Starlight by Carrie Lofty Page A

wedding day. Josiah Todd had deserved his head cut from his body, but a crack across his mocking mouth had made the point:Mamie was Alex’s wife, and Josiah would have nothing more to do with her.
    Bloody hell, it still felt good. Just cutting loose.
    He’d seen Les trip the fast boy, just as he’d clearly seen a dozen other bad calls. None of it mattered. He only knew that supporting Les, Hamish, and the men in blue-and-white stripes was the right thing to do. They were his teammates.
    And after a rough hour of intense physical exertion, all the while losing in front of Polly Gowan, he was in the mood to bloody a few noses.
    He hauled a skinny man off Hamish, then spun him away. He’d barely time to offer Les a hand up when he was jumped from behind. One minute standing . . . the next minute knee-deep in the mud. Slippery grass slid beneath Alex’s palms. A fist connected with the back of his skull. The blows kept coming. He grabbed his attacker’s hand, using the leverage of his low position to hurl him to the ground.
    Alex used the moment’s distraction to jump to his feet. He spun into the crack of another punch—this one to his cheekbone. That blaze of hot, red fire freed him from any further niceties. He twisted and dodged, facing his opponent behind raised fists. Two quick jabs came to nothing, but he landed a third against the man’s kidney. The punch Alex took to the gut barely registered, so fast and hard did his blood beat. His uppercut snapped back the other player’s head and sent him staggering.
    Alex rode high on the rush and flow of the fight. The whistle blew again and again. People at the edge of the playing field barged forward. Men wererestrained. Alex turned at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, only to find Hamish standing there.
    “Enough for now, Christie, unless we want to spend the night locked up.”
    “Until the next time then.” Alex certainly couldn’t afford to be caught by the authorities.
    Les, too, arrived to offer his thanks. “Wouldn’t have thought a man like you had it in you, friend.”
    Alex spat blood and wiped his lips. “Maybe I like surprising people.”
    “Now if only you could learn to dribble and pass,” Les said with a laugh.
    They turned to walk off the pitch, but another Scotsman wearing blue and white stopped Alex with a hushed call. “Mr. Christie, a moment?”
    “Yes, what is it?”
    “I’m Walt Nells, sir. My wife, Connie, works your looms.”
    “I know Constance, yes. What can I do for you? Other than give you better cover next time.”
    Walt smiled, but the reaction was fleeting. “Sir, there’s something you should know about what happened at the mill.”
    “Oh?”
    “I didn’t want to share it with Polly Gowan because I know her. She’d go off half-cocked.” He glanced toward where Polly waited with the other women. “I work at Gallagher’s Shipyard. Different men frequent those pubs down by the docks—with different information than she’d be able to find here in Calton.”
    “What sort of information?”
    “Just what you’d need to know to solve yourmystery. Please don’t make me say much more, Mr. Christie. It’s a tricky spot. I don’t want to be labeled a snitch, but neither do I want my wife to lose her job. Our family needs the money.”
    “How many children do you have?” Alex found himself unaccountably curious. With every passing hour, they were becoming people. Names first. Then grins and the sounds of voices and the quiet details of their lives. He might regret that closeness if hard decisions came down the line, but he hadn’t changed so much as to become completely insensitive.
    “Two, sir. Girls too little to work the factory.”
    Young, then. Under five or so. Walt looked barely old enough to shave, despite his burly frame. “Just a pub and a name, Nells. Can you give me that?”
    “Jack Findley at Old Peter’s on the Clyde.”
    “I won’t forget this. Thank you.”
    “Just . . . keep Polly safe. We