Page 118 of Steel & Surrender

She found him watching her, his dark eyes softer than she’d ever seen them.

By the Saints. The way he was looking at her.

She’d never tire of it.

He looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in Scotland.

To him, she wasn’t the Forge Maiden. She was only Brìghde.

“Well,” she said huskily. “That was a scene none in Duart will ever forget.”

His lips curved as he stepped close and raised a hand to stroke her cheek. “No … I’ve never been a man to do things in half measures.”

She laughed, even as her pulse fluttered at his touch.

She still couldn’t believe it. He’d bared his soul to her in front of everyone and then stood up to his father on her behalf.

She reached for him again, as if to make sure he was still there. The warmth and strength of his hands clasping hers anchored her.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said then. “About yer craft.”

She inclined her head. “Eòghan still has to finish his apprenticeship.”

He nodded. “Aye … and I’ll not stand in the way of that … but” —he broke off then, as if embarrassed— “Ye should be doing more with yer skills.”

He lifted his hand, showing her the ring. “Ye made this. I’ve worn it every day since.” Warmth suffused her chest. She loved that he’d never taken it off. “Ye have talent, Brì … and I know ye love crafting such things. Why don’t ye make more?”

She inclined her head. “I’d like to … I won’t have a workshop though.”

He smiled. “Not yet … but I shall talk to my father about giving ye one.”

Her breathing caught. “Ye’d do that … for me?”

His gaze glinted. “Aye, lass … that’s the least of it.”

They stared at each other for a heartbeat, and then Brìghde raised a hand and placed it on his chest. His heart thudded steadily against her palm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t believe ye that night in the forge.”

“Don’t apologize for that, mo chridhe.” He lifted his free hand to hers, covering it firmly. “Ye had no reason to take me at my word.”

“I do now,” she assured him, even as warmth suffused her. Lord. He’d been brave today. He’d put everything on the line—for her. “I never thought things would work out … not for me,” she admitted huskily.

“Ye are lovely,” he replied, his voice catching. “Strong, proud, and fierce. Alistair saw it too, remember?” He flashed her a rueful smile then. “I was just too thick-headed to notice at first.” His grip on her hand tightened slightly. “Too lost in bitterness and self-pity.”

“Ye were,” she murmured. “But ye had yer reasons.”

He traced his thumb down the line of her jaw, his gaze softening further. “Once, I measured myself on my ability to swing a claidheamh-mòr in battle. With that taken from me, I felt diminished.” He shook his head ruefully then. “The Samhuinn before last, Hazel told me that there’s more to being a man than going into battle and slaying his enemies. I ignored her at the time … I snarled at her, I’m sure … but I understand what she meant now. No victory in battle could mean as much to me as ye.”

Brìghde’s throat tightened. “That’s quite an admission, Maclean,” she said, even as her voice caught. “Careful … or everyone will start thinking ye have a heart as soft as porridge.”

He laughed, the low rumble vibrating through the empty chapel. “Aye, well, I don’t,” he replied, his thumb skimming across her lower lip then. “Only for ye, Brì.”

33: NO MORE DOUBTS

IT WAS SAID that everyone loved a good wedding.

But Greig had never counted himself among them.

Until today.