“That thins the watch.”
“It is thin already,” Alex pointed out. “I cannae be at the pass and the shore and the peat bank in one night.”
Calum huffed. “Ye try.”
“Aye. And I get letters for it.” Alex rubbed a knuckle across his jaw. “Grandmaither has decided the girls need a tutor who sings. She says numbers go in easier if ye sing them.”
Calum grinned. “She isnae wrong.”
“She is also matchmaking me with every lass within a day’s ride,” Alex said dryly. “I found a basket on me table this morning. Bread, a ribbon, and a note that says ‘Tall, polite, maybe teachspeak.’ What in God’s name is teachspeak?”
Calum laughed. “It means ye need a wife who can argue slowly.”
“I have one who can argue fast,” Alex said. “She is eighty.”
They shared a look that needed no words, and the talk grounded him.
It was the work.
Fences, grain, girls who ran faster than sense, and an old woman who ran everything that mattered. He scanned the ring again, counted stewards, and marked a pair of captains who had drunk too much to be useful if the line buckled. He was ready to move if he needed to, and he hoped he would not need to.
Calum excused himself, and Alex was about to move to the other side of the ring when a hand caught his. Not a challenging grip. A pull, urgent and unwelcome. He turned sharply, feeling heat riseup his neck, irritation first. He had no patience for strangers who forgot where they stood.
He faced a masked lass with a full body and wide hips. She was so close that he saw the thread around her wrist and the set of her mouth. She filled out the curves in her dress, and he could only watch as she dragged him two steps toward the ring before she stopped. Her shoulders were tight, and a shudder ran through her and stilled.
She leaned close enough that he felt the words more than he heard them. “Help me.”
He did not ask why. Something in him settled, not soft, but firm. This was not a muddle from too much ale. This had a line to it that he knew. He shifted so that she stood behind his shoulder.
An old man came up fast, face open in a show of ease that did not reach his eyes. He had the look of someone used to moving other people with a smile.
“That one is mine,” he said. “Ye have me thanks for catching her hand.”
Alex did not move. “She seems to say otherwise.”
The man spread his hands. “Festival rules, friend. Nay harm meant. I’ll take her now.”
Behind Alex, the woman spoke quickly, “I’m nae his. I told him that ye and I are betrothed.”
Alex blinked. “What?”
“Please. Help me. I need to get away from him.”
Alex believed her. Her voice held no wobble. The fear lived in her body, not in her words.
“Aye,” he said, his voice calm, before turning to the man again. “I do believe—” He leaned back a fraction, keeping his eye on the man. “What’s yer name, lass?”
“Erica.”
He straightened. “I do believe Erica and I are betrothed.”
The man’s mouth twisted. “That so?”
“Aye.”
Alex flicked two fingers in a small, dismissive gesture. “So, if ye can move on, that’ll be great.”
Rage flashed clean across the man’s face. He stepped in, too close, and reached for Erica’s arm around Alex’s side. Alex tilted his shoulder and blocked the hand without looking.
