Page 17 of Steel & Surrender

“Ye can’t run the forge on yer own forever, lass,” her father cut in. “It’s Eòghan’s birthright … not yers.”

Brìghde stilled.

Hurt slammed into her belly.

She knew her father appreciated her skills. He’d taken great care to teach her everything he knew while his sight remained. However, in the last couple of years, it had deteriorated swiftly. She’d thought he was proud to have her continue his legacy.

But now, she realized that he’d been marking time.

He wanted Eòghan to take her place.

The betrayal of this moment robbed her of breath. Of speech.

“The forge is mine, Da,” she managed eventually, her voice choked. “I have no wish to hand it over.”

Of course, her father couldn’t see the pain on her face, yet her mother and brother could.

Their faces stiffened.

“Ye’ve done well,” her father replied gruffly. “Better than most would. But the forge was never meant to be yers.” He paused then. “In a couple of years, when Eòghan is ready, ye need to find yerself a man and have a family of yer own.”

“That’s right,” her mother added, a note of chagrin in her tone. “No woman escapes her duty.”

Brìghde cut her a sharp look, the hurt in her chest digging deeper. Of course, Ada would take her husband’s side in this.

Her mother had never liked her taking over from the blacksmith, but it had been a matter of necessity. Without the forge, the family risked destitution, and Brìghde’s skills had saved them all. But now, with their bellies full and a steady stream of work, they’d all grown complacent.

They didn’t appreciate fully what she’d done.

“Ye can’t swing a hammer forever,” Ada added, settling herself down on her stool. She then cast a speculative look over her daughter, her eyes shadowing. “I don’t want to see ye alone ten years from now, with no one to stand beside ye.”

Anger quickened under Brìghde’s ribs. She’d been looking forward to her supper, to spending time with her family. Mealtimes were usually pleasant, full of good-natured banter, but this evening, things had shifted.

“That Ian Maclean is always sniffing around the forge,” her mother went on. “Ye’d do well to encourage him.”

Heat washed over Brìghde. “I’m not interested in Ian,” she replied, biting out each word.

Her mother lifted an eyebrow. “A bit high and mighty, aren’t ye? He’s not much to look at, I grant ye, but he’s steady … and that counts for more than pretty.”

“A farmer is a solid choice for a husband,” her father agreed, a groove etching between his thick eyebrows. “And he could do with a sturdy lass like ye working at his side.”

Brìghde exhaled sharply through her nose. She didn’t appreciate her father talking about her as if she were a cart horse. “Be that as it may … I’ll not wed him.”

Eòghan sat quietly now, his brow furrowed as his gaze flicked between his parents and Brìghde. Worry shadowed his grey eyes. He’d been complaining earlier, yet had sensed the change in atmosphere. He didn’t want them to argue and yet was firmly caught in the middle of this battle of wills.

“Aye, well, Eòghan’s still young,” Brìghde said finally, shattering the tension around the fire. It was dimly lit in here and smoky, yet the ruddy flames highlighted the faces of her family. “I’ve got a few years as the village smiddy yet.”

“Maybe,” her father said, his brow furrowing deeply. “But from tomorrow onward, Eòghan is to work alongside ye.”

6: RISING TO THE CHALLENGE

GREIG WAITED UNTIL Davy had finished sparring with the warrior and was walking back to the armory, blunted blade in hand, before he approached him.

Gripping his stick hard, he pushed off, moving faster than he should. Hot pain lanced through his left thigh, but, teeth gritted, he hobbled toward him. “Davy,” he called out. “Can I have a word?”

His brother stopped, wiping the sweat off his brow with his forearm as he turned to face him. “Aye?”

“It’s time I improved my fitness,” Greig said without preamble. “I wish to train with ye.”