Page 26 of Steel & Surrender

Ignoring her, Greig grabbed his walking stick and pushed on, boots crunching on loose stones as they made their way upward.

However, ten yards on, he halted, and when she reached his shoulder, she saw he’d closed his eyes tightly, sweat beading on his brow.

“Ye’re in pain,” she observed. “We should stop.”

“Very well,” he ground out, his shoulders slumping.

The defeat cost him.

“Ye don’t have to put yerself through this, ye know?” she pointed out gently.

“I do.” His eyes opened then, his gaze spearing hers. “I gave him my word.”

Their stare drew out for a long moment before Brìghde nodded.

No, she didn’t like him much, but she admired his grit and his loyalty to his brother. They were both worthy things. Alistair had been a good man, and Greig was keeping his memory alive. And despite his ill temper and snappish responses, she could see just how much he was suffering.

He hated being this weak, and she didn’t blame him.

She too would be devastated if she were so badly lamed. Indeed, she wouldn’t be able to work as a blacksmith, and her family would starve.

“Very well then,” she huffed. “If ye are hell-bent on torturing yerself, we can meet again, next Sunday, and try to get a little farther up this slope.”

He nodded, lips thinning.

They turned then and slowly made their way down the hill.

“To ready yerself, I suggest ye start trying to walk without yer stick … at home at least,” she said, daring to give him some advice. “It will help yer balance and help build strength.”

He gave a non-committal grunt. “I have been,” he replied. “I—”

His foot slipped—his words cutting off.

And then he was gone.

A cry ripped from Brìghde’s throat.

He rolled all the way down, landing heavily on his belly on coarse grass, just yards away from where their mounts waited.

He didn’t move.

“Shite,” she gasped.

Dreading the worst, Brìghde hurried down the slope, her boots sliding on loose shale.

Dear God, had the man snapped his neck?

Heart thumping, she lowered herself to her knees next to him and then reached out, squeezing his shoulder.

“Greig,” she said, her voice catching. “Can ye hear me?”

“Aye.” His response was muffled.

Relief hit her so hard her hands shook. “Are ye hurt?”

“Don’t know.”

“Can ye move?”