Page 16 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)

“But lo behold our lovers dear whose worlds collide on three…”

–

A Song of Samhain Nights

Three months later. The beginning of Allhallowtide. Freuchie Castle Bride Tourney. Thirtieth day of October.

“Peigi!”

Peigi’s younger sister threw her arm around her in a blur of auburn hair that glowed like fire, having dashed through the cacophony of men at the registration table paying Seamus their fees.

“ Aileana

.” Peigi’s face split into a smile. “Ye came.”

Drinking grew boisterous as traveling guardsmen dispersed into the hall to find a tankard or a lass to sit upon their knee.

“Of course I came, Peigi. Ye’re to be handfasted in three

days’ time. How could I miss it?” Peigi looped her arm through her sister’s, petting the old wolfhound who rested against her thigh, a dog who’d befriended her easily when she’d first arrived here a fortnight ago.

“Whatever caused ye to agree to this fanfare? It’s most unlike Seamus to pressure ye to marry, and ye’ve gone and agreed to it. ”

Peigi’s smile fell an inch, swallowing the distress her sister was skilled at deciphering. Of course, Aileana had worried. Her sister seemed bold, but her fire was drawn from her soft heart for those she loved.

“We shall have fun, Aileana. The ladies’ games will begin soon.

” She’d planned these Hallowtide games and tasked a serving girl with arranging them in hopes of sowing camaraderie, but these Comyn folk had cause to hate her clan.

Judging by the cool reception she’d received; they’d not forgotten what had transpired years ago betwixt their clans.

“Posh,” her sister scoffed. “Ye hate such frivolities.”

Welcoming dances would also ensue soon, where she’d dance with each suitor throwing his name into the ring to compete for her hand in marriage.

A fast marriage. In three days, she would be married to a stranger who’d been drawn here at the prospect of winning the castle, lands, and her brother’s dower coin.

“Dear sister, I’m nay getting any younger.”

“Ye’re barely three and twenty. Hardly

an old crone.” Her sister laughed. “Ye have no need to rush this.”

Peigi’s stomach clenched. Crone?

She pushed a smile back on her lips.

“Where is yer husband?”

Aileana sighed. “Peace talks. Since James made peace with the MacLeods, a summit gathers at Court in Edinburgh as we speak. The Earl of Arran is convinced that bringing MacLeod to the table will encourage more alliances with the outland clans and stabilize the monarchy. I am proud of his work, but I do miss him…”

A bundle squirmed against Aileana’s side, distracting Peigi from the trepidation she felt over this tournament.

Her sister, rosy-cheeked and still in her cloak and mittens, held the bundle out for her to see.

“Oh, Aileana…” Peigi breathed, a pang assailing her heart.

Aileana’s babe slept soundly, his face smooth and unblemished.

“He’s-he’s perfect

. I was pleased to learn that ye were weel and the babe was strong. I wish I could have been there for ye.” Instead of at Iona Abbey.

“Have no fear, I was nay alone but tended by my sister-in-law.”

“Bossing the midwife about, no doubt,” Peigi teased, for it was well known that Aileana was a skilled healer herself.

The wolfhound, graying around the muzzle, nudged Peigi’s hand again. She obliged a pet.

Her sister laughed. My, it was good to see Aileana happy. Who would have guessed she’d find that pleasure in the arms of one of their clan’s gravest enemies?

Still, guilt assailed her at Aileana’s reassuring smile. She’d always looked out for her sister, but she’d failed her in her time of need. She’d failed Seamus. Failed herself.

“Do ye want to hold him? I ken how ye love bairns,” Aileana prattled on. “I canna wait to see wee Calum lulled to sleep by his Auntie Peigi’s song. Ye must hear my sister singing all

the time.” Aileana turned to the head woman. “She always hums when she’s happy.”

Mistress Joslyn shook her head silently.

“Oh, Aileana, I’ve been far too busy planning this event—”

“Posh, Peigi, it’s yer truest gift and I’ve missed it so.” Aileana waved her off. “Ye’ll spoil Calum for certain. And once ye marry, why, it could only be a matter of months before Calum has another cousin—”

An ache knotted in Peigi’s belly. What was this capricious love that could be elated at the miracle of wee Calum’s birth, and yet seeing him thriving could gouge her fragile heart like a rusting barb?

“—and then perhaps a brother or sister, for Jamie is aye glad I’ve finally been churched. He’s been impatient and counting down the days until he…and I…” She laughed with a womanly blush before her smile fell. “What is it? Peigi, ye’ve gone ashen.”

Had she? Peigi cupped her cheek. It felt clammy. Her stomach hollowed and her legs began to quake—

“Mi lady?” came Mistress Joslyn’s voice, an old woman who was kindly enough, but guarded, like the rest of these Comyn people. “Gertrude, grab the watered wine. Francine, a trencher of supper…”

Aileana took her other arm and guided her onto the dais, the torchlight, smoke, and music a din that swirled on the edges of her mind, but she was coming around already.

She smiled as Gertrude—the serving lass who was to organize the games—hurried to her side with an ewer and goblet, sloshing the drink into it and holding it to her like a royal chalice.

“I’m fine.” She smiled, lifting the lassie’s chin and gently rejecting the food offered her. Just the smells were overpowering and threatened to turn her stomach. “Ye’re sweet to worry. Gertrude, is it?”

The girl grinned at her new lady’s praise. “What would we do, mi lady, if ye keeled over at our feet?”

The scowling faces of nearby serving women suggested they’d gladly spit on her grave if she did. Even if these folk had cause to hate the Grants, Peigi was determined to win their hearts and untwist the thorns intertwining their clans.

“I would be glad indeed to have such loyalty as yers, dear child,” Peigi said.

But Aileana was still fretting, forcing her to sit, and Joslyn was busy holding out her chair.

“Truly. I was distracted, ’tis all. I’m fine.”

“ Fine

?” Aileana gritted out softly, infant cupped on one arm while she fussed over Peigi with the other.

“Indeed. Fine

.” She’d been fine for three months. “Gertrude.” She turned to the lassie and dipped down to her level, taking her hands. “Why no’ order forth the games?”

The child beamed, nodding, so that her ginger-blond waves bobbed. “The crab apples are first.”

“Crab apples?” Aileana asked.

“ Mmhmm

.” The girl nodded again, tapping her chin. “And the oat stalks on the morrow. I shall bring the apples out straight away!”

She dashed away, returning moments later with a bowl of crab apples.

The other ladies gathered around, notably, Lady Elizabeth, their sister-in-law, and the sisters, mothers—and in Laird Graham’s case, oldest daughter—of the men who’d traveled to compete, as she felt the appraising glances of the suitors below the dais.

Felt her cheeks redden beneath their assessments of her virtues.

She’d always hated how they did that. Had once believed that her playful warrior who’d worn sparkling grins like a badge of honor had been different, had wanted her for her

…

Let the past lie.

This tournament would protect her clan’s reputation. This tournament was her penance.

“Ye shake the bowl and dump them out onto the board!” Gertrude crowed. “The letter they form will be the first letter of the man’s name to whom ye’re destined to wed.”

The ladies laughed with matronly amusement.

Peigi smiled, and blessedly, Aileana relented to the fun for now, when a draft wavered the torches ensconced around the great hall of the once-proud Comyn stronghold, as the front doors opened down the corridor.

Had another contestant arrived? Nine of the ten places were already filled.

Her stomach knotted as she looked out over the contestants already here, her nose curling in distaste at Laird Graham, who might be a wealthy lord, but was widowed twice, staunchly Protestant, and made no effort to hide his disdain of Catholics.

And has a brood of offspring for ye to inherit

, a green-eyed warrior teased in the recesses of her mind.

Who was the new arrival yet to enter? Better than Graham, or worse?

She shook the apples and dumped them out, sensing him pushing his way down the center of the hall. Her skin littered with gooseflesh beneath her heavy velvets. The apples tumbled out in disarray, arching into a…