Page 30 of Steel & Surrender

“Right.” She released Eòghan’s shoulders and stepped around him. “He’s not getting away with this.”

“Brì!” Panic cracked her brother’s voice. “This is why I didn’t want to tell ye.”

“Stay here … and start on the next hinge,” she ordered, even as anger pulsed in her belly. “I’ll be back soon.”

Scooping up the iron poker from next to the hearth, she stalked from the forge.

Ian and his friends were still there, drinking at rough planked trestle tables in front of the brewhouse, a cottage with a thatched roof and smoke drifting from its vent.

Located at the heart of the village, just off the market square and only a few yards from the low stone well, the alewife’s bothy formed a focal point for locals, especially on fine afternoons like this one.

The cottars who worked the run rigs around the village had finished for the day and gathered to drink before they returned to their wives and families.

The door was open, as always, to beckon customers; the familiar smell of yeast and the sour odor of fermenting grain hit Brìghde as she strode across the dirt-packed market square, cutting through where fowl pecked.

Both men and women sat out in the sunshine upon low stools, overturned buckets, and logs, cups of freshly brewed ale in hand.

Conversations faltered as she approached.

Ian rose to his feet. “What are ye going to do, Brìghde?” he called out. “Clobber me with that poker.”

Her fury burned brighter still at his mockery.

This was a new side to Ian. For a long while, he’d played the role of keen suitor, charming on every occasion their paths had crossed. She’d never trusted his honeyed tongue though, especially since he’d often tried to undermine her.

However, after their meeting on the road back from Craignure, things had changed.

He no longer visited her at the forge—a relief—and when they did see each other, he ignored her.

She’d hoped he’d just nurse his bruised pride in silence, yet she should have known better.

She’d spurned him, and then Greig Maclean had humiliated him. And Ian wasn’t going to let the slight pass.

This was his revenge.

“Maybe,” she replied, halting before the drinkers. “If ye don’t take back the lies ye have been spreading about me … if ye don’t apologize for bloodying my brother’s lip.”

Ian snorted, putting down his cup of ale and pushing past his friends to approach her. “The lad shouldn’t listen in on other people’s conversations.”

Laughter rumbled behind him, and Brìghde’s cheeks grew hot.

Her fingers flexed around the poker.

Stopping before her, Ian met her eye boldly. “He was worth the trouble though,” he said, his voice lowering. “If it brought ye to me.”

“Admit yer lies,” she said, loudly so everyone present could hear.

She was no high-born lady, but such rumors damaged a woman’s reputation. If word got out that Brìghde Boyd liked spreading her legs for him, she’d have no end of trouble. This was a tiny community—tight-knit. Words could wound. Brìghde didn’t want a husband, not yet, anyway, but such whispers could ruin her chances of any decent man approaching her.

Ian stepped closer still.

His arrogance galled her.

“I think not.” His voice had dropped to a whisper now, as if they were indeed lovers, sharing a moment.

Her gaze narrowed. “What’s yer game?”

His full lips tugged into a smile, and then he dared place his hands lightly on her shoulders.