Page 30 of Outlaw Ever After

There, against the same rock, was another missive, tied in a green ribbon! Relief coursed through her! And yet, her heartbeat ratcheted up as shakily, she untied it.

“I shall come for you on the morrow, ” the missive said. “ I promise. Be ready, songbird. ”

He’d come the next day, the last day of the festival. Her hand slid across her stomach. She swallowed down the worry rising in her throat.

Chapter Nine

Final day of Lughnasadh. August.

Peigi slipped away from camp, bundled in her Grant tartan, her wildflower crown adorning her, her lyre and coin-purse, and one bundle of clothing upon her back.

Today was the day. Her nerves were going to chew holes through her, they gnawed so badly. She pattered along the deer path, through the woods and over the burn, anticipation brimming for his bright green eyes and trilling flute, and she burst into the clearing—

Empty.

As far as she knew this morn, the MacLeods hadn’t returned. But mayhap she’d missed them? Mayhap he was on his way back to her now?

He said he’d be here, and it’s only morning. He still has the whole day.

The sun rose higher. She paced to the overlook, gazing into the glen. Caravans of festival goers straggled along the highroad, departing for home. The Lughnasadh bonfire was doused.

Shouldn’t he be here by now?

He promised.

After all, he had taken her to the kirk before his uncle had called him away. His promise was his bond, his uncle had said. She should be proud that he’d spring into action to help those in need. He was probably held up in business with the MacLeod.

She twisted his signet ring around her finger. He wouldn’t have given her his mother’s ring if he didn’t intend to follow through.

Yet her heart beat erratically throughout the morning.

Clans were striking camp as the sun reached its zenith. Throughout the day, hammers, calls, thumping of crates into wagons continued. And still, there was no sign. A branch rustled and she whirled around.

“Alexander?”

A bird fluttered off. Disappointment sank. Her stomach growled, but if she left to find a meal, she might miss him.

She sat in the grass. Slipped free of her shoes. Played her lyre as the sun began to descend from afternoon toward evening. She watched the steady trail of caravans and standards hoisted on poles trickle down the high road into the glen. Forced herself to relax as silence engulfed the distant festival, save occasional calls from the menfolk of Kilravock breaking down the daises and cleaning up rubbish.

She drank from her flagon of watered wine to wet her palate and nibbled on the nuts and dried apples she’d carried in her pouch.

Seamus would be worried, if he wasn’t already, but they’d arrived at the faire late and he’d been clear he wished to stay until the very end to trade. She’d hoped to greet him at the end of the day as a married woman. But the sun hung low over the western hill where that kirk spire protruded against the sky like an omen.

That shimmer of premonition she’d always harbored seemed to have vanished.

Leaves crunched, and her head popped up with hope. “Alexander?”

A squirrel.

Dread clashed within her now, kept at bay all day long.

The castle rested silent. The woods around her were darkening and she could no longer distinguish the striking nuances between the red hem of her kirtle and the softer red of the brocade on her skirts. Her brother was likely finished with all his bartering and searching for her. Elizabeth, her sister-in-law, likely fretted.

The sun was setting when the unmistakable sound of boots crunched along the trail and shuffled in the dirt.

She jumped to her feet! “I was so worried!” she exclaimed. “I thought ye’d left me and…”

Kendrew MacGregor emerged. Him? She’d noticed him eying her this morn as their clans had broken their fasts. Had he seen her come this way? She’d thought this greenwood secluded.