Page 43 of Steel & Surrender

Greig sighed. “Aye, Ma … I know. And, aye, I’ll be careful.” He favored her with a reassuring smile then. “Don’t worry. Davy will be rowing alongside every inch of the way. If I go under, I’m sure he’ll dive in and retrieve me.”

Across the table, his younger brother snorted.

“Don’t grip the hammer so hard,” Brìghde instructed, stepping close to her brother and adjusting his fingers on the smooth oaken handle. “Ye’ll end up with a sore wrist and shoulder if ye continue fisting it like that.”

She paused then, flashing him a half smile.

“Ye need to let the tools do the work … not ye. Don’t fight the hammer. Let it fall and rise. Feel the rhythm.”

Eòghan’s brow furrowed. Fortunately, he didn’t mind taking instruction from his elder sister. She’d thought he might chafe or rebel, or even argue with her.

But the opposite was true.

He was eager to learn, eager to improve.

Stepping back, she watched as he swung the hammer once more, easing into a familiar rhythm. And this time, he loosened his grip, and the hammer bounced off the metal.

He was making a set of steel eating knives for a local family. It was a project she’d let him take complete control over. If he continued to improve so quickly, she’d have time to finish off the ring she’d been working on.

However, as she watched him hammer the glowing metal into shape, she felt a pang.

He was good, her brother.

She had to admit it.

Barely a moon had passed since Eòghan had begun his apprenticeship in earnest, and he was progressing fast. His muscles were developing too. He was still long and lanky, but judging from his huge appetite these days—one their mother constantly complained of—he’d be filling out soon. His shoulders already seemed to have broadened since he’d begun work with her in the forge.

Her chest tightened.

Not long now, she realized. Not as long as she’d told herself.

Soon she’d be forced to step back. And then everyone would look to her to find herself a husband.

Panic fluttered up at the thought, and she moved over to the bench behind Eòghan. Picking up a tool, she peered at the ring she was engraving. She worked directly under a lantern and needed the light to catch the detail.

Her brow furrowed then. She’d been attempting a thistle, but it wasn’t turning out as she hoped. It didn’t look like a thistle at all—more like a misshapen bannock. Her lips pinched together. Maybe I should start over.

Her mind wandered once more to her situation as she tried to reshape the design, picking away at the soft iron.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to wed or to have a family of her own. She wasn’t against the idea at all. But the problem was that Duart Village, and even the castle itself, had a limited number of men. And thus far, not one of them, besides Ian, had tried to woo her or shown any interest.

Her mother told her she couldn’t afford to be too fussy.

However, when Eòghan stepped fully into the role of smiddy, she’d have no choice but to look for a mate.

“Good to see ye’re learning yer place.”

Brìghde’s chin jerked up, her gaze slicing right to find a familiar and unwelcome figure standing in the doorway.

Ian. The man had stayed away for a long while, and his absence had been appreciated indeed. But now, he was back.

Heat ignited under her ribs as she tucked the ring away. Of course, he wanted her to bite back. Hot words surged up her throat, yet she swallowed them. She wouldn’t give the bastard what he wanted.

Instead, she’d stay on guard.

“Did ye want something, Ian?” she said, aware that Eòghan had stopped hammering. He now fixed the farmer in a glare.

With a lazy smile, Ian held up a long wooden handle with one hand and a wide flat iron blade with the other.