Page 21 of Steel & Surrender

He’d grossly overstepped.

Snarling, she bit down hard on his lower lip.

With a shout, he reeled back, releasing her. Blood streamed down his chin, anger glinting in his blue eyes. “Ye shouldn’t have done that, Brìghde,” he growled.

“Aye, she should have.”

A hard voice intruded then, making them both jerk their gazes south.

Brìghde staggered back a step, breath coming fast, the metallic taste of blood still on her lips.

Greig Maclean approached upon his roan courser, his strong-featured face creased into a scowl. He didn’t look away from Ian. Not even when the man moved away from her. “When a woman says no, ye should take her at her word.”

Ian’s lean frame stiffened, the fury dousing in his eyes. “MacLean,” he said roughly, “I—”

“Ye have been warned,” Greig cut him off, drawing his horse up before them, his gaze sweeping from Ian to Brìghde and then back again to the farmer. “Run,” Greig said softly. “And don’t stop until ye’re well clear of her.”

A muscle in Ian’s jaw flexed, defiance rippling over his face. However, in answer, Greig’s hand strayed to the hilt of his dirk. “Do I need to repeat myself?” His voice lowered dangerously.

“No,” Ian ground out, and then, cutting Brìghde a simmering look that promised this wasn’t the last of it, he moved on, breaking into a slow jog.

Brìghde watched him go, tension slowly unknotting in her belly. Her hands trembled, though she clenched them into fists at her sides.

She couldn’t believe Ian had just grabbed her—that he’d forced his kiss upon her.

Aye, he’d made a bit of a nuisance of himself, increasingly so of late, but she’d always thought he respected her.

Today’s behavior showed he didn’t.

She’d been on her way back from buying lengths of iron from a merchant in Craignure, walking alongside her pony, when Ian jogged up behind her. He’d been running an errand at the port village too and had spied her leaving.

They’d traveled together for a spell. However, halfway home, he’d seized his chance.

She wasn’t sure how things might have played out if the clan-chief’s son hadn’t approached.

Fire pulsed in her belly then.

One thing was for certain. If rape had been on Ian’s mind, he wouldn’t have found her an easy victim.

“Thank ye,” she said, turning her attention to Greig. He was watching her, his expression inscrutable. “Ye have good timing indeed.”

“Ye looked as if ye were handling him well enough,” he replied with a shrug. His tone was gruff rather than warm, as if uncertain what else to say to her. “But I thought it best to intervene, all the same.”

“Ye did well,” she answered. “Things were likely to have gotten ugly.”

He nodded, his lips pursing. His father did that too, when he was displeased. She’d seen the clan-chief make the same face when dealing with a thief recently.

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “I’ll make sure ye get back to Duart safely.”

They continued up the track, she leading Sradag, her family’s faithful garron, while he walked sedately alongside upon his horse. They traveled in silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath their feet and the occasional snort of his horse.

The quiet between them felt awkward rather than companionable, both of them seemingly unsure how to speak after what had just happened.

“No more thrown shoes?” she asked finally, glancing up at him. The question came out a touch stilted, but she forced herself to make conversation all the same.

“No,” he said. “Although I’ve been pushing him hard of late.” He patted Tàirneanach’s neck. “We’ve a long ride planned.”

Her gaze lingered on him. “Yer hair is damp. Have ye been swimming?”