Page 15 of Steel & Surrender

He moved around to Tàirneanach’s nearside and prepared to mount—not an easy feat without a mounting block. Meanwhile, the smith disappeared back into her forge almost at once, the ringing of her hammer beginning again moments later.

Dismissed already.

Greig’s lips pursed.

Aye, he’d told himself he would honor his promise to Alistair, but wooing the Forge Maiden would be taking things too far.

His brother’s ghost would just need to forgive him for it.

5: NO WOMAN ESCAPES HER DUTY

BRÌGHDE PICKED UP the small blade she’d been forging and, with her tongs, shoved it into the fire.

Sour bastard.

She’d almost had a turn earlier when she’d looked up to find a tall, dark-haired man standing in her doorway. And aye, for a heartbeat, she’d thought it was Alistair Maclean. Her pulse had spiked before she checked herself.

The man was dead.

The warrior standing before her wasn’t Alistair.

It wasn’t Davy Maclean either.

This man was older, broader of shoulder, with a face set in a permanent scowl. And of course, when she marked the carven stick he held in his right hand, it gave him away.

Greig Maclean didn’t usually darken her door, and after a short while in his company, she hoped he never would do so again. He had the manners of a boar, and she didn’t like the way he’d looked at her.

As if weighing her—and finding her wanting.

She couldn’t help it; her hackles had risen. Even so, she’d tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. She’d been polite, had enquired after his mother.

Some warriors at Duart mocked her moniker. ‘The Forge Maiden’ wasn’t always spoken kindly. Some were threatened by a woman like her, who stepped beyond the usual role expected of her. It didn’t matter that she had learned her trade honestly, that the things she produced were as good quality as her father’s had ever been.

She disrupted the order of things, and some men found that disconcerting.

Greig was clearly one of those.

But bringing up Alistair had been a mistake. She kicked herself for it.

The three brothers had always looked so similar. Striking, masculine men. She hadn’t meant anything by her comment and certainly hadn’t wanted to overstep. However, her belly had dropped when she witnessed the banked anger in those dark eyes, the flex of muscle under the short beard that covered his jaw.

Greig Maclean hadn’t paid her a visit to talk about his brother. He just wanted a job done.

His response had been cutting. Aye, he’d put Brìghde in her place.

Yanking the glowing blade from the fire, she grabbed her hammer and started to work. Heat washed over her with each blow. It had been an unguarded moment, and he had punished her for it.

One day, this bitter man would sit in the clan-chief’s chair. She wondered then what sort of laird he’d make.

His father, Loch, had surprised them all. The young hothead who’d returned from fighting with the Bruce to find his father had recently passed away had stepped into the role and shown them all that he was as just and strong as his father had been, perhaps even stronger. He was a man lightly crossed, but he was never needlessly cruel.

In the years to come, would the people of Duart say the same about Greig?

A thistle, a tower, or a stag … what shall I carve?

Brìghde inspected the iron ring she’d just shaped, satisfaction warming her chest. She’d forged it from a single length of iron rod, hammering one end broad and flat upon the anvil before curving the remaining metal into a thick band. The join still needed smoothing, and the round bezel would require filing before she could engrave it properly, yet the shape pleased her nonetheless.

It would be a man’s ring, easier to make than something more delicate and feminine. A good choice for her first piece of jewelry. She’d have preferred to make it from bronze or silver—for iron rusted easily and was harder to decorate—yet she couldn’t spare the coin. However, if this ring turned out well, she’d see about ordering silver specially for her next project.