Page 57 of Outlaw Ever After

“What do ye mean?” He knew exactly what she meant, and he should regret that because it had caused his songbird a world of hurt…but he didn’t.

Joslyn leveled a glare at him.

“Ye still like to stir the cauldron, old woman?”

“Ye ken my question. I’ve nay been an innocent in eight and sixty years.”

“I nay regret a single moment that I’ve kenned her,” he clarified resolutely. What he had or hadn’t done to his songbird was nobody else’s business, no matter how close he was to Joslyn.

“It’s clear to me she cares for ye, too. But ye must talk to her, mayhap give her time.”

“Time?” He arched an incredulous brow. “There’s nay the luxury of time with her as the bride prize in three days.”

“There is if ye win,” Jossy said.

The draft from the window wavered the candlelight, pebbling his skin with gooseflesh. He stilled at the twinkle in her eye and folded his arms. She’d always had a sixth sense. Between the crab apples, Seamus’s blade, and a legion of guards released upon him like hunting hounds put upon a fox’s scent… Was his history with Peigi so obvious?

“Ye’ve entered this tourney, but ye came here for another purpose. What is it ye intend to do?”

His jaw ticked as he considered everything at stake. This castle. His sire’s soul. These folk, some of whom had lived a lifetime beneath Seamus’s dictates. Justice. Her . His job to do for the Crown.

He leveled his eyes at Joslyn. “Win back what’s mine.”

Joslyn left. He slipped his bloodied tunic on and dipped out of his chamber to rejoin the hall—

Heavy boots plodded up the winding stairs and blocked the archway.

One of Seamus’s guardsmen.

“It’s bedtime for the laddie in the nursery,” the man quipped, a flask at his hip and a trencher of supper to get him through the night.

Ah, so it is to be like this? “Am I under house arrest?” He hitched up his chin.

“Of course nay. The laird simply wishes an esteemed guest from the Royal Treasury be watched over. For his security, of course.”

“Of course.” Alex smirked. “Are ye my nursemaid, then? Come to rock me to sleep?”

The man scowled. “Believe me, minding duty is the last place I want to be when my lass is waiting for me.”

“Ye deny yer esteemed guest a feast, so ye must cast lots with me instead.”

Alexander retrieved a purse of dice from the toy chest and sat down in the corridor, opposite the stool which the guard had dragged to the door. Music filtered up the stairs, where many an off-duty guard no doubt were eating chicken with a wench upon their knees. MacGregor had wanted her to save him a dance. Is she down there indulging him now? The thought of that cretin touching her made him want to beat his fists into the plaster.

“Be off with ye,” the guard groused, but Alex opened his sporran and flicked a copper onto the tiles. He needed to disarm these folks’ suspicions.

“Afraid ye’ll lose? I’m nay afraid to put my coin where me mouth is.”

Ah, Alex’d jabbed the man’s pride, judging from his scowl.

“Pass yer flask whilst ye’re at it.” Alexander grinned, crooking his fingers for the brew.

But when after several rounds Alex won the pot of antes again, while helping himself to Sir Donegal’s trencher, Sir Donegal finally tossed the dice across the corridor.

“Get ye to bed, ye swindler,” Donegal groused, as Alex scraped the winnings toward himself with a laugh and counted them into two piles. “Ye steal my drink, my sup, and now my coin?”

Except, as Alex heaved himself up, he turned, then dumped half the pot back into Donegal’s lap with a jingle and a wink.

Donegal’s eyes widened in surprise as Alex shut and barred his door, blocking out the sound of ladies’ frivolities and images of Peigi dancing in other men’s arms.