Page 79 of Outlaw Ever After

“Old Alpin’s panpipe broke,” someone said.

Alpin held up his instrument. Somehow he was twice as silvery and wiry as he’d once been. “One of the reeds split in two.”

“Now we’ll have no communion music,” a child lamented.

So these traditions did persist?

Alex’s smile widened. He gazed down to Peigi.

“Lady Peigi is quite the songstress, I hear,” he hedged.

She shook her head. Her eyes rounded. “No,” she breathed. “They’ll run me straight back to the woods from whence we’ve come—”

“And the lass happens to have her lyre—”

“I havena touched it in months—”

He hooked an arm around her neck and pulled her close.

“Just be yerself, songbird,” he gruffed into her ear, when her next words, a pained breath, slayed him.

“I nay ken how to do that anymore.”

Nay, songbird. Something stole yer voice.

“Then it’s time I help ye relearn,” he whispered, “and they’ll fall for ye just like I did.”

Her eyes widened, watery and filled with yearning at his declaration, but he unhooked his arm and stepped back before she could dash what he wished was trust forming between them. He gestured to a blur of strawberry waves running toward them, fresh from the castle.

“Mi lady!” Gertrude shouted. “I was so worried when ye left!”

Peigi squatted down and opened her arms. Gertrude threw herself into them. Peigi’s face split into the first brilliant, carefree smile he’d seen on her since arriving at Freuchie, gutting him that it wasn’t for him. His mouth quirked up all the same.

“I thought mayhap Sir Alexander walking beneath the oat stalks spooked ye, and Granny Jossy told me nay to fret but I did…”

The villagers’ interest turned to curiosity as the child took her hand, as the lad returned with ale and sloshed the tankard toward her.

Wary dips of the villagers’ heads and bows greeted her as Gertrude led Peigi toward the fire. She glanced at him, but he swept his arm wide, ushering her onward. The bairns once more huddled around her to get a glimpse of their conqueror’s daughter wrapped in Comyn tartan.

“…bonny…” a laddie said, as another fingered her hair like a novelty.

“…like a painting…” another child said with awe.

Again, Peigi looked back at him as whispers spun around them. Pride filled his chest as these bairns pulled her into the fold.

“Nay, a crone she is!” called Alex, cupping his hand around his mouth.

Her eyes widened amid the collective gasps. He grinned. “Did he dare insult her so… Do they share a secret jest…”

He hitched his chin in challenge, hoping for her retaliation.

And miracle of miracles… A hint of that secret smile that she’d once bestowed so liberally on him edged her lips.

“Punish me, lass, by making song!”

She struck a clashing cord on her lyre with that cool defiance she’d once regarded a rogue in a greenwood with, arching a brow at him. “Be it that I sing just as off key, Sir Alexander?”

He chuckled at her faint laugh. He’d bloody treasure it. She remembered. She’d teased him. An olive branch. Her heart still wanted him, even if her mind was wary.