Page 100 of Steel & Surrender

She stopped before the last mound of dirt, where a wooden cross poked out of the ground.

Ian’s grave.

Brìghde halted, stooped, and laid one of her posies down. “I never liked ye much,” she murmured. “And I would never have become yer wife … but still—ye came for me. What ye did was brave … and I will never forget it.”

And she wouldn’t.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. The man she didn’t want had died defending Brìghde and her family, while the man she loved—

Stop it, she cut herself off viciously. Don’t think about him.

No. She would not let her thoughts turn that way.

Straightening up, she moved on, making her way to the heart of the graveyard, where the Macleans of Duart were interred.

There, under the sheltering yews, she knelt and laid her second posy upon Alistair Maclean’s grave.

Rising to her feet, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Warmth bloomed across her chest then. She’d wanted to make this gesture, but now that she stood before Alistair’s grave, she felt a little foolish.

Clearing her throat, she brushed at her skirts. “I had no idea ye liked me … I wish I’d known.” She paused then, heat creeping up her neck now. “Not that it would have made a difference anyway, I suppose.”

Aye, she’d learned the hard way that their ranks were like oil and water—they didn’t mix.

“I don’t know whether Greig has visited ye of late,” she said then, her belly hardening as it did every time she thought of the man, “but ye should know that he completed every item on yer list … including the last one.” She paused there, her throat tightening. “I don’t know if ye truly meant for him to win me … or if he twisted it into something else. It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

She halted then, as a raven perched in the nearby yew croaked. “Rest easy, Alistair,” she said after a heavy pause, stepping back from the grave. “I just wanted to stop by and pay my respects … and to tell ye I’m sorry yer time was cut short.” Her throat grew tight. “A man like ye deserved to live to a great age.”

“He did.”

Brìghde jolted—her gaze cutting left to where a tall man with wavy black hair and a close-cropped dark beard approached.

28: THE BEST ANY OF US CAN HOPE FOR

FOR A HEARTBEAT, she thought it was Greig.

Her stomach dropped.

But no—this was Davy.

Younger, leaner, and sharper featured than his elder brother.

Brìghde’s pulse quickened, and she took a hurried step back. “Sorry,” she muttered, pulling herself together. “I was just leaving.”

Davy inclined his head. “Don’t on my account.”

“Aye, well … I’ve got to get back. There’s still much work to be done.”

He nodded. “I’ve just come from the village. Greig’s there too … helping raise some roofs.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. She’d marked the way Davy’s eyes glinted when he said his brother’s name.

Did he know about her and Greig?

She cleared her throat. “I’m sure the locals will appreciate the help … some of them lost everything.”

Davy nodded, his young face growing stern. “They did.”

“I never thanked ye,” Brìghde said then, the words tumbling out of her. “For arriving when ye did that night … we wouldn’t have lived to see the dawn if it hadn’t been for ye … and Greig. Make sure ye pass on my thanks to him, as well.”