Page 54 of Steel & Surrender

The man seemed in good spirits this morning. At least one of them was.

“Of course not,” she huffed. “Ye’ll likely make it to the summit before me.”

He laughed. “I always like a challenge. Let’s make a wager.”

“And what will the winner receive?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “Something small, a token. Let’s say the winner buys us a round of ale at the alewife’s tomorrow afternoon to celebrate.”

“Very well,” she replied. “Although I should warn ye, I too like to win.”

His dark eyes glinted. “Good. A worthy opponent.”

Something caught his gaze then, and he pointed behind Brìghde. “Look.”

Twisting in the saddle, her gaze alighted upon the rise of a hill to the south.

A red stag stood there, broad-chested and magnificent, his russet coat burnished gold by the morning sun. Vast antlers crowned his head like the branches of an ancient oak, and he watched them in still silence.

Brìghde’s breathing caught, her skin prickling. “What a beauty,” she whispered.

“Aye,” Greig murmured. “And by the look he’s giving us … these hills belong to him.”

Her lips curved. Indeed, the stag’s look was imperious. “In that case, we shall move on.”

They did, urging their horses into a canter and continuing west.

The land was changing now. They’d left the easier going behind and ridden through heather moor, where the slopes steepened, and the land grew wilder. The heather grew thicker here.

A short while later, they drew their mounts up. Finding a slightly elevated spot, they secured their horses to some bracken and then began to climb on foot.

Ben More now reared overhead, its rocky summit sharp against the blue sky.

Cool air feathered against their cheeks, yet the sun shone on their backs as they climbed.

The slope tilted sharply upward then, and it wasn’t long before the grass gave way to rock-studded ground. Loose stone crunched under their boots, gravel shifting.

Brìghde was relieved to see that Greig had brought his stick with him. Walking around Duart Castle without aid was one thing. Climbing a mountain was another. She could have done with a stick herself, even during this first slog.

Up and up they climbed, and suddenly, the land opened wide around them, the sky suddenly huge.

There were fewer plants up here. Instead, short grass, lichen, and bare rock surrounded them, and a sharp breeze stung their cheeks, pulling free strands of hair from where Greig had secured it and whipping them across his face.

The slope steepened sharply, forcing Greig to pause more often now, breath rasping, his stick biting into the ground.

Both panting, they halted there for a short while, taking gulps from their ale skins and catching their breath.

“It’s beautiful up here,” Greig said then, his voice rough as he got his breath back.

“It is,” she agreed, looking out at where the rest of Mull rolled away from them. “But wait until ye see the view from the top. It makes ye feel as free as an eagle, as if nothing that happens in the world really matters … not up here.”

He shot her a surprised look.

“What?” she said, tensing. “Did I say something strange?”

“No.” He smiled. “Just didn’t take ye for a philosopher.”

“Ye mean I’m too busy hammering steel to notice a beautiful sunrise or wonder why we’re here?” she challenged.