Page 36 of Steel & Surrender

“I’ve been walking without my stick more often,” Greig admitted then, “and it’s helping.”

She smiled. So, he had listened. “That’s good,” she replied, making sure she kept her tone business-like. He seemed to prefer it. “Ye should find the climb easier then.”

He glanced her way. “Ye deserve an apology, lass … I’ve been like a boar with a sore head of late. Ye didn’t deserve the sharp edge of my tongue last time we attempted this climb.”

Brìghde stilled at these words. His voice was gruff, yet sincere, and she wasn’t sure how to reply. “It’s forgotten,” she murmured, cutting her gaze away, embarrassed.

Fortunately, Greig left his apology there.

Drawing up to the same point they’d stopped on the last occasion, they hobbled their mounts and then began the climb. Greig had brought his stick with him again on this occasion—a good idea, because the ground was rough. The farther they climbed, the looser the soil became, covered in places with stones that made the going more treacherous.

And this time, she noted that Greig didn’t tire so easily.

“What other challenges are on yer brother’s list?” she asked, slowing slightly so that he caught up with her. She didn’t want to go too far ahead, just in case his leg betrayed him.

“Just one after Ben More,” he panted. “Alistair wanted to take part in the Harvest Games and win a strength contest.” His face screwed up then. “I plan to enter next year … although I haven’t even begun training for that one.”

They climbed farther, scaling the first slope and then another. Greig stopped at the top of the second one, sweat gleaming on his face now, leaning on his stick as he caught his breath.

Brìghde said little. This time, she wouldn’t ask him if he wanted to turn back. She’d let him be the one to make that choice.

But the man was tough, and after a short rest, he pushed on, his stick digging into the stony ground with each stride.

And eventually, they reached a narrow shelf, a lookout that sat under the deep shadow of Beinn Talaidh.

“That’s it,” Brìghde said, flashing Greig a grin. “Ye made it.”

He’d done it. Not far—but much farther than before.

He glanced her way, his mouth curving. “Aye, but I was slow,” he said, his voice ragged with exhaustion. “Next time, I want to climb higher and faster … stop fewer times.”

Their gazes met and held before Brìghde smiled. “Ye will.”

She glanced around her then, taking in the vista. Despite the color of the sky—the hue of smoke, the sun hidden behind cloud—there was no denying the majesty of the view. The land rolled away to the east, and there in the distance perched Duart Castle against the sea.

“This is my favorite place on Mull,” she admitted softly. “It’s where I come when I need to think, when I need to escape.”

Realizing what she’d just admitted, she stiffened.

And when she glanced Greig’s way, she found him watching her.

“Escape?” he asked. “Why’s that?”

She snorted, cutting her gaze away. “I enjoy my trade … I’m proud of it. But from dawn to dark, I’m working. I barely have a moment to breathe.” She paused then, her belly tightening. That was why she stole time to work on that iron ring. She needed something for herself. “Sometimes, it feels as if my life doesn’t belong to me.”

11: HUMBLING A MAN

“IF YE WANT to ready yerself to enter the Games next year, I can help there too.”

They were halfway back down the hill when Brìghde made the offer. She’d been thinking about it ever since they left the viewing point, and had decided she would stick her neck out. She wanted Greig to fulfil his brother’s wishes, and she wanted him to be ready.

“A smiddy has a lot of heavy objects close to hand,” she added with a smile, “perfect for testing yerself.”

Greig didn’t reply immediately, and Brìghde wondered if she’d overstepped. Again.

Nervousness fluttered up then. She sometimes forgot herself. This man was the clan-chief’s firstborn, after all. She was far beneath him, yet she often spoke to him as an equal.

She kept expecting him to reprimand her for that—but, as yet, he hadn’t.