Page 117 of Steel & Surrender

He didn’t want to vex his father, but he wouldn’t back down from this. Aye, both his best friends had defied convention and taken wives far beneath them in rank—and they’d both had the courage to defend their decision.

As would he. With his life if necessary.

“We will leave, if that’s what ye wish, Maclean,” Brìghde said then, speaking up for the first time. “But we’d prefer to stay … to live amongst those we love. To serve the Macleans of Mull for the rest of our days.” Her gaze never left Loch’s face as she continued. “I’m no lady … but I do love yer son. I stand with him, no matter where he goes.”

Greig’s heart kicked.

Her words meant much. Until this morning, he was sure she’d never trust him again, but clearly his gesture, his promises, had unlocked something inside her.

Reaching out, he took her hand, squeezing tightly in thanks.

Her words meant more than she likely realized.

Loch stared her down for a few moments more before his attention flicked to Greig again. “Ye two are a stubborn pair,” he muttered. He then reached up and pinched the skin between his eyebrows, waging an inner battle. “But if ye think I’d banish my son for choosing a woman of common birth, ye don’t know me at all.”

His gaze drilled into Greig now.

“Of course, I’d have hard-headed sons … ye’ve always been too much like me for yer own good. I should have known only a woman who brings ye to yer knees would ever win yer heart.”

Their stare drew out, and something unspoken passed between them. Then Loch huffed a sigh. “Very well… I just got ye back, and will not risk losing ye again … ye have my blessing.”

A beat of silence followed these words, and then a roar of approval went up in the chapel.

Greig tensed, shocked by the reaction of those gathered around them.

He hadn’t expected this—the cheers, the tears, the support. Of course, he’d done more than break with tradition by choosing Brìghde; he’d trampled all over it.

The heir to the clan didn’t wed a blacksmith. It had never been done.

News of this would shock The Western Isles, and yet it wasn’t the first time the Macleans of Duart had broken with the way of things. News was already rippling through the isles about the ‘gift’ Loch Maclean had sent to Callum MacDonald of Sleat. His son’s decapitated head.

If others disagreed with the match his son had made—and they likely would—few would dare voice open criticism.

His mother wept openly as she left her husband’s side and flung her arms around Greig, hugging him tightly. She then went to Brìghde and embraced her fiercely too.

Brìghde’s cheeks now glowed like twin embers, although she was smiling.

Happiness radiated from her. Aye, she did believe him now, and he would never betray her trust.

Behind her, the Boyd family stood, stunned, as Mairi moved to them, offering her congratulations. Ada dipped into a low curtsy before bursting into tears too.

Breac rubbed his wife’s back while Brìghde went to soothe her mother. Next to them, Eòghan shifted awkwardly, unsure what to do about this outpouring of emotion.

Greig’s lips quirked. Once, he too would have been bemused by all of this.

The cheering continued, and he let it wash over him.

He’d savor this moment until the end of his days.

Davy moved forward then, a grin stretching his face.

They clasped arms, and then Davy hauled him into a hard, rib-cracking hug. “Never thought ye had it in ye,” he said, slapping Greig soundly on the back. “Ye’ve got stones, brother.”

The congregation flowed out of the chapel, a tide of excited voices that filled the outer courtyard.

Greig and Brìghde stayed behind, standing together while Father Malcolm joined the others, leaving them alone.

Pulse fluttering, Brìghde turned to Greig.