Page 105 of Steel & Surrender

And then to her consternation, he halted and leered at her.

It was Nicol—the same knave who’d insulted her at the dance.

Ye can drape a plow horse in a fine caparison … but it’s still a plow horse. Aye, his cruel words had left a sting. However, this afternoon, the sneer on his face merely vexed her.

Aye, she knew how some of the men here—those who worked in the castle, especially—jested about her behind her back over the years.

But insulting her to her face was another thing.

The glint in Nicol’s eye made her hackles rise.

The bastard had set his barrow down right in front of her, blocking her path. He then dragged his gaze down the length of her body. “That’s better,” he murmured. “The plow horse is wearing her harness once more. That dress really did look ridiculous on ye.”

Brìghde looked down her nose at him, really studying the man properly for the first time, marking the color that rose to his cheeks.

And then, the truth struck her; the reason he wasted his breath insulting her.

She snorted a laugh. “Can I help it if the slug in yer braies stands up at the sight of a strong woman?”

The leer on his face vanished, shock flaring in his eyes.

Aye, she’d hit the mark there.

Stepping around his barrow, Nicol drew close. She was a couple of inches taller than him though, so he couldn’t loom over her. The color to his cheeks deepened. “Why would I want a horse-faced bitch who thinks she’s a man?” he growled. “I’d wager there’s a cock between yer legs—”

He never finished his insult, for a hand grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him back off his feet.

Greig swung him around and punched him hard in the jaw.

The punch landed with a crack. Hard enough to snap Nicol’s head sideways and send him sprawling.

Following him, Greig landed a kick in the ribs. He drew his foot back once more—ready to continue—then checked himself.

The groom grunted in pain, rolling over on his side and bringing up his knees to protect his guts.

Standing over him, hands still clenched at his sides, Greig glared down at him. “Apologize to Brìghde,” he said coldly. “Now.”

Nicol made a strangled sound yet remained silent.

“I won’t ask ye again.” Greig’s voice lowered, dangerously.

Sweat beaded upon Nicol’s forehead. His gaze lifted from Greig then, fastening on Brìghde.

She glared down at him, anger pulsing in her chest, daring him to insult her again.

Surely, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to do so, not with Greig on such a short leash?

Moments passed, and then he cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Try again.” Greig drew his dirk. “And mean it.”

“I was rude,” Nicol gasped, panic flaring in his eyes now. Like most bullies, he was a coward at heart. “I had no business saying such things to ye, Brìghde … and I apologize.”

Greig’s lip curled. “That’s better,” His gaze speared him. “But it won’t save ye. Get up, gather yer things, and leave Duart. Ye no longer have a job here.”

Nicol’s face flushed purple. “Ye can’t send me away,” he burst out, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Ye aren’t the clan-chief.”

Greig’s expression didn’t change. “If ye aren’t gone within the hour, I’ll have ye stoned out of the castle.” He paused then, a hard smile curving his lips. “An act my father will applaud.”