Page 59 of Steel & Surrender

This was inconvenient.

“Thank ye, Brìghde,” he said gruffly, “for putting up with me over all these months. I’ve been a grumpy prick, I know it, and unpardonably rude. If our positions had been reversed, I wouldn’t have put up with me for more than an hour.”

She laughed, shifting forward on the boulder so that she sat a little closer, resting her own elbows on her knees, mirroring his position.

“Ye have been … challenging at times,” she admitted, a smile in her voice. “But a man who’d follow his brother’s wishes so faithfully … even when it was difficult for him to do so, earned my respect.”

He glanced her way to find her studying him, her cheeks flushed now.

In the bright sunlight and this close, he saw that her eyes weren’t just one shade of grey iron as he’d thought. There was steel and ash flecked through it. They were beautiful eyes, soulful, full of frank intelligence.

She was a good woman, the kindest he’d ever met, if he were honest.

And something tightened deep in his chest as he admitted it to himself.

Suddenly, he became aware just how close they were sitting, of how strands of her fine pale hair had come free from their braid and flicked around her face in the wind that eddied about them.

His breathing quickened.

She really was something. Why had he never considered her lovely before?

He must have been blind.

Brìghde cleared her throat then. “Since we’re being frank with each other … I have something for ye.” She held out her right hand, turned it over, and unfurled her fingers. A silver ring sat on her palm, glinting dully in the bright sunlight. A stag’s head had been etched upon it. “I made this for ye … to celebrate conquering Ben More.”

Greig stared down at the ring, unsure how to answer.

She made an embarrassed sound in the back of her throat. “I know I lack a pretty face and grace … but I make up for it in other ways … in making beautiful things.” She cut off there, and when he lifted his gaze to her face, he marked the mortification in her eyes. Her cheeks were now bright pink.

Greig stared back at her, his throat tightening. “Brìghde,” he began. “Ye don’t—”

“I thought a stag’s head was perfect for ye,” she cut him off breathlessly. “I hope ye like it.”

He swallowed. “I do.” His voice sounded strangled, yet he couldn’t help it. “No one’s ever given me something like this.”

“Go on,” she whispered. “Try it on.”

He did, sliding it onto the middle finger of his right hand. It was warm from her skin, and it fit just right.

Glancing up, Greig met her eye once more. “I owe ye a debt, Brì.”

She inhaled sharply, likely shocked by him using such a familiar form of her name, before shaking her head. “It’s a gift. I want nothing in return.”

They stared at each other, the moment drawing out.

And then, Greig lifted his hand, brushing her warm cheek with the back of it.

She trembled under his touch. Her pupils grew wide, her lips parting in wordless surprise.

Greig knew he should probably say something, but he was out of words now. The ache in his throat spread down to his chest. Suddenly, all he wanted was to be closer to her.

He leaned in across the remnants of the meal and grazed his lips lightly over hers.

It was the barest touch, and yet, the shock of it made his heart punch against his ribs.

Sucking in a deep breath, he drew sharply back, as if scalded.

But he didn’t pull completely away. Their faces were still just a few inches apart.