Page 38 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)

Fury burned a path through Alex’s veins at her tears as the galloping pounded closer, at this despair that had clouded her heart. He turned away from his woman forced to dash into the night,

as Aulay darted out of the trees, skidding to a stop, a sickle in hand.

“What can ye report?” Alex demanded.

What if she collapsed again and he wasn’t there to help? Guilt tore through him that it might be too late to make it right. That even if he won, the months had changed her in a way that would never be reversed.

Aulay huffed for air. “Canna tell in the dark. A score, likely—mounted.”

“ Please

, son. Take yer horse and go,” Alpin begged him again, Faunus cavorting with excitement at the bit. “Ye’re yer sire’s only blood.”

“Like hell I’ll leave ye to fend for yerselves,” Alex scoffed.

Alpin pleaded, “We’ve withstood years of reaves. We’ll be bruised, but we’ll come out of it all right.”

There it was. He’d failed these people, too. Failed to become the laird they’d needed, leaving them to withstand such hardship and conquering.

He jogged Faunus to the side of the road, smacking his rear to send him into the trees, then stepped into the middle of the path. “I failed ye as a lad.” I failed her as a man

. “I’ll nay fail ye again.” More than ever, he was determined not to fail the tournament—to finally protect them from Seamus.

The thundering rounded the bend, shadows flashing in the slants of moonlight, pounding toward the blockade of villagers.

“Move!” boomed a familiar voice .

“Or be trampled!” Christ, it can’t be!

“ Seamus

is making war during his sister’s bride tourney?” Alex’s brow furrowed. He didn’t hold Seamus in much regard, but that seemed low even for the bastard.

“Odd,” Aulay breathed. “He hasna done so in years.”

Alex’s brow furrowed at the curious remark. Who’s done the reaving, if nay Seamus?

“Mi laird,” breathed Alpin beside him.

“ Hold

…” Alex commanded softly.

He held his arm across the villagers beside him as if to keep them in place. They were fighters by requirement but not by skill. He trained his sights on Seamus, itching

to cut the curved edge of his weapon across the man’s throat for terrorizing his kin.

“The lady of Freuchie is missing!” boomed Seamus, as the hooves thundered closer

, finally close enough that Seamus’s face became distinguishable and his eyes were locked on Alex. “Where’s my sister!”

Alex held.

“I swear on my honor, man, I will finish what I started last night if ye’ve done anything else to her!”

Alex lifted his war scythe. Eyes hard on this enemy who’d once dragged him behind a horse for miles

, only to thrust him in a dark granary where Seamus had used that lash—

“The only one doing anything to her right now is ye!” Alex thundered. “Run these folk down! Terrorize them! It’s what ye do best!”

“The last place she went was here!” Seamus continued, his sword drawn.

Ah, hell. The feast. It was likely underway, and the maid of honor was nowhere to be found. Because she’d been here. Happy, in what he suspected had been the first time in three months.

“The village has done naught except welcome yer sister around their fire! Are they to be punished for it? Guilty! Seamus, the judge and executioner!” He swung his arm wide like a lawyer before parliament, voice full of mock superiority. “Determining guilt even

when he’s wrong!” His eyes narrowed, knees bent and coiled to spring, he took aim. “But punish them at risk of yer own heartbeat! For I will die in a rush, but the Reaper’s taking ye to hell with him!”

At his declaration, Seamus pulled back his reins, lifting his fist for his soldiers to do the same. His mount skidded in the mud and fought for footing, finally halting.

Nose to nose.

Steam puffed from the destrier’s nostrils as he tossed his head and grunted. Alexander’s heartbeat thundered a battle cry in his chest, his scythe still lifted, thirsty

to spill the whoreson’s blood. Alpin beside him might indeed have fainted.

Seamus’s mount pranced in place. “Where is she?”

But he couldn’t do it to his songbird. Seamus might be hotheaded, but whatever Alex had just said seemed to have let off steam from Seamus’s boiling fury, reduced him to a simmer. A simmering broth could be cooled more easily now that the heat had been taken away.

“She brought the villagers their communion bread,” Alex seethed.

“That was hours ago. And I nay recall naming ye a proper chaperone.”

Alex shrugged. “She’s nay averse to my company like she is to yers.”

Seamus’s jaw tightened as if leashing back his own desire to swing his sword by a frayed tether. “I bet. Ye’re good at charming yer way into a lass’s heart. Nay so good at being a man about the consequences.”

That betrayal. The hurt that had silenced her song.

“Ye’re only still breathing because my sister begged me to leave ye be. But if ye’ve done anything else to her, I’ll have yer head.”

“Aye, the Grants are good at taking those, too.”

Seamus’s gaze narrowed in contemplation, and Christ, Alex was going to give himself away if he wasn’t careful. Finally, Seamus sat upright in the saddle, eyes perusing the village, searching.

“She’s nay here, Seamus. Once more, ye terrified her.

She thought ye a band of reavers and hurried the bairns into hiding.

” He willed Seamus to feel chastened. “Incredible, how a lass hears hooves and immediately grows terrified. How she flinches at a mere unexpected touch because a warrior raiding her castle once forced—” Nay, it wasn’t his story to tell.

But Seamus’s eyes narrowed murderously, his jaw pumping.

Had he never known? He hoped the realization festered in Seamus until it ate him from the inside out.

“When all she wants is a simple life. A peaceful life. Who’s done that to her, me thinks?

Couldna possibly be the brother that she should be able to trust the most. Is it any wonder she wanted to elope, to escape it all? ”

They stared hard. Seamus’s chest rose and fell, but his anger had lost its fire. “Where is she?”

“Like hell I’ll tell ye. These folk might need to use such a place again, considering the friendly way in which ye pay a visit. Beat me if ye wish it. But nay harm these folk

who keep yer verra arse sitting on its pedestal at the expense of their freedom. It nay takes a scholar to figure out that their name of Comyn and yer name of Grant do nay align in friendship.”

“They murdered my sire,” he growled, that fury simmering again.

“Which one?” Alex erupted. Nay to mention who had Seamus’s

sire murdered? Or did Seamus absolve his father of that

guilt?

Being pained was no excuse for inflicting more of it.

He turned and perused the villagers with mock surprise.

“This one, mayhap?” He hauled forth Aulay by his scruff.

“Is he the one? Or mayhap this one!” He gripped another villager by the shoulder, dragging him forth, as Seamus shook his head to argue— “Nay be shy, Seamus!” Alex seethed.

“Ye make an accusation, back it up by pointing a finger! Which of these Comyns murdered yer sire? We’re waiting with great suspense! ”

Seamus remained silent, as did the others. Eyes narrowing, he finally spoke. “Mayhap I’m looking at him.”

Fok.

An anchor sank in his gut.

“Or mayhap ye’re sorely mistaken, man.” He notched up his chin smugly. “But something tells me yer pride swells too grand to ever hear the truth when it’s easier to believe lies.”

Seamus studied him. But finally resigned himself on an exhale. “Produce her and return her to the castle. I just want her back.” Then he turned his reins and gestured for his men to follow, returning into the darkness from whence they’d come.