Page 75 of Steel & Surrender

Her mother held it up, unraveling it before her. It was a splendid blue-grey kirtle made of wool and trimmed with gold ribbon.

Brìghde’s breath caught. “Ma,” she whispered. “Where did ye get that?”

Her mother’s lips curved. “I made it with my own hands. I’ve been working on it for a while … for when ye were ready to be seen.”

Brìghde’s brow furrowed. “When exactly?”

Ada’s smile widened. “Ye spend most of the day ensconced in that forge, lass, unaware that I’ve been sewing diligently every afternoon … making a fine kirtle for my daughter.”

Brìghde stared back at her, momentarily struck speechless. Her throat tightened then. Never had her mother made such a gesture. Despite everything, longing rose in her chest. What would it be like to wear such a beautiful dress, to have admiring eyes upon her? The wool looked soft, too fine for her hands. But surely, she—

She caught herself then, heat igniting in her belly.

“Am I not enough as I am, Ma?” Her voice hardened. “Ye are trying to make me into something I’m not.”

Ada’s eyes snapped wide, taken aback by her daughter’s response. “It’s just a kirtle,” she replied, hurt creeping into her voice. “Other lasses get to wear pretty things … why not ye?”

Brìghde’s throat started to ache. “I’ve already told ye, I’m not like them.”

Her mother’s gaze roamed her face, her features softening. “Och, ye won’t be the Forge Maiden forever, Brìghde. Ye’re a woman too … and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Brìghde was the first to lower her gaze.

This kirtle was symbolic, and they both knew it. If she put it on, she’d be accepting something she didn’t wish to: that control of the forge was slipping through her fingers.

Her brother had been working alongside her for over a year now. His apprenticeship was going well. Eòghan learned faster than she had, and it wouldn’t be long before he was the smiddy of Duart.

“Ye need to look to yer future now,” Ada added softly. “Yer da and I, although we’ve never said anything … we are sorry that ye had to shoulder so much responsibility so fast. It robbed ye of a special time, but …” Her mother paused, her eyes so kind the tightness in Brìghde’s throat formed a lump. “Ye still have time to start again.”

“Ma,” she said huskily. “I don’t know what to say.”

Ada smiled. “No answer is needed. However, know this … wearing a pretty kirtle doesn’t diminish ye.” She then thrust the dress at her. “Go on. Put it on, and I’ll fix yer hair. Ye’re going back out there.”

Brìghde’s heart kicked. “No, Ma, I—”

“Enough of this,” her mother cut in, a stubborn look settling on her features. “I didn’t work until my fingers bled to have ye refuse me.”

Brìghde’s heart bucked.

Her mother was stooping to manipulation now. If Brìghde didn’t attend the revelry of her own volition, she’d shame her into going.

“Come.” Ada thrust the dress out at her once more. “The night has already begun, and ye don’t want to miss out on any more of it.”

Brìghde’s belly churned as she made her way through the village, back to the hilltop. Her mother had been right; the revelry was well underway now. The strains of a Highland pipe echoed through the night, laughter and singing accompanying it. She inhaled the aroma of roasting meat and passed a ring of burning braziers that had been lit around the edge of the revelry.

However, at that point, she slowed and stopped, her nerves getting the better of her.

Smoothing her damp palms on her skirts, she looked down. The kirtle fit perfectly—of course it did. Her mother was a talented seamstress. The gown had bell-shaped sleeves and a low neck, more daring than any of her other kirtles. Underneath it, she wore a plain cream lèine.

She felt strangely exposed, clad like this, suddenly wishing she were back in her forge in her usual drab attire, wearing her leather apron like armor.

Aye, she supposed that’s how she had used it—as a shield against the world.

She wasn’t used to wearing her hair like this either. Her mother had taken it out of its braid and brushed it until it crackled. It now hung straight, flowing over her shoulders and down her back.

What are ye going to do? she chided herself then. Stand here like a half-wit all night?