Page 13 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)

Caleb. Tell her Caleb.

A name that had never

been resurrected since its death fourteen years ago. It was the only way a man who was hunted could survive with his head intact. He played with fire now, but to hear my name on her lips

… She wants my honesty.

This ring, the only thing he had from a past long dead. His songbird was twisting his beard again, her body relaxed, molded to his side. God, to tell someone, to unchain this hidden past from his heart.

Tell her Caleb. Give her, and yerself, this one boon

—

“Alexander.” His lips betrayed him.

The breeze stilled. The sharp sparks of energy that burned when they touched, vanished, as if he’d somehow failed a cosmic test. But while he couldn’t tell her about a past he’d vowed to avenge and a surname he’d vowed to protect, he could be honest about their future.

“And ye are?” He nuzzled her neck where her heartbeat fluttered, chasing the fading sparks. “Fair is fair, lass. What am I to call my woman?”

“Margaret,” she said softly. “Plain, I ken. My sire chose it and I want to love it, but—”

She silenced herself, darkness entering her eyes.

“But what?”

“He wasna a good ma— He called me his wee pearl, was always proud of my appearance.”

Ah, her disdain for her beauty might have started there, if it was what her sire had valued in her.

“A pearl is strong

, too.” He twisted the ring. “A tiny treasure forged in a turbulent ocean and nay even kens its value. Mayhap it’s nay so wrong a name.”

The kirk bell above them began to chime, too. His mouth tipped up as she blushed. Time to make good on his promise. He was going to shock the kilt off of Tormund, and the boots straight off Uncle Niall. But those men, fighting demons of their own, would bless his decision.

He locked eyes on her. Looked down with primal satisfaction at his marks left upon her from his devouring, then pulled down her skirts and took her hand, hoisting her up.

“Come to the kirk with me.” He helped her tie up her stomacher. Placed her floral crown on her head before resecuring his tunic, coat, and weapons. Plucked a forget-me-not from her wreath and brought it to his lips.

“And become Mistress Stewart.”

Relief sparkled in her eyes. She nodded happily; he was pleased he could make her so happy. She hurried her hair into a semblance of order as he smoothed her tangled skirts and resecured her lyre.

Snagging her hand, he snatched up her slippers and hurried her out of the ruin. She held her bouncing crown. Down the slope, down through the grasses, blazing into the village to collect Faunus.

“To where do ye run so disheveled?” a villager teased as clusters paused in their chatter and dancers stopped to stare.

Alex called, “To the kirk! To take my lady to wife!”

Cheers lifted for them. “Blessed Lughnasadh!” Tankards raised. “Bring yer bonny bride back for a dance around the fire!” they called as

Margaret

beamed up at him.

He chuckled, mounting up and hoisting her up behind him.

They scarce could breathe as they climbed the opposite path through the pine trees and finally, around to the base of the stairs that climbed to the kirk, dismounting.

Horse hooves thundered close below, but he couldn’t see the approaching rider.

That distant bell tolling across the glen hadn’t ceased, filling the air with clanging, calling out the start of a contest.