Page 44 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)

Joslyn nodded sagely, her hand cupping Peigi’s to still them.

“And I ken ye’ve felt the worst of that, sweet lass.

Women and bairns feel the brunt of battles, aye, but nay forget, those bairns are nay just lassies.

” Joslyn lifted a toy knight from the windowsill where a row of wooden horses with pull cords and wheels and an intricately crafted castle sat untouched, yet cared for.

“Those warriors were once laddies, and what example did they have? How would they have survived if nay by learning their sires’ games of power or being burned in their fires?

The wheel turns round and round unless someone knocks a spoke out. ”

Peigi looked at the book in hand. Opened the unmarked cover and again that strange pang yanked upon her heart. She sat on the floor, crisscrossing her legs and toeing off her slippers.

“What was he like?”

Joslyn quieted and replaced the figurine. “Who?”

Peigi held up the book. A children’s reader. On the inside cover was a rudimentary picture scrawled in charcoal of a horse and a tree. Had it been the boy who’d drawn it? “The lad who once lived in Sir Alexander’s chamber?”

She didn’t miss Joslyn’s gasp.

“We nay like to talk about that time, mi lady. Considering it was yers and Sir MacGregor’s faithers who wrought it upon us, we might wish to let that sleeping dragon lie.”

“I’m sorry to offend.” Peigi slipped the book back on the shelf, not meeting Joslyn’s eye. How could she tell these people that she hated what her sire had done? “I met him once—” She bit her lip.

Joslyn frowned. “Who?”

“The Comyn lad.”

“

When

?”

“Long ago when my sire died. I was only nine.”

Joslyn stilled.

“I was worried for him.” Peigi laughed wryly, for it had been childish to think her wee blessing would have protected him. “I made him a Samhain blessing.”

“A blessing?” Joslyn inhaled.

“I’m sure it was silly, for I was wee, but my mither always said I had the gift of Sight, even if it wasna cultivated, and so when I felt the urge to make a blessing, I did so.”

“This blessing ye made?”

“A bairn’s whimsy—”

“Nay, what was it?”

Joslyn was wide-eyed and serious.

“Hawthorn. And clover. And a forget-me-not because I wanted him to always remember that there was

one

Grant who knew the truth. I-I kissed him, though I think I stunned him more than anything.” She shook her head. “Then I left the window open so he might escape.”

“Why’d ye help him, when all believed he murdered yer sire?”

“Because I was witness to the crime. The lad didna do it. But naybody would listen to me.”

God, she remembered those horrible arguments in the great hall of Urquhart, when her brother had argued with their mither, who’d begged him to show these folk mercy. Now, it seemed as if mayhap he

had

argued for that leniency. Mayhap he hadn’t been averse to listening so much as he’d been overwhelmed with decisions and pressure while amid a haze of grief.

“Has my brother been, eh, good to ye, these past years?”

Then Joslyn smiled and her eyes watered.

“What?” Peigi’s gaze narrowed.

“He was a sweet lad before that day. Mischievous,” Joslyn outpoured, as if a floodgate of trust had opened. Then she, too, sat down on the rug with a

humph

and grasped Peigi’s hands like a fond friend.

“Always a laugh on his lips as he ran these halls with my son, Aulay. Like brothers they were.” They giggled together.

“And my God, he could play a tune. His mither taught him but the natural inclination was there to be fostered, and his sire indulged him with instruments and adventures.”

The affection in Joslyn’s voice spread over Peigi, even if the feeling of coincidence continued to niggle as Joslyn regaled her.

“And he was thoughtful. Always so proud of his sire, who wasna nobility, mind.”

“No?”

Joslyn shook her head, then chuckled. “He was a miller’s son.”

“Truly!”

“Indeed. He labored in the fields, reaping corn, and managed the granary, all by himself from the age of twelve, for when

his

sire died, he had to provide for his mither and two sisters. He earned his knighthood, and this land, as a gift for his valiant service to the King, thus becoming a laird, and was even styled a

baron

.”

Mon Dieu…the manuscript she’d just read.

“His people prospered. His villages grew as his wife’s kin moved close. He had come from meager means and worked hard alongside his folk, for he saw no shame in it.”

It was what Peigi valued, too. Working alongside her people. Supporting one another.

“They’d tried for many years to sow a bairn. And one day, when the laird had achieved one and fifty years, his wife eight and forty, they bore a son. A miracle. A blessing. So when he was finally born, they rejoiced in each thing he said or did.”

I was the blessing they’d always prayed for…

“How do ye ken all of this about the Laird Comyn and his family?”

Joslyn’s hands tightened on her as her gaze bounced back and forth between Peigi’s. “Because he was my brother. And the young laddie, my nephew.”

What? Then if her hunch about Alex’s true identity was correct, that would make Aulay and Francine his…cousins.

“What is his true name?” she whispered. And no clarification seemed needed, for Joslyn smiled warmly, her eyes glistening. “I must ken, I’ve worried for him so these years, wondering if he survived—”

“Caleb,” Joslyn breathed.

Letter C.

“That lullaby ye sang tonight, mi lady. ’Twas beautiful. However did ye learn it?”

“This book.” She reached up to the lectern and brought it down.

Joslyn’s eyes widened. “Brought home on one of my brother’s outings when I was a child.

He knew I loved to play, and the song was so bonny.

Alexander told me this summer that his mither had sung it to him, that it was what had drawn him to me. ”

“I imagine it’s the moment he fell in love with ye, sweet lass,” Joslyn whispered, and ran a reverent palm over it.