Page 33 of Steel & Surrender

Davy’s throat bobbed. He nodded and held up his tankard. The pewter cups thudded together. “To Al.”

They drank in silence then, each retreating into memories of their brother. Regrets of moments lost. Chances that would never come twice. But that was the nature of life, wasn’t it? A man’s choices dictated his path.

Greig was about to suggest another round of ale when rough voices from a nearby table carried across the din.

“… told ye—they’re rattled.”

“Aye? Didn’t look it when I was down the Sound last—”

“They’re watching it now. Every bloody crossing.” A pause. “Harder to slip through.”

Someone ground out a curse. “Let them watch. Won’t stop what’s coming.”

Greig’s gaze slid to Davy.

His brother had heard it too. He’d gone still, head angled slightly toward the voices.

At the next table, four MacDonalds lounged deep in their cups, talking quietly, but not quietly enough.

“… chief’s gone to Dùn Ara, hasn’t he?”

“Aye. Trying to sway them.”

One of them scoffed. “Mackinnon? He won’t turn.”

“Don’t be so sure. There are old grudges there. Doesn’t take much to stir them.”

“Mm.” A bench creaked. “Maclean’s still grieving at the moment … would be a good time to strike.”

“Aye, kick him while he’s down.”

A short, ugly laugh punctured the noise inside the alehouse. “And the Mackinnons might be more willing to help than ye think.”

A pause followed, then the scrape of a cup on wood. “I’m ready for a good fight, lads. Anyone else?”

Heat flooded through Greig’s veins, and he deliberately set his tankard down on the table. He then cracked his knuckles before meeting his brother’s eye once more. “They want a fight. What say ye, Davy … shall we give them one?”

His brother nodded. His gaze had sharpened, the effect of the ale dissipating under the anger that now burned in his eyes.

Rage Greig shared.

“I’m going to shove their teeth down their throats,” his brother growled.

“Right.” Greig pushed himself to his feet. His thigh protested, but he ignored the twinge. If he caught the MacDonalds by surprise, it wouldn’t matter. “Let’s get to it.”

10: SHARP EDGES

“WHERE THE DEVIL have ye two been? I was about to send out a search party.”

Standing next to Davy in their father’s solar, Greig weathered Loch Maclean’s penetrating stare. They’d just returned from Tobermory, a bit worse for wear, after taking the ferry back to Craignure and then picking up their horses from The Craignure Inn. Upon entering the outer courtyard at Duart, they’d left their mounts with the stable lads and gone straight to the clan-chief.

“In Tobermory,” Greig replied brusquely. “We stayed over at The Bonnie Badger and heard a group of MacDonalds boasting about how their chief is currently a guest of Bran Mackinnon … and how he plans to get his loyalty.”

His father’s expression turned grim.

“Bran won’t turn on ye,” Davy said, although doubt tinged his voice.

The clan-chief dragged a hand down his face and turned from his sons, his gaze focusing on the hearth that burned low a few feet away. Although it was nearly midsummer, the day was grey and cool. A light rain had started to fall as the brothers rode back to Duart from Craignure.