Page 30 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)

“That smile!”

“Such a rogue…”

“Can ye imagine if he’d truly stripped, like he’d taunted…”

“I’d nay have complained.”

Giggles rippled through the ladies as they flurried into the lady’s solar to sit before the roaring hearth. The aroma of the communion bread for the villagers filtered up from the kitchens as the wolfhound meandered to Peigi and flopped down.

Alexander

was the name upon their lips.

“If I werena already married, I fancy I’d enjoy catching his eye…”

“I bet he enjoys catching the lasses’ eyes whenever he pleases…” Giggles.

She sucked in, held it. He’d nay seemed experienced kissing back then, but he’d certainly known what to do with his bodily accoutrements

. No man so virile would go three months without if he needn’t. Even if they’d been three lonely

months for Peigi during which she’d wished she could disappear. The thought of him slaking his lust elsewhere?

Peigi rubbed the dog’s fur to warm her hands, to hide the fact the ladies’ gossip hurt, when Aileana looped an arm through hers as if they were still lassies skipping along the shores of Loch Ness.

“And yet, he only has eyes for my sister.” Aileana squeezed her elbow, her son cradled in her other. She leaned in to whisper, “He wore yer favors. Ye must tell all, for I fear my beloved sister has been keeping secrets from me.”

Blush burned Peigi’s cheeks as she tried to wave off her sister’s beg for gossip. Alex had

helped himself to a favor. In front of everyone

. He’d commanded his audience like puppets on strings, luring his competition into false security, letting each one welt him once, perhaps twice, like a cat toying with its quarry before devouring it. And he’d shined that smile on her, determined to thaw her frozen heart.

But charming people was what Alex was good at. She knew how his spark bedazzled before it burned.

“A song!” cheered Elizabeth.

“Music!” chimed Aileana.

Peigi motioned to Gertrude. “Dear child, will ye fetch the bard?”

Aileana scowled. “Nay sister. I wouldst hear yer

bonny voice!”

Peigi hesitated. “My voice is still cold—”

“I can fetch yer lyre instead, mi lady,” Joslyn said as maids filled goblets and laid out refreshments. Ah, the woman had noticed she’d discarded it during the noon meal break. “Surely ye’ll play for yer sister.”

“Indeed she will!” Aileana exclaimed, rewarding Joslyn with a smile. “Here, Pegs. Take wee Calum and I’ll fetch it,” Aileana continued. “Ye havena yet had a moment to hold him.”

“Oh, but I, I think—”

Peigi’s nephew was thrust into her arms. She fumbled, surprised. Her heartbeat raced. She swallowed, swallowed again, unable to dislodge the lump while panic surged and the babe squirmed in his swaddling.

“Are ye all right?” Aileana softened, slowing.

“Of course.” Peigi swallowed.

“It’s just, ye’ve held countless babes, and yet—” Aileana’s brow furrowed with concern. “It’s as if ye’ve never held one before.”

Peigi cradled the babe more naturally to her breast. She had

always loved bairns.

“I was just surprised.”

Peigi gazed down at the bundle, swallowing hard at the lump that wouldn’t budge. Aileana was so proud of Calum. Shame on herself for failing her wee sister’s happiness.

“He’s darling, so strong and healthy,” cooed Peigi, petting back his hair as he squirmed his cap loose, as the other ladies fell into gossip and sipped their refreshments. “Ye’ve done weel. Ye’re so lucky.”

Elizabeth leaned over and squished Calum’s cheek while her own bairn toddled away.

“Thinking on when ye’ll have a babe of yer own, no doubt,” teased one of the ladies as Aileana dashed to the lady’s chamber next door.

Peigi looked into Calum’s face. Looked at what could have been, when Aileana blessedly returned.

“Yer lyre, sister!” She thrust the instrument into Peigi’s hand. “Why was it buried in the bottom of yer chest?”

“To keep it from being damaged again, of course,” Peigi said dismissively, fingers curling around the familiar scrolls and volutes. “I’ve been busy.”

“And unwell,” Elizabeth said. “Seamus worried for her illness after Lughnasadh.”

No…

Elizabeth had gone and done it, now, with her uncorkable penchant for gossip. Aileana crinkled her brow and sat beside her, resting a careful hand upon her arm—Peigi closed her eyes and braced herself.

“Peigi? What illness?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Peigi smiled, forcing the strain from it.

“Seamus never wrote a word to me. Nor did ye. We’ve always told each other everything. I would have come to help ye. What ailed ye?”

Peigi laughed. “I’d nay have worried ye. Ye were heavy with child and due any moment.”

“Nay dismiss my concern. Is this why ye couldna come to the birth?”

Peigi looked down at Calum’s angelic face, tiny eyelashes as he took a shaky breath, then exhaled peacefully. “There was no cause for concern. As ye can see, I’m fine.”

She smiled and looked Aileana straight in the eyes.

“No cause?” Elizabeth whispered, drawing Aileana’s attention. “But what about the abbey?”

Aileana rounded back on her, eyes flying wide open. “ Abbey

?”

Peigi took a centering breath. “I rested peacefully in the Abbey of Iona. The sisters took good care of me, and now I’m fine.”

Aileana looked furious. “ Margaret Rose

—”

“Sakes, it was nothing, I’m fine

,” Peigi dismissed, irritation seeping through the crack of her composure.

“If ye say fine

once more, then aye, that’ll convince me.” Aileana’s frown deepened.

Peigi sighed. She’d known her sister would fret. But Aileana had deserved to rest pending her childbirth, not spend her days worried about her sister who hated the attention anyway.

“Pegs, ye should have told me.” Aileana wasn’t going to let this go. “When were ye dismissed?”

“She just arrived a fortnight ago,” Elizabeth said.

“Posh, Aileana. Forget nay that I’m yer big sister. ’Tis my job to worry about ye

. Nay the other way ’round.” Peigi motioned for Gertrude to bring the next ladies’ game with a bright smile.

Aileana opened her mouth—

“ Please

…” Peigi whispered, her eyes stinging as she blinked them, readjusting Calum, palming his wee head and rear and relishing the soft scent from his hair as she sifted her nose across it.

The concern on Aileana’s face pleated harder, though she scooted nearer to her and wrapped her arms around her, resting her head to Peigi’s shoulder. The hearth was stoked to crackling, the peaty scent infiltrating the chamber.

“Okay. How about ye play a song instead,” Aileana said gently, even if the matter lingered like the proverbial thorn in one’s side. “I’ve never had to beg ye so hard.”

“How can I play when yer son sleeps comfortably upon me?” Peigi teased. “’Tis sacrilege to wake a sleeping babe.” She looped the lyre strap to her girdle one-handed.

Gertrude flitted among the maids bringing forth the game, her arms hugging a basket as her golden-ginger tresses bounced around her, her face smudged with soot from the kitchen fires.

“…’Tis sweet of Lady Peigi to entertain the servants’ children…” spoke Laird Graham’s grown daughter with a haughty chin lift.

Peigi frowned as Gertrude grew uncertain, peeking over her shoulder at the others. “Ye think the games foolish, mi lady?”

Peigi motioned the lass down to her other side, smoothing back her wisps.

Laird Graham’s thirteen children had never lived the life of poverty that Peigi had.

They couldn’t possibly understand how laird, lady, and laborers alike banded together during strife, the success of all their people depending on how strong their bonds were.

If Peigi was to inherit this household who had every right to mistrust a Grant, she had to sow that trust.

“How do ye play such a game, Gertie?” Peigi asked.

“Do tell,” Aileana encouraged.

Gertrude beamed, confidence restored, and shifted onto her knees.

“We prepare it for all the lasses who marry! We blindfold the bride, shake the basket of stalks thrice, then dump them out. Ye must select three oat stalks, then fasten them over yer doorway. The first man who walks beneath it will be the man ye marry.”

Like the crab apples. Old wives’ tales spun to life without any merit behind them.

“What is the purpose of picking stalks if it boils down to which man walks through the door?” Peigi teased.

“Because the stalks summon the type of man. The first stalk will represent his strength. If the stalk is frail, so will he be, but if it’s strong, the man will be so. The second will represent how well he sows his oats and barley—”

Peigi’s eyes rounded as laughter surged. Gertrude frowned. “What’s so funny? Doesna a man need to be good at sowing?”

Peigi chewed her smile into submission as Aileana and Elizabeth wiped their eyes. “If he wishes to reap a strong harvest, aye.” She swallowed, voice wavering on a laugh barely contained. “So the second will determine if he’s good at sowing crops

?”

Oblivious to their humor, the girl nodded. “Aye. So if the second stalk is barren of seed, he will be poorly at sowing oats.”

Even as giggles surged again, tingling assailed Peigi’s stomach. No. She wouldn’t let it hurt. Not amid such joy and laughter.

“And then the third will be for love. If it’s beautiful, and nay mangled, yer love will be singular.”

A sweet game, in sooth.

“Does it ever come true?” Peigi said carefully.

Gertie shrugged, plucking up a rush and fraying the end while flopping against Peigi.

“In my experience”—spoken like an old soul and not the tongue of a girl of ten years—“aye, because they were already promised to each other and so it was expected that he’d cross the threshold.

” The ladies shared another giggle. “Ye’re so lucky, mi lady, to have the favor of many suitors. The results will truly be a surprise!”

“Lucky, eh?” Peigi said. That wasn’t the word that came to mind.

She hadn’t felt lucky when Seamus had vowed to kill the whoreson who’d dishonored her, or when he’d proposed this tourney for her protection.