Page 46 of Steel & Surrender

Birlinns and merchant cogs came and went from the busy port.

One of the merchant vessels passed by less than a mile from where he swam—a clinker-built, single-masted cog that drifted slowly, its sail barely catching this morning.

Voices carried across the water—shouts, laughter, disbelief.

Aye, the crew had seen him and no doubt thought he was a madman.

He probably was.

What was Al thinking, adding this challenge to the list? His brother hadn’t been able to swim more than ten yards without floundering. It would have taken him years to build up to this task—and even then, he might not have made it farther than halfway across.

Ye might not make it either, Greig reminded himself.

Fatigue now pulled at him.

He was reaching the limits of his endurance.

He could feel the burn of his muscles and lungs, the cold that drilled deep into his bones. His movements were less fluid now, weaker.

Aye, he was starting to struggle.

Teeth clenched, he swam on.

He had nothing to prove to anyone else, but he refused to fail himself.

Or Alistair.

And he’d get to the other side, even if it killed him.

Duart village,

The Isle of Mull

Brìghde stopped hammering and cursed under her breath. The curve of the horseshoe was wrong again.

She’d messed up two already this morning.

It was difficult to concentrate, to focus on mundane tasks—when she kept worrying about Greig.

He’d worked hard, even braving the sea in the coldest months to rebuild his strength. Through rain, sleet, and bitter winds, he’d never once suggested giving up.

The man had a will of iron.

Over the winter, they’d continued their hill walking, climbing the foothills and lower slopes of Beinn Talaidh each Sunday, except when the winter snow made such trips dangerous. And she had a collection of weights in the yard behind her forge, where Greig practiced lifting. She thought he might have lost motivation over the long, bitter winter, but he’d surprised her.

He was determined to carry out his brother’s wishes.

She glanced then over at where Eòghan plunged a glowing iron blade into the slack tub. A hiss followed, and steam billowed. Sweat shone on her brother’s brow.

“How’s that horseshoe?” he asked without looking up.

Brìghde snorted. “Almost done.”

He did cut her a glance then, a pale brow lifting. “Yer mind is elsewhere today.”

She pulled a face, embarrassed that she was so transparent.

Eòghan focused on his work once more, and she watched as he set the blade back on the anvil and began to hammer again.