Page 113 of Steel & Surrender

There was no path without risk. No reward without stepping into the fray. And he’d faced worse than this, hadn’t he?

The Mass drew toward its end, the chaplain’s final blessing echoing through the chapel. Around him, folk shifted, the low murmur rising once more as they began to stand.

Greig’s pulse kicked.

This was it.

He glanced over his shoulder then, unable to stop himself.

Brìghde was rising from the bench, her head bowed, moving with purpose, seeking to flee before their paths crossed.

A familiar instinct stirred in him. He should let her go and avoid causing her further discomfort.

He hesitated and then clenched his jaw. No. That had been his mistake before.

Hiding and delaying. Letting things lie unsaid. If he meant this—if he meant to claim her, to stand before his kin and his people and show them that he was not ashamed—then he could not do it in shadows.

This had to be done in the open, before them all.

Drawing the bracelet from his gambeson, he palmed it tightly. And then he cut through the press of the crowd, pushing toward the door.

“Brìghde.”

Her name carried across the chapel, cutting through the murmur of voices. People were staring, but Greig did not look away from her.

Meanwhile, Brìghde had halted and turned, her face draining of color as he approached.

Greig kept moving. The space between them closed, and the moment he had been dreading—and needing—finally arrived.

Brìghde froze in place.

The sound of her name still echoed in the chapel. It had sliced like a blade through the noise, through her thoughts, through her resolve to get out of the castle as fast as she could.

And now, Greig was walking toward her.

The press of people parted before him, making way for the laird’s son, and suddenly, every gaze shifted with him—followed him—until they settled upon her.

Her pulse leaped into a gallop.

Holy Mother. What was he doing?

She couldn’t breathe.

Not here.

Dizziness swept over her as he came to a halt before her. She marked the tension in his jaw then, the way his chest rose and fell sharply, and the tight grip of his hand at his side.

Her stomach dropped.

He looked flustered—a man standing on the edge of something.

“Greig,” she greeted him, her voice thin.

She was aware then of her family all watching. Her skin itched under their scrutiny, yet her attention didn’t waver from the man before her. For a heartbeat, the two of them simply stood there, the space between them charged.

Greig drew in a breath, his gaze fixed on her. “I made a mess of things between us … and I’ll not pretend otherwise.”

A murmur stirred through the chapel.