Page 63 of Steel & Surrender

He’d been playing a dangerous game.

His father would have him flayed alive for swiving a local village lass or getting her with bairn. It was the kind of irresponsible behavior that his friend Ailean would have embarked on before he met his match with Fiona, the weaver who’d started work at Dounarwyse Castle.

Greig was cleverer than that.

He had self-control.

Or he had thought he had—until today.

Shame prickled his skin. A year earlier, he’d have curled his lip at the thought of laying a hand on this woman. Hadn’t he mocked Alistair about his desire to win the Forge Maiden’s heart?

But today, he’d been ready to swive her on that rock atop Ben More.

To use her.

To treat her as if she was indeed a challenge on Alistair’s list.

Win the Forge Maiden’s heart.

The one thing he’d told himself he wouldn’t do. And he hadn’t. What he’d done instead was take advantage of the lass.

What a worm he was.

Gritting his teeth, he dug his stick into the mountainside.

During the ascent, he’d been focused on one goal—reaching the top, no matter what it cost him. And Brìghde had done well to challenge him to a race. It was what he’d needed to spur himself on.

The descent was another matter.

He’d achieved his goal. But now his muscles were fatigued, weakened, and it was all too easy to lose one’s balance on the sliding scree and loose pebbles.

He tucked his stick under a strap across his back while he and Brìghde slithered over boulders, sliding down the steepest parts, before retrieving it once more to navigate the slopes below them. He fell hard on his backside numerous times, his left thigh throbbing now, weak, only to push himself up again with a snarl and continue his progress.

They descended further, the way growing gradually easier underneath them.

And as they did, the day waned, the sun traveling west and sinking toward the horizon. They’d spent longer than anticipated at the summit. As a result, despite the long days of summer, it would be well after sunset by the time they returned to Duart.

Frustration pulsed under his ribs as he hobbled the last stretch toward where Tàirneanach and Sradag waited.

He glanced down then, at where the silver ring she’d given him glinted on his right hand.

Her gift was so beautiful, but it just made him feel even more ashamed of his behavior.

He and Brìghde hadn’t spoken once during the descent; he could almost taste the tension rippling over her.

His gut clenched.

Shite. He’d broken things between them.

18: NOTHING THAT CAN’T BE MENDED

BRÌGHDE’S FAMILY WERE all still awake and waiting for her when she returned to the bothy.

She’d just stabled Sradag and given the garron an armful of hay before crossing the yard, now shrouded in darkness, to her home. Her heart sank when she ducked under the low lintel to find her mother, father, and brother seated there, the glow of the hearth licking their faces.

Her father’s raw-boned hands were curled around a cup of ale. Her brother was whittling something out of rosewood, a common pastime for him in the evenings, while her mother mended a pair of braies, squinting to see in the firelight.

“Ye shouldn’t work on yer sewing at this hour, Ma,” Brìghde greeted her. “Ye’ll ruin yer eyes.”