Page 63 of Outlaw Ever After

He gripped the awning support and swung upon the dais. Plucked her posy from her bodice.

“Clover, hawthorn, forget-me-not,” he said, bringing the cuttings to his nose, his throat bobbing as he nodded to himself. “My lady’s blessing… I compete in her honor—”

“I have no honor.”

The whisper rushed out before she could stop it. She threw her hand over her mouth to stay the quiver as her eyes bounced away again, when his thumb braced her chin and turned her face back to his. Fury tightened his brow fiercely, like when he’d stared down her brother.

“Never say that again,” he growled. His thumb softened on her chin.

“Nay flirt with the lady!” laughed Laird Ross.

Aulay cleared his throat, again and again, as if…trying to get Alex’s attention?

Yet her eyes fluttered closed. How she itched to twist his beard around her fingertip and return to that innocent time at Lughnasadh—

“Sir Alexander,” Seamus’s cold voice cautioned, jarring her eyes open again.

“Quit trying to woo the lass!” shouted other contestants. “’Tis an unfair advantage, talking to her so…”

“Aye, Alexander . Quit trying to woo the lass,” Aulay echoed beneath his breath, and sakes, the twist of sarcasm was informal and sounded an awful lot like a pesky lad needling his brother.

In sooth, their visages were similar. Green eyes. Similarities in their noses, though Aulay’s hair was blonder… Coincidences . She shook the strange sensation away.

Alex jumped down with a lazy thud and a cocksure smirk. He tucked the posy between his teeth like a buccaneer’s blade, stripped off his tunic, and tossed it atop his amassing pile of clothes at her feet.

Sakes…his chest… Carved by the artistry of blades in battle, ribbed with rungs of muscle over his belly where his ligaments narrowed over his hips. The stitches across his shoulder torqued. It looked tender, but no longer angry. The trail of blond dusting over his navel guided a lass’s eyes lower—

“Eyes of deepest Greenwood, ’twould be so swift to drown there…”

He hummed the melody of bygone times, the timbre of his voice resonating memories through her heart, as he unclasped the pouch over his pectoral with a flick of his fingers. Taking the posy from between his teeth, he tucked it beneath the flap.

A spiral of leaves frolicked across the pitch like playful children. A shiver racked her. Strings of faces carved out of turnips bobbed, rustling the sheafs of corn dolls tied to the posts. Joslyn looked wondrously around. Alex, too, looked around, as if he noticed. Was this her Sight, trying to tell her something?

“Are ye going to take all day stripping naked?” taunted Laird Graham, snapping the trance. “Or shall we get on with it?”

Alex turned to face his opponents, prying loose his belt. “Since ye asked nicely, man!”

“Ye would nay!” Peigi gasped as the crowd erupted in laughter, when she saw his shoulders shaking with amusement.

He flashed that grin back at her that had once whittled down her defenses as he resecured his belt.

“Sakes, do ye ever stop?” she muttered, barely leashing her irritation.

“I’m just getting started, songbird,” Alex murmured.

He gave her his back, revealing those lashings, as Aulay held the bowl of paper cutlets out to him.

Chapter Twenty

Alex chose a name, handing it to Aulay.

“Laird Malcom Graham!” Aulay called through his horn, holding up the parchment. “Ye’ve been challenged!”

Oh, this was good. Graham cracked his knuckles and shook out his arms, rousing his mettle.

“Will ye be removing yer claes, Laird Graham?” Sir Aulay called.

“Preposterous! There are ladies present!” Graham replied with a gallant dip of the head, eying him as if he were the stagnant scum upon a contaminated pond.