Page 80 of Outlaw Ever After

“Oh, mi lady. I’d love to hear ye sing as yer sister praises,” Gertie crowed, then rounded on him , balling her fists on her hips. “And she is nay a crone!”

Laughter surged among the villagers now as Alex winked.

Peigi lifted a bolstered chin as Gertie fingered her lyre, pinging the strings. “My sister is an urchin.”

Alex stepped up behind her and leaned into her ear, the end of his beard skimming across her nape.

“Yer song brings people together, lass,” he said. “Let it bring ye together with my— Let ye weave yer spell upon them now.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Aulay slipped a tankard into Alex’s grip, too, and swung an arm around him, the two of them stepping into the cluster of villagers, like brothers who’d done so a hundred times, leaving her on the periphery.

But what should she play? What did they expect? Do my fingers still ken their way across the strings? What were their traditions? Their favorites? Will my voice come out scratchy? The children perched on their knees in anticipation, watching her, when suddenly a bone flute, that bone flute, led into a tune.

Her eyes shot up to Alex.

He blew upon it as he stepped out of Aulay’s company, his tankard already drained, watching her. Silence descended as his battered fingers flitted over the instrument. He moved toward her through the children who leaned apart for him, necks craned to watch.

He arrived in front of her and nodded, as if offering encouragement. Refrained the lead-in. This time, her fingers strummed the lyre, the note resonating familiarity up her arms as wind whipped the flames sideways on a gust, spraying sparks, to the bairns’ shrieks of delight.

Those fickle fae , his eyes seemed to say.

He took up her hand. Led her through the villagers to a pile of straw. She sat, the heat of the bonfire crackling in welcome as the lasses arranged her skirts and the lads piled upon empty crates to listen. She set her lyre upon her crisscrossed knees and sipped her tankard again, but the pungent homebrew made her stomach turn and she set it aside.

She’d been so certain her voice had atrophied at the abbey when her world had collapsed and she’d realized she no longer cared about marriage, just wanted to protect her clan’s reputation.

Alex stepped around her and sat upon a crate, thighs straddling her, as if to cage her to him, while his toe tapped the rhythm.

He refrained again and she took a deep breath.

“Thars a lass in Inverness, sing oh sing me laddies… ” she trilled, nerves so strong and voice so rusty, it cracked.

“Chestnut hair and skin so fair, sing oh sing me laddies…”

She glanced back at him only to see his gaze trained on her lips like an archer on a target. Could feel his warmth enveloping her as the snowflakes continued to drift down and kiss her cheeks.

“Lips of gold if truth be told, sing oh sing me laddies…”

He gave her shoulders a subtle squeeze with his thighs. Her body ignited at the contact, at his lack of propriety in front of these folk as if she were his woman already, and knowing that the crux of his legs was at her nape and if she just. leaned. back , she’d feel that wondrous part of him that had once awakened her pleasure and banished her fear. Blush raged across her cheeks.

Hope welled in her chest as the lyrics progressed and the flute fluttered from behind. As his presence uplifted her, his harmonies blew clean and sure. Her fingers strummed the lyre while her body burned beneath his protective hold and her voice trilled more easily over the lyrics.

“Steal a kiss and twirl the miss, sing oh sing me laddies…”

There was no mistaking the smiles, either. The crofter in the back tapping his foot and the older women singing the verses, their guards lowering as smiles and nodding broke out on their faces.

And the children! They began to clap to the rhythm. She smiled at their happiness, their rosy cheeks as they bounced to the tune.

Again and again, they sang the verses, the words a flirt, as two girls broke out into dance around the fire, until the last verse—

“Till her brother doth said, I’ll take yer head! Run oh run, ye laddie!”

The entire village roared with laughter at the man in the song’s folly for flirting so shamelessly, the children laughing because the adults were laughing, and a muscled arm swung around her shoulders, pulling her tight between his legs as Alex guffawed.

“Such a rogue still got what he deserved.” She giggled, leaning into his embrace.

“A good thing he never met yer brother, songbird,” he jested to more laughter.