“Yield,” Alex demanded. Brice tapped his hand on the ground. Alex removed his weight immediately. Brice stood, bent forward slightly from the pain that still radiated through his middle.
“Weak, huh? You tricked me,” Brice accused with a grin before leaning forward to dry heave at his feet.
Alex wiped the sweat from his brow, more shocked than anyone that he’d defeated his brother not once, but thrice. It stunned him that Brice only knocked him down once, and not during their first round. He perceived the men staring at them, bewildered by Alex’s unexpected return. They no longer attempted to be polite. He turned when his childhood friend, Adam, stepped forward.
“Aboot bluidy time. Your brother is bossier than a ten-year-auld lass,” Adam teased as he smirked at Brice. “And he knows half as much.”
Alex stared at Adam for a moment, surprised but appreciative that his friend welcomed him back to the training ground and eased his self-consciousness.
“I thought to let him play pretend for a while. He’s always wanted to grow up to be me,” Alex replied. He looked back at Brice, who grinned.
“Aye, but thank God I’m better looking.” Brice could have bitten his tongue off, having forgotten about Alex’s scar and how his face was now striking, but not because of his good looks.
“You are mighty bonnie,” Alex jested, choosing to ignore the tightening in his chest. He was aware he’d once been handsome, but it wasn’t the loss of his handsome appearance that made him uncomfortable. It was the stares and whispers about his face that made him uneasy. Brice opened his mouth, then closed it again, regretting his mocking comment. “Don’t worry, little brother. One day you’ll get the face of a mon. You might even grow some whiskers.”
Alex ran his hand over his jaw. He’d grown out his beard to hide half his scar, but Brice had never grown facial hair as quickly or fully as Alex. He wrapped his arm around Brice’s shoulders and pulled his brother to his side.
“Shall we discover if cook has any tarts to go along with your milk and honey?” Alex teased.
“Shall I help you up the steps, auld mon?” Brice replied, his grin back in place. They left the lists, Alex’s hand resting on the back of Brice’s shoulder. When they were out of earshot, Brice said, “That was thoughtless. I’m sorry aboot my comment.”
“Bah. I’m grateful you convinced me to go in. That’s the first time I’ve enjoyed myself since before we rode out. Thank you.” Alex’s appreciation was heartfelt, and they could both hear it in his voice. They made their way inside, truly intending to stop in the kitchens to see if they could filch any tarts like they had since they were children, when they spotted their mother hurrying toward them.
“Alex?” Lady Coira Armstrong rushed forward, looking over Alex’s dirty face and disheveled clothes. “What happened? You didn’t try to train, did you?”
Alex stiffened at his mother’s question. He understood her worry, but it rankled to hear her speak to him as though he were a child or the incapable man he’d felt like for months. The excitement and accomplishment he’d felt only minutes ago withered.
“What aboot me, Mother? I look worse than him,” Brice intervened, pretending to be petulant. “He knocked me over almost every time. He’s claimed he’s weak. He tricked me, Mother. It’s not fair.” Brice grinned, looking back and forth between his parent and his sibling, hoping his humor eased Coira’s concern. It was as though she didn’t hear him speak.
“Alex, what were you thinking?” Coira reached for Alex’s cheek. He didn’t pull away as she cupped it, but he flinched. “Are you hurt?” she demanded.
“No, Mother. But neither do I need any more coddling. I’m glad I sparred with Brice. It’s the most I’ve felt like my auld self in months.”
“But—” Coira tried to argue.
“Mother, Alex was incredible,” Brice interrupted. He cast his eyes at Alex, locking gazes with him. “To be honest, it worried me. I feared humiliating him and regretted asking him to come in. But I’m serious, Mother. Either he’s been telling half-truths aboot his strength, or he really didn’t realize that he’s as strong as he ever was. I didn’t give in. He knocked me down because he was better and stronger.”
Tavin joined them as Brice spoke. He observed his older son before turning his attention to Brice. “Were you arrogant, assuming you could beat Alex?”
“No. I mean, no more than any mon is when he taunts his opponent.” Brice shook his head and smiled at Tavin. “Father, he beat me because I underestimated him, and he was better. I think I know my brother better than just aboot anyone else, but I didn’t know he could do that.”
“Alex?” Coira asked, worry still lacing her voice.
Alex shrugged, wincing as he forgot the unavoidable pain that shot through his arm with the gesture. While they stood talking, stiffness and soreness settled in. He regretted being so forceful, assuming he was fitter than he was. His sparring at the riverside built his confidence, but now he wanted nothing more than to retire to his chamber where he could vomit from the pain in private.
“Alex,” Coira cried as she stepped forward. “No. I won’t stand for it.”
“Coira,” Tavin shook his head. He watched Alex intently, understanding the young man both appreciated and was annoyed by his mother’s clinging. He shared his wife’s fears but never expressed them freely like Coira. But he admired Alex’s decision to return to the lists. He’d feared his son might never recognize his value again. He’d gone up to his chamber to peer through the window. It had a view out to the lists, and he’d watched Alex. It surprised him at how strong and agile Alex remained. He could only imagine the full force his son once possessed. He doubted anyone realized how strong Alex must have been before his injuries.
“Tavin, no,” Coira argued. “I—”
“Mother, I got dirty. I’ll have some bruises and may find some scratches. But I got worse when I was a wean playing in the bailey. I’m fine,” Alex stated. He’d tried to gentle his words at first, but by the end they were more forceful than he intended. His mother pulled away, but he caught her hand and kissed the back of it. He whispered, “Thank you for worrying, Mama.”
Coira nodded, mollified. She shifted her gaze to Brice and smiled. “Was your brother horrid to you?” It was the same question she’d asked time and again when Brice cried as a child because Alex was bigger and faster, leaving Brice behind.
“Positively wretched,” Brice chortled.
“Perhaps baths for both of you are in order. You’re not very—fresh,” Coira said as her nose wrinkled. They all recognized she exaggerated, but they all understood steaming baths were one of the few things that eased Alex’s constant pain.
