Page 65 of Steel & Surrender

“Of course, that makes sense,” she’d replied, even as wretchedness clutched at her chest. “I’m sure ye can finish yer training on yer own at Duart Castle.”

A heavy silence had settled between them then. However, as darkness shrouded them, she hadn’t been able to make out his expression. Just as well too. She didn’t want to see it.

She just wanted to flee from his presence, to hide from him.

They’d reached the forge shortly after.

Greig had waited atop Tàirneanach as she’d swung down from Sradag, lingering, as if wishing to say something else, but she’d turned from him. “Goodnight, Maclean.” Without waiting for his response, she’d led Sradag away.

Now that she was indoors with her family, her chest ached cruelly.

Sitting before the hearth, her throat tightened, the back of her eyes burning.

No. She wouldn’t weep. Not now—at least not in front of her family.

“Are ye well, Brìghde?” her mother asked then.

Ever watchful, she’d picked up on Brìghde’s shift in mood, or rather the pain she’d valiantly tried to hide since returning to their bothy.

Her father and brother didn’t notice such things, but a woman did.

Brìghde swallowed hard. “Just tired, Ma. It’s been an exhausting day. Do ye mind if I retire?”

“Of course not,” her mother replied, still watching her in a way that warned Brìghde that she wasn’t fooled, not in the slightest. “We all should find our beds … it’s getting late.”

She knew something was amiss with her daughter, although she had no idea just how badly things had gone. If she had, she’d have been horrified by Brìghde’s lack of propriety—her carelessness.

Of course, she won’t suspect what happened, Brìghde thought bitterly then. No one could imagine a man like him being attracted to a woman like me.

She supposed that should have made this easier.

But it didn’t.

It just sank the blade even deeper into her chest.

Greig slowly climbed the stone steps to the Winter Garden.

Four flights of stairs, all without the aid of his stick.

He should have been jubilant, but this afternoon, his mood was dark.

He’d just come from the outer courtyard, where he’d helped unload a cartload of sacks of grain. The lads had needed a hand, although Greig had another reason for pitching in. With the Games just two months away, he had to keep up his strength. The activity also provided a much-needed distraction. It kept him from dwelling on what had happened between him and Brìghde on the summit of Ben More the day before.

He hadn’t just crossed a line; he’d irrevocably changed their relationship.

She now thought it was her fault.

His left thigh twinged then, reminding him of his climb the day before. It was best he rested a while instead of pushing himself so hard. Initially, he’d intended to return to his bedchamber and sleep away the afternoon. Instead of doing so, he’d climbed two more flights of stairs before pushing open the door to the Winter Garden.

The narrow set of steps up to the garden cost him though, and he was sweating, his left leg trembling under him, as he reached the terrace beyond.

It was the height of summer, and the garden was still filled with blooms. Not just roses, but meadowsweet, Sweet Williams, and violets formed colorful profusions, bees buzzing lazily amongst lavender, and the scent of rosemary was strong in the afternoon sun.

He’d come up to the terrace to find some solitude, but just a few steps in realized his mistake, for his mother was up here.

Mairi knelt at one of the flower beds. She wore heavy leather gloves as she plucked out weeds and tossed them into a basket, humming softly under her breath as she worked.

Halting, Greig surveyed her.