Page 28 of Steel & Surrender

Inside, he was still just as wretched. Still angry.

Breathing ragged, he pushed on.

They rounded the last headland then, and there in the distance, Greig caught a glimpse of white sand beaches and the wooden jetty that thrust out from the shore. A ferry bobbed on the tide, a stream of people disembarking, as small as ants from this distance.

Craignure.

Thank Christ.

He’d reached his limits.

Clenching his jaw, Greig focused on cleaving a path through the breakers and toward the pale strand that now beckoned to him.

Davy stopped talking too as he kept pace with him.

A short while later, Greig’s knees hit sand.

Swallowing a sob of relief, he clawed his way forward and crawled up onto the beach.

He was so exhausted that he didn’t even care that Davy witnessed his ungainly arrival. Flopping onto his back on the tideline, he stared up at the cloudy sky. The world wheeled around him. His pulse roared in his ears.

He was vaguely aware of Davy jumping into the shallows and hauling the wee boat onto the sand next to him.

“Good job,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. “Although ye look done in.”

“I am.” With a stifled groan, he rolled onto his side and then pushed himself to his feet. It wasn’t the easiest of feats, but he managed it without going down on one knee.

And Davy knew better than to try to help him.

His balance had improved over the past days.

Aye, he’d taken Brìghde’s advice and deliberately put his stick aside when moving around the castle. It made him even slower than before—and getting up the stairs to his bedchamber was an ordeal. He turned the air blue with his curses every time he did it.

Nonetheless, he’d noted that he was starting to move a little easier.

Limping across the sand, he retrieved his clothing from a growth of sea lupins and hauled on his braies.

Two young women passed by then, on the road that led along the wharf. They wore homespun kirtles and carried baskets of wool on their backs.

Their gazes raked over him as he reached for his lèine. Blatantly admiring.

He glanced their way, and they hurried on, giggling and whispering together.

Davy snorted. “Still catching lasses’ eyes, I see.”

Greig cut him a glower that lacked force. It was hard to be grumpy when he’d just completed that swim. He had a way to go before he’d be able to swim the Sound, but he’d made a start, at least.

All the same, the lasses had only seen him naked from the waist up.

Their gazes wouldn’t have been so admiring if they’d seen his twisted leg.

His mood darkened then, as if a shadow had just slid across the sun.

As if sensing the change, Davy gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “Come on … let’s get ourselves a drink at The Craignure Inn.”

It was tempting—they had to return there anyway to collect their horses from the stables—yet Greig hesitated.

He’d achieved something important today, and didn’t want to let anger and despair back in.