Page 76 of Steel & Surrender

She couldn’t go home. Her mother would just send her right back out again. And she couldn’t remain here either. She was standing on the threshold, and she had to step over it.

Around her, the crowd heaved. Many lads and lasses were dancing, while other folk sat on upturned buckets, the tree trunks that had been used for the Caber Toss, and barrels, drinking, eating, and laughing.

She spied the clan-chief himself, seated at a trestle table with his wife at the far end, goblets of wine before them. They both looked relaxed, at ease, and Brìghde was pleased. The Macleans of Duart had suffered after losing Alistair, and although the grief still lingered, life moved on. It always did.

Her gaze searched the crowd then. The three high-born lasses she’d spied earlier in the day were dancing, their laughter ringing high into the air. Davy waited a few yards away with a couple of other lads, eyeing them.

Greig observed the dancing as well. He was standing next to the Steward of Ardnacross and his wife. The latter carried a bairn in a sling across her chest. The three of them were deep in conversation, and Brìghde’s curiosity sparked.

Greig looked relaxed as he talked to Ailean Maclean. Clearly, he was a friend.

Nonetheless, she was relieved that Greig was distracted.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t realize she’d joined the revelry.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward, moving through the crowd.

However, her path took her past a group of men. One of them was Nicol, the groom who’d smirked at her earlier in the day.

This time, he and his companions openly gawked at her.

Her skin prickled. She didn’t appreciate their stares.

Recovering from his shock, Nicol glanced over at his friends. “Look at that, lads … the Forge Maiden has dressed herself up.” His lip curled then as he dragged his gaze down the length of her once more. “Don’t know why she bothered. Ye can drape a plow horse in a fine caparison … but it’s still a plow horse.”

Coarse laughter followed this comment, and Brìghde flushed hot.

Bastards.

Not checking her stride, she kept moving.

A short while later, she approached one of the local women who were pouring ale from a barrel. Unlike Nicol and his friends, Lilith didn’t look at her with scorn.

Instead, she flashed her a wide smile. “Good to see ye here, Brìghde. A cup of ale for ye?”

“Aye. Thank ye,” Brìghde replied, awkwardness stealing over her.

Christ. She wished she didn’t feel so self-conscious.

“Ye look fair indeed tonight, lass,” Lilith said, handing her a cup. “Especially without soot all over yer face, for once.”

Managing a laugh, Brìghde took the cup and moved on, rejoining the crowd, and as she threaded her way through it, she was aware that Nicol and his friends weren’t the only men who’d noticed her.

It was a relief to see that many cast her admiring rather than scornful looks.

Nonetheless, she wasn’t sure she enjoyed their appraisal. Aye, her drab clothes and leather apron had been a shield indeed. Over the years, there had been solace in being treated like a man.

Feeling exposed, as if she were walking naked through their midst, she made her way to a spot where she could watch the dancing.

Two lasses her own age greeted her shyly.

Brìghde smiled back. “Lovely eve.”

“That’s a bonnie kirtle,” one of them complimented her.

“I love what ye have done with yer hair,” said the other.

Brìghde’s cheeks grew warm. She didn’t know what to do with their kindness.