Page 122 of Steel & Surrender

“As I was saying.” Astrid picked up the tale Brìghde had just interrupted. “He swore the goat chased him halfway down the hill.”

Her daughter Maggie huffed a laugh. “I remember the incident.”

“We never knew who loosed the goat in the first place,” Mairi added ruefully.

Brìghde grinned. “My wager is on one of yer sons.”

Mairi glanced up, one brow arching. “Which one?”

“Any one of them.”

All three women seated in the lady’s solar with her—Mairi, Astrid, and Maggie—laughed at that.

Brìghde’s gaze slid across their faces.

It still caught her unawares sometimes—the way they included her without thought. She was far beneath them all in rank, yet that didn’t seem to matter.

Astrid leaned back in her chair, eyeing Brìghde as mirth still flickered in her dark eyes. “If I had to cast my wager, I’d say Greig was behind that mischief … he was always the ringleader.”

Maggie giggled. “Aye, Al and Davy trailed after him like lambs at that age.”

Mairi smiled, although a little sadness tinged the expression; it always did when Alistair’s name came up, even in passing. “Those were special days,” she murmured.

The four of them fell silent then, each focusing on their work for a spell.

Brìghde drew the thread taut and smoothed the seam with her thumb. There, the pillowcase was sewn. And she was pleased with how it had turned out. Her eye for detail came in useful with sewing and embroidery.

A year ago, she would have felt out of place here. No longer.

These women were her friends. Once, her family had been just her parents and brother, but now the circle had widened.

Placing the finished pillowcase on the low table next to Mairi, she rose to her feet and gave a slow stretch. “I’ll leave ye all to it … I’ve something I want to finish before the day runs away from me.”

Mairi looked up at her. “The brooch?”

Brìghde nodded.

Maggie leaned forward. “Will ye show it to us when it’s done?”

“Of course. I hope the wool merchant who commissioned it is happy.”

“I’ve a mind to commission something myself,” Astrid added, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “A ring for Finn … his birthday is near Yule.”

“Come and see me in the workshop then,” Brìghde replied with a smile. “I’m busy these days, but I can always make time for ye.”

“I will,” Astrid replied earnestly.

Brìghde glanced Maggie’s way then. “Meet ye on the walls before supper?”

“Of course,” her friend replied. “As always.”

“Aye, well … bring a shawl … the wind has a bite to it today.”

Turning, Brìghde made her way from the solar, the warmth giving way to the sharper air of the corridor beyond. The sound of her footsteps echoed faintly against the stone as she descended the stair, the scents of the castle shifting as she went: smoke, damp wool, a hint of roasted meat drifting up from below.

By the time she stepped out into the outer courtyard, the wind had picked up, tugging at her braid and pressing the chill through the weave of her kirtle. She drew a breath deep into her lungs, the air crisp and clean, and let it out slowly.

She’d lived inside these walls for a full turn of the seasons now, and she felt a deep sense of belonging. Life in the castle suited her.