The faint scent of his patchouli soap drifted, so close—

“Where did yer smile go?” he asked, his brow riveted.

She dropped his beard and cupped her cheek. Looked away in embarrassment. What on earth was she doing, touching him so?

She made to stand and fumbled her lyre—

“Stay ,” he blurted out, bolting to his feet and capturing her hand again—

A yelp burst from her lips as she snapped her wrist away and fell to her rear, scrambling back.

Chapter Three

Fok . He yanked back and lifted his palms in surrender as he searched her face.

Starbursts erupted upon her heart-shaped cheeks. She wet her lips. She was tense like a deer sensing danger, staring at him with those coppery-brown pools as fear danced in their depths.

Just as she’d done when he’d first approached her.

He paced a step away, then raked his fingers through his hair, ripping the knot free so that locks fell around his face. She’d once been wronged. No lass reacted so to a man unless they’d been horribly crossed by one before. He’d only meant to hold onto this thread woven between them a moment longer before she vanished like a mirage he’d never see again.

“Who’s the whoreson who hurt ye?” he rumbled, still facing away as he rested his hands at his hips and looked up to the heavens seeking patience.

Fury took root. He’d never harmed a hair on a lass. He knew the helplessness that lapped like the devil’s tongue at being grabbed, restrained , as one’s world burned down around them, and Christ but he could normally keep a partition between that darkness and the reality he lived in now.

She said softly, “I’m sorry I panicked. I’ve always been, eh, shy—”

“Who is he?” He turned around to look at her.

She shook her head but wouldn’t return his gaze. “We’ve been reaved so many times… S-sometimes,” she wetted her lips again and furrowed her brow, “they were nay always…gentle…”

“Fok, if ye tell me ye’ve been—” Violated , he wasn’t sure he could contain that fury. What kind of blackguard assailed a lady so?

Silence. Confirming his worst suspicion.

His jaw still pumped. He scoured it and stretched his neck. “Who was he?” he breathed so softly, he was surprised his voice carried, but at the gray fury on his face, she forced a smile, nodding.

“I’m fine, now, I am. ’Twas long ago.” She hurried to placate him, and he nearly laughed, because she had every right to be furious with him for offending her so.

He offered his hand down to her, unable to look her in the eye, and waited. Letting her decide whether or not to come to him . The seconds crept by like years, as his hand hung in the air like an unfinished roof beam. Was she going to leave him unfulfilled? Standing here like an empty-handed eejit—

Wary fingers slipped into his. Energy buzzed up his arm at the gentle touch. Instinctively, his hand wrapped hers in a steady embrace as he helped her rise.

Relief at her moment of trust flooded him.

“I’m sorry to be so skittish,” she breathed.

She had every right to be skittish.

“Nay apologize,” he gruffed, too ashamed to look at her. “I should nay have grabbed ye. I just didna want to lose ye.”

More silence. He felt that chestnut gaze on his profile, shimmering amber in the afternoon sun.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Ye can t-touch me.”

He finally looked at her. Such a remark felt like he’d just earned courtly honors. He brushed his thumb across her kissable lip.