Page 44 of Steel & Surrender

“My hoe snapped earlier this morning,” he said. “Let’s see if young Eòghan here can fix it.”

Frowning, Brìghde approached him. She then thrust out a hand. “Give it to me, Ian. Let’s have a look.”

He hesitated. “I said Eòghan—”

“Hand it over … or ye can go elsewhere.”

Their gazes locked, and a challenge glinted in his blue eyes before he reluctantly did as bidden.

Brìghde examined the blade, her thumb tracing the jagged break.

“I can fix this,” she said, stepping back and moving toward her forge. “Come back later for it.”

“Why don’t ye give this job over to the lad?” Ian asked, not moving from the doorway. “Word is he’s got talent … that he’ll be better than ye soon enough.”

Brìghde shrugged as if his comment didn’t bother her, didn’t vex her.

But it did.

“It’s not a contest,” she replied.

Meanwhile, she didn’t miss the glower her brother cut Ian.

Aye, he knew what game the man was playing. He was trying to undermine her.

For some reason, it mattered to him that she knew her place.

Her belly hardened.

And these days, she knew exactly where he thought her place was.

Under him.

Never, she thought grimly.

“The job will get done, Ian,” she said, stepping up to the fire. “I’ll see ye later.” She then turned her shoulder toward him.

“I wasn’t making a request, Brìghde,” Ian replied, his tone sharpening now. “Eòghan will fix the hoe, not ye. Do ye hear me?”

Brìghde turned to face him. “Excuse me?”

“Enough, Ian,” her brother muttered, moving to her side. “Keep talking, and I’ll put ye on the floor.”

Putting a calming hand out on her brother’s arm, Brìghde fixed Ian with a long, hard look. “Ye don’t issue orders here,” she said, enunciating each word carefully. “And if ye’ve got a problem with a woman smithing for ye, then I suggest ye take this hoe and go for a walk to Craignure. There’s a male smiddy there who’ll do yer bidding.” She paused then, unable to resist the dig. “Frankly, ye’d be doing me a favor.”

Anger smoldered in his eyes. “Careful, Brìghde,” he murmured. “Folk are already talking” —he halted there and glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was listening in— “about ye and Greig Maclean.”

Heat rolled over her. A moment later, anger sparked. Aye, Flora’s tongue had been wagging as she feared.

“I care not,” she replied coldly. “There’s no story there, anyway.”

Ian’s jaw hardened. Then, without another word, he turned and stalked off.

“Mannerless dog,” Eòghan growled next to her. “Ye should have thrown that broken blade at his fat head.”

Brìghde pulled a face. “Believe me, I was tempted.”

She took a pair of tongs down from the wall before thrusting the broken hoe blade into the heart of the fire. Glancing her brother’s way, she marked the deep furrow between his eyebrows. “Don’t worry about Ian … I can handle him.”