Greylen, Hugh, and Ian joined the team on the left, while Gavin, Duncan, Kevin, and Connell joined the team on the right. Her husband picked up the ball and turned it in his hand.

“A football,” she called. “Cowhide filled with sand. Do you need me tell you how to play?”

“Nay, we’ve watched long enough.”

They obviously had, and it was the best game she’d ever watched. The men were fabulous with the children, lifting them as they came close to the goals and then racing them across. When the children began to tire, they sat with their mothers, and now only Greylen and his men remained. Gwen held up her hand and came on the field.

“Now that it’s just the men”—she smiled wickedly—“let’s change the rules.”

They beamed and waited impatiently for her to continue.

“To stop a play, you can tackle the opposing teammate with the ball,” she explained. “You can also rush the quarterback, the one holding the ball at the beginning of each play.”

Greylen grinned and moved to stand before her. Her hair was filled with the flowers that the children had picked, and she was wearing a deep-blue gown. Judging from his look, her husband approved. “You’ve found good use today,” he said, reaching out to stroke her face.

Gwen smiled, distracted as Greylen touched her. “We have to toss a coin to see who goes first,” she explained once her brain started functioning again.

“I’ve no coin upon me,” Greylen said.

“Nay, you don’t, but I do.” She flicked it in the air and then caught it in her hand. “Call it, husband, heads or tails?”

“Tails,” he drawled. He watched as she flipped the coin on her forearm before taking her hand away.

“Shocking, husband. You win,” she said suggestively.

“Is it?” he asked, raising a brow.

She didn’t answer but reached up and kissed him before she left the field.

It was the most violent game of football she had ever seen. They played for at least an hour, and the more forceful they became, the harder the children cheered. She actually breathed a sigh of relief when they finished, and Greylen walked to her as his men went back to the corral. He was covered in dirt and had scratches on his shoulders and cheek.

“Boys will be boys,” she said, shaking her head as he placed the ball in her hand.

“’Tis no boy who’ll seek your bed later, lady.”

“Ah, more promises, husband. What’s a woman to do?”

He smiled at her taunt. “Begin praying now, love, for mercy.”

“I want no mercy, Greylen.”

“Remember your boast later,” he warned.

Then he turned and followed his men.

Chapter 18