Page 57 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

“Ye must attend our fire festival in three months,” Elspeth said. “We build the fires here, and anyone bold enough may attempt the jump. The Laird judges the highest clean crossing.”

Ceana’s interest was piqued.

“And I record each one,” Elspeth continued when Oscar drew nearer. “Any boot or hem that clips the fire is struck out. The winner is held fortunate through the next season.”

“May I question the Laird’s judgment?” Ceana asked.

“The village will expect ye to.”

“Elspeth encourages disorder whenever she can,” Oscar interjected, a small smile on his face.

Ceana met the widow’s bright gaze. “Then I shall attend.”

A young mother nearby watched Tommy balance along a low stone ledge with his arms spread. “Children grow up before anyone is ready,” she commented. “Ye’ll ken it when ye have another little one runnin’ around yer skirts.”

For an instant, Ceana saw a small child stumble after Tommy, dark hair fluttering in the wind and one hand reaching for Oscar. The image made her chest tighten.

“Tommy and Paisley already seem determined to grow up too quickly,” she said.

Paisley had heard. Her eyes moved from Ceana to Oscar, her earlier interest replaced by a guarded look.

“Will ye teach me which jumps count as clean?” Ceana asked her.

Paisley raised her chin with tentative confidence. “Both feet must clear the flame, and yer clothes cannae touch it either. Elspeth sees everythin’.”

At that moment, Lennan approached with a tenant from the eastern border. The man twisted his cap between calloused hands as he told them that two cattle were missing and that he had seen several riders near the border that morning. According to him, one wore Gilmore colors, though he could not identify their faces.

Oscar’s shoulders tensed. He asked how many riders there were, which way they traveled, where the tracks began, and when the tenant last saw them.

“Send scouts along the border,” he instructed Lennan. “Move the nearest stock inward and warn the other tenants. I willnae have talk of war carried from door to door.”

Ceana stepped closer. “Do ye believe this is connected to the letter?”

“I will ken when me men return. Until then, I willnae give Bryce guilt he hasnae earned.”

As Lennan opened his mouth to respond, a cry cut across the green.

Tommy sat beside the stone ledge, clutching his knee. Ceana and Oscar moved at once. She reached him first and kneeled, though the quick movement pulled sharply at tender muscles. She drew him against her, and his tears dampened her shoulder.

“It stings,” he sobbed.

“Aye, it does.” Ceana moved his hand aside and examined the scrape. Blood beaded on his skin, surrounded by dirt. “Can ye bend yer knee for me?”

He bent his knee, crying harder. Ceana wiped the loose dirt away with her handkerchief and held him close again.

Oscar kneeled beside them and set one hand on Tommy’s back. He looked at his son curled up against Ceana before raising his eyes to her face. His mouth was set in the same tight line from the previous night.

“I want to go home,” Tommy mumbled.

“Then home we shall go. We will make yer favorite honeyed bannocks in the kitchen.”

Paisley crouched beside them. “He will drop the meal.”

“I willnae,” Tommy said, his wet face lifting from Ceana’s shoulder. “Me knee is injured.”

Oscar waited until the boy released her, then lifted him.

“Da, ye must come too.”