Page 26 of Outlaw Ever After

Slowly, his galloping heart gentled and thumping veins eased, as he braced his weight on either side of her head and finally opened his eyes when he realized she was humming again, twining his beard, tracing the shapes of his tattoo curiously, and then her chestnut gaze lifted to his, a reverent light and soft smile he didn’t deserve gazing up at him.

Her hair was masterfully disheveled. Her floral crown knocked aside. Her lips glistening rouge from his devouring as the bare breasts he planned on worshipping ever after lay before him, surrounded by grass and trees and tiny wildflowers. His wood nymph.

…

Peigi cupped his cheek as he trailed a thumb over her forehead and settled his weight upon her, twisting his ring around her finger contemplatively as she watched light dance upon his skin through the wavering boughs. Her eyes fluttered closed, so sated. He pressed a kiss softly to each eye. Then to her lips as he eased to the side, pulling free of their union, rolling her with him.

His warmth dampened her thighs as a bell far in the distance echoed over the glen. His hand fell away from the ring as she nestled against his chest, smushing her lips out of shape.

Goodness. His muscles, up close. His body, like a god’s, wind-battered and scarred, and that black band around his arm… What designs were tattooed into it? Scythes? Lyres? Herbs, perchance?

And yet, he seemed quiet. She glanced up his chest to see him looking away, jaw tight, as if staring at nothing.

“Ye seem lost in thought,” she said, her brow furrowing. Was he having…regrets?

He glanced down, as if his heavy thoughts hadn’t existed, and smiled, leaving her remark hanging on the breeze.

“Now can I spout sonnets about the morning dew on yer beautiful lips?” he whispered, and she smiled with relief as his teasing tone returned. “Or am I doomed to lie and call ye an old crone forever?”

“Ah, will ye always tease me so?” She touched his tattoo again. “Ye call me songbird and crone, but what am I to call ye? Rogue? Or worse, lawyer ?”

He snorted and twisted the ring around her finger again, studying it.

Chapter Seven

Caleb. Tell her Caleb. A name that had never been resurrected since its death fourteen years ago. It was the only way a man who was hunted could survive with his head intact. He played with fire now, but to hear my name on her lips … She wants my honesty.

This ring, the only thing he had from a past long dead. His songbird was twisting his beard again, her body relaxed, molded to his side. God, to tell someone, to unchain this hidden past from his heart.

Tell her Caleb. Give her, and yerself, this one boon —

“Alexander.” His lips betrayed him.

The breeze stilled. The sharp sparks of energy that burned when they touched, vanished, as if he’d somehow failed a cosmic test. But while he couldn’t tell her about a past he’d vowed to avenge and a surname he’d vowed to protect, he could be honest about their future.

“And ye are?” He nuzzled her neck where her heartbeat fluttered, chasing the fading sparks. “Fair is fair, lass. What am I to call my woman?”

“Margaret,” she said softly. “Plain, I ken. My sire chose it and I want to love it, but—”

She silenced herself, darkness entering her eyes.

“But what?”

“He wasna a good ma— He called me his wee pearl, was always proud of my appearance.”

Ah, her disdain for her beauty might have started there, if it was what her sire had valued in her.

“A pearl is strong , too.” He twisted the ring. “A tiny treasure forged in a turbulent ocean and nay even kens its value. Mayhap it’s nay so wrong a name.”

The kirk bell above them began to chime, too. His mouth tipped up as she blushed. Time to make good on his promise. He was going to shock the kilt off of Tormund, and the boots straight off Uncle Niall. But those men, fighting demons of their own, would bless his decision.

He locked eyes on her. Looked down with primal satisfaction at his marks left upon her from his devouring, then pulled down her skirts and took her hand, hoisting her up.

“Come to the kirk with me.” He helped her tie up her stomacher. Placed her floral crown on her head before resecuring his tunic, coat, and weapons. Plucked a forget-me-not from her wreath and brought it to his lips. “And become Mistress Stewart.”

Relief sparkled in her eyes. She nodded happily; he was pleased he could make her so happy. She hurried her hair into a semblance of order as he smoothed her tangled skirts and resecured her lyre.

Snagging her hand, he snatched up her slippers and hurried her out of the ruin. She held her bouncing crown. Down the slope, down through the grasses, blazing into the village to collect Faunus.