Page 14 of Steel & Surrender

“Which hoof is it?”

“The off fore,” Greig replied.

Picking up Tàirneanach’s hoof, she scraped it clean with a small knife, trimming away the rough edge before checking for any remaining nail stubs. She then set the shoe upon the hoof, judging the size. Her gaze narrowed as she inspected it. “Right,” she murmured. “Just needs a little shaping.”

Setting his hoof down on the wet ground once more, she made her way back into the forge. Greig moved into the doorway to watch her work. Grabbing a pair of tongs, she picked up the horseshoe and thrust it into the glowing forge, looking on as the metal heated.

“I thought ye were yer brother for a moment there,” she admitted, not meeting his eye.

Greig raised an eyebrow. “Davy?”

They looked similar, he supposed, although Davy was more lightly built and didn’t walk with a stick.

“No,” she said, glancing his way, her eyes shadowing. “Alistair.”

A beat of silence pulsed between them.

Heat flared in his gut. The forge suddenly felt too hot.

He hadn’t heard his brother brought up so lightly since the burial.

Who did this woman think she was?

The blacksmith stilled then, marking his reaction. Unease flickered across her face. “If I’ve said something amiss—”

“Ye have,” he cut in.

A blush rose to her cheeks, and she swung her gaze away. Drawing the glowing horseshoe from the fire, she hammered it into shape on the anvil, the blows sharp and fast. She then collected a handful of nails and a small hammer and moved past him again.

The shoe now fit perfectly.

Brìghde worked with deft precision, holding the nails between her lips as she hammered each one in. And all the while, Tàirneanach stood, tail swishing, unbothered. He was a placid beast—although it was said that even the most skittish horse allowed the Forge Maiden to shoe them. She was a skilled farrier. Before his accident, Greig had been able to shoe a horse well too. However, now, with his leg so weak, he wouldn’t be up to the task.

He marked the skill of her movements. There was a confidence in her work that she lacked when speaking to him.

Once all the nails were in, Brìghde bent and clinched the protruding nails flat against the hoof to make sure the shoe was firm.

“That should hold,” she said, giving the shoe a final, decisive tap.

“Right,” he said, digging into his coin purse. “How much do I owe ye?”

The sky was growing ominous again, and he was eager to be on his way, eager to leave Brìghde Boyd behind. Just the sight of her had reminded him of his brother and that cursed list.

And now that she’d brought up Alistair, anger still smoldered deep in his chest.

God, he was so angry these days. Full of rage with no outlet.

He’d wanted to unleash it upon her when she’d spoken of Alistair, had barely held his tongue. But although she’d spoken out of turn, it was pointless to rail at this woman. It wouldn’t bring his brother back.

“An iron penny should do it.”

Her tone was cool now, business-like. And when he handed over the penny, her gaze was wary, as though she expected him to lash out again. He caught the glint in her eye then.

She didn’t like him.

The feeling’s mutual, he thought sourly, as she stepped aside, allowing him to approach Tàirneanach once more. He liked his women feminine and gently spoken, not burly and blunt-tongued.

“Thank ye,” he said ungraciously. “We’ll be on our way.”