Page 55 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)

Atrophied in time, the sting burned.

The chaos surrounding Caleb grew foggy. Peigi’s bewildered gaze widened as she glanced behind him. She was screaming again as Jossy and Aileana wrenched her from his hold and hauled her back only for her to run toward him again.

“ Halt

!” bellowed Seamus.

Blood was tangy on Caleb’s tongue. He was certain his nose was broken. His shoulder wound ached. The Grant’s men stopped in their tracks.

MacGregor’s men stopped in their tracks.

Yet he gazed at his beautiful woman. He could feel his life blood trickling down his back as her horrified gaze widened on him. Why couldn’t she have gone inside?

Niall had a bastard by the throat. Tormund? He held one with a fist, a blade to his neck with the other. James, the Devil MacDonald, Lady Aileana’s husband, straddled another on the ground, as if tying a calf.

Caleb didn’t feel his knees give out, but seconds later, he collapsed upon them as Tormund finally perked in his direction, his deadly smirk turning into a furrow of confusion.

Peigi had torn free. She was running to him again

, screaming. Tormund, James, and Seamus were running toward him. His folk, gathered around the fray, were wailing. The guests of the castle, huddled in the courtyard, gasped and covered their eyes, as he fell forward and managed to roll onto his back.

Ah, relief. To lie still. So weak. His back stung as he lay flattened on the ground. He could sense a presence over him. Could hear the roar around him. Looked up as a blade was raised. Couldn’t feel his fingertips, so cold.

Stared into Kendrew’s eyes as the man began to thrust downward, straight for his heart, when rosewater warmth threw herself atop him. Enshrouded him. A barrier between them.

“Songbird, no,” he garbled, throwing his limp arm around her neck and head with the last of his exertion, feeling blood pump harder from his back as his muscles tensed.

Yet her grip around him only tightened as she cried, a lass who should never have known so much loss, “Make him stop, Seamus! I love him!”

The knife did not come and he felt adrift in a silent sea.

“The worst sort of danger, my songbird is…” he jested in her ear, for he didn’t hurt anymore, her body folded around him in a plume of velvets. His posy to her lay crushed nearby, trampled as his head lolled, haloed in…light. Torchlight? Or the veil thinned, beckoning him to the sidh?

She only sobbed and clenched her death grip as if to keep him in the mortal realm.

Sweet lass. Didn’t she ken there was no stopping the fickle fae determined to pull a soul through the veil?

A smile quirked up his mouth as he reached toward the posy with waning ability. “Spinning olden magic with her blessings. I always kenned ye’d be able to bring me to my knees.”

He grappled for the posy. Bringing it back to her. Felt her fingers enclose upon it like a lifeline as the wind swirled and bent the torchlight. That energy, it zapped and whirled though him at the blessing completing them.

“I’m afraid I have to leave ye again after all,” he whispered in her ear.

His eyes were closed. So tired. Her body racked with tears upon him. She clenched him harder, nails biting into his skin.

“But before, I left ye with nothing. This time…” Somehow his arm had slipped free and his palm was aside her belly, squeezing, bitter he would never see such seed grow to fruition. “I leave ye with the best part of me.”

“Stop,” she breathed. “Ye’re nay leaving me…ye’re nay

, ye’re nay…”

Aye, he was. He couldn’t open his eyes anymore.

“I was always meant to find ye. I’ve loved ye thrice. For four and ten years, I never kissed another. Sing—” He couldn’t find his voice. “Sing me a song, woman,” he croaked. “Please.”

Her voice shook as she cried.

“Blessings made on Samhain nights before the midnight bell…

The posy burned in his fingers as he listened to the song of fates playing games with people’s destinies, even though most people didn’t believe anymore. He basked in her anguished words, her fingers that had taken to caressing his hair, tingling shooting over his scalp.

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

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

Ah, so that’s what the song meant

, he realized with waning clarity as his arm flopped to the earth and darkness veiled his mind. It was

Souling Night. The final night of Allhallowtide.

He’d always been meant to find her. To join with her.

To oust the truth buried in the past, and unite their divided families through his blood.

Her blessing had done just that, keeping him in this world long enough to help her discover MacGregor’s injustices. He’d just never been meant to stay.

Even the Devil’s Reaper had an hourglass that ran out of sand.