Page 37 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)

Her fists knotted into his clothing torqued, pushed, then…she melted into the kiss. Gripped his nape and gasped with desperation, finally capitulating. His fingers anchored in her hair, gripped it, as that anger and hurt poured out of him into her.

Tears streamed into the seam of their lips as she eagerly met his tongue, thrust for untutored thrust, yanking on him, clinging to him, and he let go. A growl rumbled up his chest as he arched her backward, fisting the ends of her Comyn shawl and cinching her against him tightly. He had

to win. He couldn’t bear for her to wear any other colors.

His teeth gnashed hers. Lips smashed lips. Yet try as he might to extract this sadness from her so they might be free of it, it only took root within him, twining its tendrils into his heart.

…

She gave herself up to his urgency, his fervent words an anguished love poem, echoing through her thoughts. Let herself have this sliver of time, pushing doubts about his sincerity away for another moment’s worry.

“The thought of ye in another man’s bed makes me want to make ye a widow,” he growled against her lips. “I can never make this right.”

She cradled his cheeks at his desolate vow, grasping his beard, his knot of hair, unable to rest her hands in any one place as he pulled her across his lap.

He braced her close, as his hand came to settle over her womb, clenching there, when she tasted salty wetness on the seam of their lips.

Her eyes fluttered and she pulled away to see a damp trail down his cheek from furiously pinched eyes as he cradled her empty belly.

He grieved with her.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, resting his forehead to her neck as her heartbeat thudded against him, in cadence with thudding in the distance.

The thudding… Horse hooves? Many of them. His hands around her waist stiffened at the sound of villagers scrambling, shouting, securing their possessions.

“A reave…” Her grip turned to ice. “Oh God.”

She flailed for freedom. Shoved away from him and dashed to the door to hear: “A reave! A reave!” As menfolk grabbed scythe and sickle and pitchfork and shovel, anything that could be used as a weapon.

“The bairns!” she cried, bolting out to capture their hands as her faithful wolfhound bounded to her side. “Come hither!” She pulled each child one at a time, gathering them into a cluster and huddling them to the dog’s shaggy fur. “Come! Quickly now!”

Alex gripped her nape and dipped his head to eye her. “Lass, ye near collapsed—”

“There’s nay time, Alex! Ye must help them.”

“I’m nay leaving ye!” he argued back, his cheeks still damp.

She shook her head with growing frustration and writhed free of his hold. “We have to help them, Alex! They need ye. I must hide the bairns!” She looked around for a place to hide.

His jaw tensed angrily as his brow deadened, but he nodded once and pointed.

“Through the cottages, on that trail. Ye’ll get to the water’s edge. Follow the current and ye’ll come to a cave. Go to it

and keep the dog with ye.”

He dropped his lips to hers. A kiss so firm it was angry, yet tender, yet pining, yet resolute. It was everything, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

He ripped away and stalked into the night like the Devil’s mage unsheathing his scythe and swinging it into his grip, directives bellowing from his lips, a warrior set on defending, as the menfolk and women alike took to the center of the path.

Alpin the blacksmith hurried to him, Faunus in tow. “Yer horse, mi laird. Hurry.”

“Nay,” he snarled, his voice receding. “I’m staying…”

…

One by one, Peigi ferried the children between the cottages, toward the grass fringing the water.

“Mi lady,” Gertrude whimpered.

“Wheesht, lassie.” Peigi pinned the girl’s head to her stomach. “Come, we’ll walk together.”

She gripped Gertie’s hand and hurried behind her gaggle, hustling them down the path, into the darkness, tamping down the worry that gripped her throat and choked her ever since a woad-painted warrior had once cornered her.

Familiarity assailed as they arrived at the water’s edge.

As if she’d been here before, which she knew she couldn’t have been.

Yet memories of dancing, celebrating, pups that chased butterflies and led her astray whilst her aunt tied the knot with Kendrew’s sire only grew stronger.

Was this the place they’d come to so long ago?

Ridiculous.

It’s just a shore. They all look similar. It’s a coincidence.

She began turning to the right to go down the shore as if memory guided her. Alex had said to follow the current. It was hard to see which way it flowed in the dark, and so, she picked up a leaf and tossed it in. Watched it float away and followed its course.

“This way. Sir Alexander spoke of a cave. Will that be lovely? Hiding there like wee foxes?” She forced a smile, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

Searching wildly through the night, she finally spied the black void. Climbing up the pebbly shore, it was the cave he’d referenced, the entrance strewn in pebbles and tiny mussel shells.

How can he ken this is here unless it’s as I suspect?

“I’m cold,” chattered one child, as more flakes blew around them.

Beyond the cave in the distance, over another stretch of water, a small…

Was that a ruin? Hard to tell in the dark, but she’d thought she’d spied one when arriving to the village, while Alex had gazed up at the trees as they’d traversed the woods, caressing his fingers upon the trunks, as if lost in another world.

It protruded like a silhouette in the moonlight peeking through the clouds.

“’Tis good we have the dog, aye? She’ll keep ye warm.”

She hurried the children up the shore, imagining Mildred frolicking across the field beyond and her making chase, the pup never found.

“Mildred.” She murmured the memory aloud. The old wolfhound beside her cocked her head unexpectedly and Peigi looked into the dog’s patient black pools.

“Sing a holiday song,” a child asked.

“Aye, a Samhain song, and we can pretend we’re eating soul cakes.”

“Only if ye sing with me,” Peigi encouraged.

“Blessings made on Samhain nights before the midnight bell.

When fae folk dance and sing, weaving two souls in a spell.

Three times ye have to find your mate or fall unto the curse.

For Samhain nights are only when such spell can be reversed.”

One by one, they crawled into the cramped space and sat in the river silt, huddling together.

Distant thundering of confrontation echoed. Peigi gripped Gertie and Thomas and let her mind drift. Let her habits override her heartache. And encouraged the children to sing with her.

“The first spell is a blessing made with veils betwixt us thin.

The second is a brushing past of hearts that yearn to win.

But lo behold our lovers dear whose worlds collide on three,

for only when the veils thin can their love be free.”

The waters lapped gently in the inky nighttime, soothing the children as their whimpering softened and their singing grew more cheerful, until it was celebratory, and the dog nestled between them lolling her tongue.

“Sing we now to fae folk, sing we now to Sidh.

The mantle ’twixt our world and yours is open for to see.

When blessings made and curses cast are open to the Sight,

Can the souls lost through the years be found on Samhain night.”