Page 57 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)
“The late king granted it to me,” Bale said.
“ Before
yer sire was killed?” She arched a brow.
He shrugged carelessly, but remained silent this time, his jaw tightening.
“Curious, when yer lands had been stripped from yer sire many years ago,” Seamus said.
Bale watched him.
“It so seems the law libraries at Court have records of when ye were awarded the lairdship,” Seamus said. “It was nay until a month after
their murder. And yet, ye seemed to already ken ye were being bestowed the title mere days after their death, when ye signed yer name on our flyer calling for the outlaw’s surrender.”
Laird
Bale MacGregor. Peigi stabbed it with her fingernail.
“How could ye have kenned ye’d be a laird, if ye’d no’ been awarded the lairdship yet? Where did ye get such a distinctive ring, Laird MacGregor?” Peigi asked, sensing him backing into a corner. She’d not flinch like she had as a lassie. She’d strike
. Ye need nay always hide in the shadows
, Caleb whispered in her mind.
“’Twas my sire’s—”
“I saw it. I saw ye
. I saw what ye did to my
sire and yers
—the man stripped of lands ye would have inherited had he nay been a traitor
.”
Bale’s composure snapped. “My sire, a heretic and a traitor, saw me stripped of my
inheritance, and the king saw the value in me wanting it back. And I have worn his ring since I peeled it off his finger, as he lay dying in that
field yonder, as a reminder of all the shame he made me suffer!”
“So ye dispensed of him for the king and saw yer lands returned. And what of Kendrew inheriting an estate in Speyside?” Peigi continued.
Kendrew spoke up now. “There’s no proof of which estate my brother speaks.”
“There’s only one estate in Speyside,” Seamus said, gesturing around them. “And ye’ve spent a lifetime pinning the rightful heir of Freuchie as a murderer.”
Seamus flicked his finger at Donegal, flanked by more guardsmen, to come forth and collect the MacGregor brothers.
Bale grinned. “Take me away, if ye will. Arran will have me freed in no time. But it seems ye’re yer own worst enemy, Seamus, because there’s one small problem: ye have nothing but a contract that says the last man standing in yer bride tourney gets the prize.
And that prize goes to Kendrew, nay me. Ye’d punish a man who canna be pinned as guilty?
” Seamus froze. “And unless ye want me complaining to the Crown of lies and foul play, I suggest ye honor that.”
“I said the winner of the melee would win,” Seamus said.
“My opponent is currently dying,” Kendrew drawled, and he sauntered from the solar. Peigi’s lungs seized. This couldn’t be happening.
She chased him down the stairs into the hall, her brother and the others pursuing.
Staff and visitors were congregated there, waiting for news of a death above stairs.
Somberness clung to the rafters, faces perking up at their arrival and eyes widening at Peigi’s clothing so disheveled and caked with blood.
“Ye wished to silence me!” she called at his back. “Marriage would be the perfect way, aye? Because ye and Bale kenned that a wife must be silent when faced with incriminating her husband.”
Matins tolled distantly. She shivered. Soul Mass was over. Oh God, had Caleb departed? Had she just felt his soul pass through the veil? A tear leaked down her face. “Ye never wanted me—”
“My reasons matter nay!” MacGregor boomed, whirling back toward her. “Every man entered this tournament with desire for these bonny lands and castle!” The truth stung. Because even her charming warrior had done so. “And I shall fight this all the way to the Earl of Arran himself if I must! I will…”
“Nay if I have a say in it,” a hoarse voice croaked.
Gasps and whispering surrounded them as a shift in attention disrupted MacGregor’s rant. Peigi whirled around. Hands crept to her mouth, her hair fraying around her face.
“Caleb,” she breathed, as a body leaned with great favor against the wall, tunic matching her clothing, caked in dark, dried blood.
“Welcome back from Hell, Reaper,” Laird MacLeod said on a smirk, tossing him his war scythe. Caleb managed to catch it, even if he grunted and winced and let it thud to the floor limply. “Good at cheating death, ye are.”
“Hell didna want me.” He shrugged, his jest wan, but MacLeod chuckled all the same.
“How?” she whispered through her fingers. Is he a ghost?
He forced a smile, then waggled his brows at her, despite looking like death. She lifted her skirts and ran, colliding with him. He doubled over as she crashed into him, as she collapsed at his feet and grasped his face, planting kisses around it. “’Tis a miracle.”
His nose burrowed into her. “ Finally
,” he wheezed.
She pulled back and riveted her brow. “Finally what?”
He grinned, despite his obvious pain. “My waggle worked on ye.”
She’d thought her well of tears had run dry, yet they bubbled anew.
“I nay understand.” She wrapped him more carefully in her hold, feeling his heartbeat at her ear. Still thumping. Nay a ghost.
“Seems Kendrew is as shite at stabbing a man in the back as he is at convincing ye to marry him,” he rasped. “Bale must
be the one who murdered them, considering Kendrew’s aim, missing everything vital.”
She gazed up at his emerald eyes as he hitched up his grin. But there was something soft in his gaze. Innocent, just for her as he croaked, “Seamus, I have a few requests before the melee.”
“Ye canna possibly compete!” she gasped. “Caleb, it’s certain death!”
“I’d rather die than live without ye.” He brushed his thumb through her tears, silencing her.
MacGregor flexed his fingers to crack his knuckles.
Seamus held up a silencing hand. “Speak, man.”
“If I lose…” Caleb turned to Seamus. “I ask that ye protect Peigi’s babe. Kendrew wishes it harm.”
Seamus’s eyes flashed to Kendrew, so stony. He nodded once. “And?”
“And that ye let my people bury my sire’s skull with his body. That Mistress Joslyn be allowed to ken her brother finally lies at peace.”
Seamus’s face blanked. Jaw ticked. “And if ye win?”
“Ye keep the castle,” Caleb croaked. “I love my songbird more than I love any memory of the past. The only prize I ask for is her
.”