Page 72 of Steel & Surrender

Scarred from the forge. Calloused. They were long-fingered and strong. Not dainty and better suited for embroidery and weaving. Among them, she would look like what she was: a blacksmith with soot beneath her nails.

A roar went up then, and she jerked her gaze back to the competition. Davy had won the archery. The other contestants slapped his back, and he grinned, before flashing a cocky smile in the direction of the three ladies.

“Come on, Brì.” Eòghan grabbed her by the arm and hauled her left. “The Clach Neart is next.”

She let him lead her back to the strength contest rings, her belly tightening.

She wasn’t ready to see Greig again.

However, Eòghan now pushed his way to the front, elbowing other lads out of the way so that he and Brìghde got a good view.

Greig took his place amongst the line, although she noted his limp was a little more pronounced now. The physicality of the wrestling had taken its toll. The Clach Neart wouldn’t pit him against his adversaries so brutally though. Instead, the ‘stone of strength’ required him to throw a heavy stone.

As he stood there, stretching his shoulders to loosen the muscles while the first men in the line took their turns, Greig’s gaze traveled across the crowd.

Brìghde’s pulse stuttered when it rested on her.

And then, to her surprise, he smiled.

It wasn’t the first time his smile devastated her, but the way he did so now was as if he’d been waiting all morning to see her.

Of course, she told herself he hadn’t.

For a heartbeat, it was as if the rest of the crowd had fallen away.

Swallowing hard, Brìghde nodded back. She then mouthed, “Good luck.”

His lips quirked once more. Turning away, he picked up the stone he would hurl.

And as Brìghde waited for him to take his turn, her pulse quickened. Hades. Why was she so nervous? Why did it matter so much to her?

Ian, curse him, was also taking part. He took his turn then, throwing his stone the farthest yet. And then, Greig was up.

The crowd waited, breathless, as he drew his arm back and then threw.

The stone struck the earth—level with Ian’s.

Disappointment punched Brìghde in the belly. So close … only one more chance.

The crowd groaned. Ian growled a curse. However, Greig gave little away.

“The Clach Cuid Fir will test them.” A man standing nearby announced. “Let’s see if the chief’s son can manage it … with that leg of his.”

Heat ignited under Brìghde’s ribs. “He will,” she snapped. Her comment drew curious looks from those standing nearby, but she didn’t care. They might doubt Greig, yet she didn’t.

The ‘Manhood Stone Lift’ was what he’d been training for over the past weeks.

These stones were huge, sitting ready in the next ring. A sturdy four-foot wall with a granite top had been built next to them—the contestants all had to lift their stone onto it. Quite a feat.

The men moved next door, each taking their place, followed by the crowd. In this contest, all of them would start at the same time. The first man to raise his stone to the ledge cleanly would take the honor.

Brìghde’s belly tightened. He’d yet to win one of the strength contests. This was his last chance. Come on, Greig. Show them yer mettle.

The clan-chief moved forward then, raising his hand to quiet the crowd and let the contestants know the test was about to begin.

Greig bent his knees, his hands fastening on the stone.

Brìghde, critical as ever, studied his posture. Back straight, knees bent. Perfect, just as they’d practiced.