Page 6 of Outlaw Ever After

Niall shook his head.

“What?” Alex arched a brow. “It’s nay my fault I’m easy upon a feminine eye. Why shouldna I use it to my advantage?”

“Ye behave like a green lad who’s just discovered his maypole, Reaper,” Niall taunted, using the warrior name he’d dubbed himself years ago.

Yet warrior name or no, he knew it had never been Uncle Niall’s wish for any of his nephews, surrogate or blood, to live a warrior’s life. It was thanks to Niall MacLeod that he’d been adopted into the Macleods and given a second chance to make something of himself.

Alex laughed, slapped him on the back, and dropped the coins back into the purse. “Ye’re just jealous of my stamina, old man.”

Niall shoved his hand away, then tousled his hair as if he were still that uncertain lad on the brink of starvation, scrawny and feral and bloodied, whom Niall had scraped off the shores of Kinloss, kicking, screaming, lashing out—

“Everything’s in prime shape, laddie. Prime shape,” jested Niall. “A man ages like fine whisky and ye’re still a sharp and bitter gin.”

“Then ye should make use of yer prime. What are ye, a monk?”

Humorous, coming from him. His studies had consumed him for months and it had been since before his final term that he’d taken a tavern wench face down for a rut.

Niall’s eyes crinkled in wistfulness, silver peppering the dark hair at his temples.

“Nay, laddie. No one compares—compared to my Bess. When ye meet a good woman, whose soul seems bound to yers,” he gnashed out, smiling distantly with olden grief, “she ruins ye. Makes ye feel like a king even when ye have naught but scraps to offer. Loves ye for who ye are, nay for the sum of yer mistakes or victories. I’ll nay sully her memory by bedding with another. Mayhap someday ye’ll realize that and learn to fight for what truly matters.”

Alex’s smile faltered. He’d been working to fight for what truly mattered for four and ten years, and it hadn’t been a woman.

A messenger wearing the royal blazon ran to him. Bowed his head perfunctorily.

“Are ye Alexander Stewart?”

Alex furrowed his brow. The only man who knew his legal name and knew he’d be attending was the Archbishop of St. Andrew. Everyone else called him Reaper. “Aye, that I am.”

“His Grace, the Archbishop of St. Andrew, has reviewed your records from King’s College. He sends word.”

Alex’s pulse kicked up. The employ he’d applied for nigh a month ago.

With the festival funded by the Crown, the Archbishop was here to oversee the expenses. Alex had made his presence known. But it had been two days since the start of festivities and the Archbishop had been due to decide already who would be his Deputy Comptroller. Alex had begun to think he’d been passed over for a decorated nobleman’s son.

The messenger held forth a scroll, sealed with the insignia of the Lord High Treasurer, still bowing his head as if Alex were some nobleman himself. Hardly. Even when he’d once been one’s son, it had been but a barony, and a bestowed title at that, not a pedigree.

“His Grace the Archbishop believes a savage Highlander is an asset, sir.” The messenger retreated into the throngs, his remark ringing in Alex’s ears.

Alex broke the seal and unraveled the ribbon. The scroll unfurled.

“What’s it say, lad?” Niall asked, illiterate of Latin. “Come, then?”

Alex chuckled at his uncle’s alacrity, attempting to master the nerves in his hands. He’d overcome much in life, but going to university had been a dream come true. Employed by the Crown? A miracle only his parents could have envisioned for him—his parents ? Where were thoughts of them coming from?

Upon review of Alexander Stewart’s exemplary marks at King’s College, in addition to his practical experience managing the ledgers of Stornoway Castle for the MacLeods of the Hebrides, The Lord High Treasurer, His Grace James Hamilton, Archbishop of St. Andrew, formally appoints Alexander Stewart Esq. to the role of Deputy Comptroller of Alba, tasked with management of royal contracts, charters, tax assessments, and associated monies.

Charters. Damnation. Retribution might finally be in his grasp.

“Ho, laddie, ye did it!” Niall backhanded his shoulder, then jostled him jovially.

He chuckled and smacked Niall with the parchments, but Niall threw his arm around Alex and thumped him proudly.

“Keep reading, ye eejit,” Niall groused, beaming from ear to ear like a proud da, craning over Alex’s shoulder to keep looking at the parchment.

Alex skimmed the remainder. “I’m to be summoned to deliver my acceptance.”

“Weel done, lad. Yer sire would have been proud of ye.”