Page 47 of Outlaw Ever After

“An outlaw must assume many identities.”

“I suspect ye wield both quill and sword with equal strength.”

“A man does what he must,” he gruffed. “Life isna the rainbows and fairy glens ye wanted me to believe it was.”

“Nay—”

“But I’m also armed with more than just a sword, Jossy.” He shook a finger in the air and dashed for his satchel. “And I’m here to put it to use.”

Withdrawing parchments from his packs, he held open a portfolio and a scroll, revealing a scripted page.

She looked at it. Literate, she skimmed the Latin words. “Certificate of…law ?” Her gazed widened up at him. “King’s College? Ye studied in Aberdeen? This name…Alexander Stewart.”

He nodded once.

“Sakes, always so clever ye were.”

“I made a vow to my sire. He built this legacy and I was a fool wrapped up in the imaginations of a spoiled bairn—”

She gripped his good cheek in admonishment. “Ye were a bairn of twelve years. Just a bairn .” She shook him with her fingers gnarled from years of grinding a pestle. “What could ye have done?”

“My da was a hero who supported his mither and sisters by the same age,” he scoffed.

“Yer sire worked hard, so his own seed would ken the joys we didna ken.”

He studied her. “Aye, so I’d inherit this and take care of ye, and a fine job I’ve done of that—”

“He also wanted ye to be happy . Nay plagued by ghosts. And they haunt ye. I can sense that like the changing of the winds.”

Nay, he’d not dwell on that happy time. When he’d planned to settle in his wee cottage and sow bairns with the songbird who’d known his mither’s song. Yet, could he have been happy abandoning his pursuit to regain his lands?

He shook his head and hitched up a grin.

She wagged her finger at him. “Yer rosy smile might fool the lasses, but it nay fools me.”

He scowled, slouched his hands on his hips. “My sire remains a soul trapped in purgatory.”

“Ye’ve lived in that heavy shadow?” She furrowed her brow.

“How could I nay, Jossy? And Seamus tormented ye for it—”

Swishing in the corridor distracted them. She patted his cheek, quieting him.

“Is someone bringing the boiled water?” Francine diverted their attention, when a vision of pine-draped beauty rounded the corner, heaving a heavy pot, her hands white-knuckling the rag as steaming water threatened to slosh over the rim.

And then his songbird’s posture wavered like a sapling bending to the wind. Her face was sweating. She was listing sideways, her wide-eyed gaze upon him—

He bolted to the door.

Chapter Fifteen

Seizing the pot straining her arms and setting it aside, Alexander held Peigi upright as she blinked, skin pale. Energy zapped at his fingertips, radiating up his arms like it once had in a greenwood, like…it once had when they’d been bairns. The familiarity of the sensation rushed back. Aye, he’d remembered that sensation most of all from the lass in the granary window who’d blessed him so innocently with a kiss.

A wolfhound sniffed in behind her and circled around the chamber.

“Mi lady,” gasped Joslyn, hurrying to gather the pot. “Ye carried this up all those stairs? Why no’ ask for assistance?”

“The kitchen was busy, the ale maids occupied, and the others were…” Her words faded as she glanced around the chamber.