Page 117 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

“He cleared it!” one supporter shouted.

“The height is what matters!”

Ceana looked toward the two women beside her. “What did ye see?”

“His heel caught on the stone,” the first woman answered.

The second woman pointed to the scrape left on the stone’s wet surface. “There, me Lady.”

“The jump is invalid,” Ceana announced.

A few men protested until Elspeth stepped forward.

“Correct the wagers,” she ordered. “A favorite doesnae get a wider trench than the others.”

The grumbling ended as the attendants carried the final bundle forward. The daylight had begun to fade, and the flames glowed brighter against the darkening field.

The last contestant cleared the stones, but both feet came down inside the marked strip. He stared at the ground, then stepped away before the judges spoke.

Elspeth raised her staff. “Laird MacKane for the closin’ leap.”

Lennan unfastened Oscar’s plaid and took it away. Oscar approached the starting stone without looking at Ceana. He measured the distance, braced his weight on his right foot, then sprang forward.

His pace was steady until the final drive of his legs lifted him above the trench. The flames shone beneath him, and he landed beyond the marked strip with one foot before the other, his weight balanced as he straightened.

Only then did he look toward Ceana.

She left her chair and inspected both fire stones. Neither bore a fresh mark. The landing strip remained undisturbed. When she returned to the judges, both women gave the same ruling.

She faced the crowd. “The highest clean leap belongs to Laird MacKane.”

The cheers followed Oscar to the judges’ ground. Ceana took the winner’s red wool cord from Elspeth and held it out. Oscar’s fingers brushed hers as he accepted it, the brief contact sending heat across her palm.

“Me thanks, Lady MacKane,” he said.

“Ye earned it, me Laird.”

His eyes remained on her face. “When ye finish yer duty, will ye speak with me?”

Ceana considered the request for a moment. “After I hand out the rest of the prizes.”

Oscar stepped away and waited beyond the judges’ ground.

Ceana awarded each remaining cord and confirmed the corrected wagers.

Lennan placed Oscar’s plaid on the low wall before withdrawing to the wager table.

Oscar stood, his hands hanging at his sides. He did not move as Ceana crossed the wet grass toward him. She stopped beside the low wall, beyond his reach.

The drums continued near the fire trench, and voices rose as the wager boy counted out winnings.

Oscar rested one hand on the wall. “How have ye been, Ceana?”

Her fingers tightened around her dress. A month had passed since he had spoken her name, and the quiet familiarity of it hit deeper than she had ever thought it would.

“I have been well enough. The sickness is improvin’.”

His gaze moved over her face. “And the bairn?”