Page 77 of Outlaw Ever After

He’d almost told her that she should have already been the lady of Freuchie. The truth had burned on his lips, that she wore the lady of Freuchie’s ring. That he knew her thrice, as the oat stalks predicted. That his name started with C , like the crab apples predicted. That this was all some cosmic spell, destining them to meet again but not promising them a future they weren’t committed to fighting for. That his arriving here, blindsiding him at first, was fate.

And those fickle fae were clearly toying with fates. Always be honest with me… Because he wouldn’t be able to sit on his secret if he won, and when she finally realized he’d duped her, would her trust be too fragile for such a test?

Lying didn’t feel right. Telling the truth was akin to taking his life into his hands.

He hoisted her up into the saddle and spirited her out of the stable, loping across the hills to the wood. His fingertips skimmed the passing trunks: once-sapling friends having grown tall, old ones he’d once climbed having fallen. So familiar. So much time, lost. He closed his eyes and swallowed the thickness threatening to clog his throat, pushing aside his competing thoughts so he could relish the way her arms were wrapped around him like they’d done that day so long ago when he’d whisked her through wildflowers. When he’d made her his in body, but failed to do so in name.

Choosing a battle over her. Showing up here, choosing a castle while blind to her pain…

That was it.

That was what he had to do to remind her of how good it had once been, to reignite that spark within her he’d once fought hard to win. He’d been meant to find the wee lass who’d set him free, whose heart he’d wounded and trust he’d dashed.

Which meant, in this entire mess between birthright and employer and unrequited love, she must believe he’d pick her more than anything else. Which was now impossible. For in order to do so, he also had to pick the castle, and the battles. Now that he was here, embroiled in this, he had to pick his people, too.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Sir Alex!” shouted children.

Alex trotted Faunus out of the trees as lads raced up the hill in their flaxen léines and ruddy cheeks, bare feet despite the cold. The wolfhound lumbered ahead to join the excitement.

“Hurrah for Sir Alex!” they cheered. “For winning the Burning Sticks!”

A cluster of girls spied them and also dashed up the hill, dropping their turnip carvings.

Alex passed down the basket to the gaggle of lads and swung his leg over Faunus’s neck.

“Take these to Alpin,” who Alex had learned not only survived, but was also the mayor. “They’re from the lady of Freuchie for yer communion of the dead”

The children cheered as he removed the lid, revealing the bread, a lad on each side hoisting up the handle to carry it into the hamlet.

“Is that…the Lady Peigi ?” one of the lassies said.

He looked up at Peigi, hair tangled in chestnut waves. Her cheeks and nose pink from the cold. A bonny change from the demureness of artful coifs and the paleness of too much time indoors. She’d once looked as disheveled, pillion on his horse, with a wreath of summer flowers tangled in her hair.

Now, perched on Faunus’s rump like an autumn queen draped in that tartan, his legacy like his mark upon her, she tried to tame her hair, brushing it over her ear. He watched the path of her fingers across her cheeks that his nose had just trailblazed as they’d hid from Seamus’s soldiers, basking in the tentative tenderness he’d gleaned beneath her surface.

The girls ran off to do the telling. The lads staring awestruck at her.

Alex swung the reins over Faunus’s head and led him downhill to where smoke rose beyond the thatching. They rounded the huts, the crackling of the bonfire growing louder as arguments among the villagers increased.

Where was the music they always played on this hallowed eve? Had the religious orders like the one Sir Graham aspired to, stamped out their ancient songs?

“He’s brought the lady!” The bairns ahead continued the telling. “And she brought an entire bushel of bread!”

“’Tis more than ever we’ve gotten…” muttered many in disbelief.

“…she’s clearly trying to make us like her…”

He sensed Peigi stiffen. He couldn’t fault his people for their rebuke, but he hated that she’d been put in this position. Because it wasn’t her fault, either.

As they rounded into the village commons where the bonfire wavered orange against the dusk, snow now dusting them like sugar, he realized they commiserated over a problem.

“Ho there.” He raised a hand.

“Sir Alexander!” They shouted. “Hurrah for the champion of Freuchie!”

“Ye walloped the competition today,” Thomas crowed. “I told Gertie ye’d win.”