Page 87 of Steel & Surrender

Greig’s heart kicked.

It mattered not anyway. He couldn’t imagine walking away from her now—not after this.

He’d known he cared for Brìghde for a while, even before he’d disgraced himself on the summit of Ben More. He’d just let propriety get in the way of his feelings. But seeing her tonight, dancing with her, talking to her, had sent him over the edge.

There was no denying the truth of it now. He’d fallen hard for this woman. He couldn’t bear to be kept apart from her. And now that he’d taken Brìghde, now that he was buried inside her still, the certainty that she was his grew even stronger.

This wasn’t what he’d thought life would hand him, but then neither had an English blade to the thigh been part of his plans. Nor was Alistair’s death. Sometimes, fate had other plans.

From the moment he and Brìghde Boyd had started spending time together, he’d been losing the battle—but acknowledging just how deeply this woman moved him also made him acknowledge that he now had a very big problem.

Alistair.

He really hoped his brother’s shade wasn’t looking over them now, seething in jealousy at seeing Greig swive the woman he had wanted.

Guilt constricted his ribcage then.

Foolish, really, for Alistair and Brìghde had never been a couple. Yet he felt like a heel, nonetheless.

This was his fault, for scorning the idea that a man could ever fall for the Forge Maiden.

Indeed, on that day, when Tàirneanach had thrown a shoe, he’d run a disdainful gaze over her, seeing only what others saw: a tall, strong woman, practical and hard-working, dressed in a sooty leather apron, wielding a hammer.

He’d thought such a lass would never tempt him.

Oh, how wrong he’d been.

Now, she was all he wanted.

However, for him to be able to enjoy this, to be able to move forward, he had to be truthful with her. About everything.

Lifting a hand, surprised to find it trembling slightly, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek.

Brìghde gazed up at him, eyes half-closed, as the torpor that followed their torrid coupling caught hold of her. He could feel it too—the need to curl himself around her and fall into a soft bed and sleep.

But he couldn’t.

Not with all this unsaid.

“Brìghde …” He swallowed. “There’s something I should have told ye before now.”

The words felt wrong even as he spoke them, yet saying nothing felt worse.

“Aye,” she murmured, her full lips curving slightly. “Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat, his pulse quickening. He didn’t want to shatter the moment, to break the spell, but he owed her this.

He owed Alistair too.

Suddenly, he wished he’d been honest with her right from the beginning.

“Ye remember Alistair’s list?”

“Aye,” she said drowsily, lifting a hand and tracing the whorls of hair on his chest. Her touch was soft and sensual, and his rod started to stiffen inside her. She gave a breathy moan as she too felt it.

With difficulty, Greig reined himself in.

He needed to concentrate.