Surrounded by two dozen fellow Brechins, Kerry stared at the plaque at the foot of The Blacksmith of Brechin. Rain poured down the statue’s face and made a water spout of the end of his nose—Kerry’s nose. For the name on the plaque was, indeed, Kerry Moffat Mather. Died for Brechin and Scotland at The Battle of Culloden Moor. April 16, 1746.

“But why?” He looked at the man beside him. “Why honor a man who failed? Why not his father, who fought and lived?”

The man slapped him on the back. “Listen to ‘im, men. Ye’d think the man kenned nothing about Scotland, aye?” The others laughed. “Our blacksmith joined the fight. Not all joined. Our blacksmith fought the English. Some Scots fought with the bastards. This man went into battle, with neither sword nor bayonet, but with the pan and hammer his forefathers fought with. To honor them.” He looked at the crowd around them. “He honored us.” He grinned. “For every man here has a drop or two of Mather in ‘im, aye?”

“Aye!” The others shouted as one.

A bloke in a tattered red sweater turned to face his friends. “Seems as though a Mather will be buying the drinks this night!”

Kerry’s stomach fell. It was quite like going into battle without a sword in hand—returning to the bar with a company of thirsty, vindicated men…with not a penny in his sporran.

~ ~ ~

Kerry’s heart was both lightened and heavy when he found Jordan waiting for him.

“You look happy,” she said.

“I am.”

“Everyone looks happy.”

He glanced at his grinning fellows spreading through the room seeking their own women. “Auch, aye. They are.”

“I don’t get it. Were you right about the name?”

He shook his head, but couldn’t stop grinning. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders that might have been keeping him earthbound for centuries. But when he remembered his current plight, he sobered. “In every conflict, there must needs be a loser, aye?”

“And you lost. So…”

“Losing is not quite the same as failing, it seems.” His grin came back, for it wasn’t the statue he was speaking about.

“Uh oh. What did you lose?”

There was no pleasant way to say it. “It seems I will need some coin after all. To buy drinks…” He gestured to the bar at large. “As it happens, it is the custom when losing an argument with Scots.”

“And you have no money because you didn’t want me to pay you.”

“Regrettably, aye.”

“So now you want to be all professional about it.”

He winced, for all afternoon he’d been wishing he’d have taken that tack since the first. “Professional, aye. I’m fairly mortified to admit it.”

She suddenly grinned, and in her smile, he had his answer. She would save his pride. “It’s totally worth it.” She poked her fingers into her bag and pulled out her credit card, then slid it slyly across the table to him. “I ordered you a hamburger—but I’m happy to add a side of crow.”

~ ~ ~

It wasn’t the best hamburger Jordan had ever eaten, but it was pretty good. Kerry’s had to have been made with a little sprinkle of fairy dust or something, judging by the way he was enjoying his.

And every woman in the place enjoyed him enjoying it.

Thankfully, all the ecstatic moaning and groaning was interrupted by the bartender announcing the competition was about to begin in the next room.

Kerry’s eyes widened. “What is this competition in which ye’ve enlisted me?”

“Foot pool,” the bartender answered for her. “Everyone who’s signed up, please move into the lounge for the first match!”

“Foot pool? What the devil is that?” He shook his head and pushed his plate away like he was accusing her of making him lose his appetite, with half a hamburger to go. “I’ve never sported much, Jordan. I beg ye, go and remove my name from yon list.”

She snorted. “Yon list? I don’t think so. Remember our bet? I’d give you a boon if you didn’t have a good time? So, if you don’t do what I had planned, I’m not responsible if you don’t have a good time.”

“Ye mean ye’ll rob me of my…boon?”

She was sure he almost said kiss. “I won’t rob you. But you won’t earn it, either, unless you give it the old college try.”

He rolled his eyes, and when his hamburger caught his attention again, he pulled his plate close again. “Doubtless I shall need all my strength, aye?”

“Ye’d best hurry,” the bartender said over his shoulders. “We’re about to explain the rules, aye?”

Kerry tucked the rest of his hamburger into his mouth—how he didn’t choke to death, she couldn’t guess—then he washed it down with the rest of his Tennent’s and gestured for Jordan to go ahead of him. “I assume ye wish to witness my disgrace,” he said, once his mouth was empty enough to speak again.

“Disgrace? Of course not. I expect you to win.”

He looked a little surprised, but then his chest puffed out like he had accepted a challenge. Then he swaggered away like he’d already won the big prize. By the time he took his seat on a small metal chair—which looked like it couldn’t hold his weight—her stomach already hurt from laughing.

It was going to be a painful but excellent night.