“Pull!” the guard shouted.
Feet dug in, and bodies leaned as the rope thrummed. Katie clenched her jaw and hauled like a sailor while leaning into thestrain with a small growl. Erica laughed and planted her feet, then pulled as if the line were a prize she was determined to win.
Alex felt the pressure run through his hands and down his arms. He could have taken ground with one shift of his weight. He did not. He made the pull hard enough to keep his pride but soft enough to keep joy.
“Harder!” Bettie shouted, wicked with glee.
“We will lose now,” Katie cried, not at all afraid, only thrilled.
“Hold,” Alex said, steady and low.
He watched Erica brace and adjust. She found a rhythm and held it. When his side began to creep forward, he leaned just enough to slow them, then let a hair of slack slip through his fingers. The rope gave a fraction, and the line across from him took heart and pulled. He lifted his chin at Calum, who gave him a look that said he saw every inch of it.
Ye’re losing on purpose.
Alex returned his gaze to the rope and shifted his weight again. Their side lost ground, and a heel slid, then another. The line came to the mark. With a last shout, the other side dragged his team past it.
The guard slammed the butt of his staff into the ground.
“Call!” he yelled. “Win to the Lady’s line.”
Groans erupted from men who had pretended not to care, and laughter crowded the courtyard. Katie bounced on her toes, while Bettie flung both arms in the air like a victor at a fair.
Erica’s delight came fast and clean. She threw her head back and laughed, unguarded, the sound bigger than she likely knew.
Alex let his hands fall from the rope. The loss sat easily. He looked at Katie first, because she would have noticed. She had, indeed. Her eyes were already sharp with a child’s knowledge, the kind that missed nothing.
“That is enough,” he called, voice back to iron. “Switch sides. Shake out yer hands.”
“Again,” Katie begged, tugging his hand. “Again.”
“Nay,” he said. “Ye all need to eat.”
“Milk and oatcakes,” Katie said. “The nurse promised.”
“Then we have a duty to make her a liar or honest,” he said.
Calum cleared his throat, the smallest sound of caution.
Alex set his stance and checked the line.
A guard to his left spoke above the noise, half in jest and half in pride. “The lady fights like a MacMillan.”
Alex stilled. A laugh died in his chest. Heads turned to Erica and then to him.
The words hung there for a second, simple as a thrown stone. They did not fall away.
Like a MacMillan.
CHAPTER 17
The yard had settledinto an easy hum, and the men drifted off the lines to drink and stretch. A few guards stayed by the posts to finish what they had started. The sun had warmed the grass enough that steam lifted in thin strips where buckets had spilled.
Alex stood near the stump where the rope still lay looped, watching Calum speak to a runner by the east wall. Grandmamma remained seated under the big tree, cane across her lap, eyes on everything and everyone.
Lady Bryden stepped out of the hall with a tray balanced on her hands. The smell of fresh bannocks carried quickly. Alex watched her hover at the door for a few minutes, then, almost like she was summoning her courage, she walked straight across the yard with a calm that seemed to say the space belonged to her as much as to any guard.
“Mind yer feet,” Alex called to a pair of lads racing past her.
