Page 35 of Steel & Surrender

A fortnight had passed since their last climb. The week before, Greig had sent word that he couldn’t join her. The clan-chief had been called away on urgent business, and Greig was needed to watch over the castle in his absence.

Brìghde hadn’t been surprised he’d begged off. What had surprised her, though, was that he’d actually sent word. After that disastrous trip up into the foothills of Beinn Talaidh, she’d been sure he’d never join her again.

But a couple of days earlier, another lad had paid her a visit, telling her to wait for him this Sunday.

And so, here she was.

It was yet another cool day. However, at least there wasn’t rain, and mist didn’t shroud the peaks of the grey granite curtain that rose to the west. It was a good morning to go hill walking.

Greig hadn’t been present earlier at Mass—and she was beginning to think she’d be riding out alone when a heavyset courser appeared under the portcullis.

Approaching her, Greig gave a brusque nod. “Ready?”

She nodded back, marking the scab on his lip and the fading bruise on his cheek. “Let’s go.”

Side by side, they pushed their mounts into a canter and skirted the village. As it was Sunday, the run rigs on its periphery were empty this morning. Folk had returned home after Mass and were now preparing a hearty noon meal.

But Brìghde and Greig would eat later. She’d wrapped up some bread and cheese before going out, and as Sradag carried her west, the week’s tension unknotted in her back and shoulders.

They rode in silence for a while, and this time, Brìghde didn’t bother to try to engage him in conversation. Not after their last trip together.

Of course, she understood why he’d turned up this morning. Even if he started training for the climb now, he wouldn’t manage it until the following year. Some parts of Ben More were steep and rough indeed.

Eventually, Greig cleared his throat and swung his gaze her way. “I have another item on Alistair’s list completed … the easiest of the challenges he set himself.”

“And what was that?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. This list that Alistair MacLean had left behind him was intriguing indeed. It saddened her too, for he had been a man of hopes and dreams and hadn’t been able to achieve any of them.

Life could be so needlessly cruel.

“Alistair always wanted to spend the night drinking in Tobermory, so Davy and I did just that,” Greig went on, his hand lifting then, his thumb skimming across his bruised cheek to his scabbed lip. “And of course, a good night’s drinking isn’t complete without a brawl.”

Brìghde snorted. “Men,” she huffed under her breath.

She couldn’t understand why they liked fighting so much. Her father had been the same as a younger man before he lost his sight. He’d gotten into a few brawls over the years, especially at gatherings after he’d had a skinful of ale. And he’d taught her how to fight too.

“If ye’re a woman in a man’s profession, ye need to know how to look after yerself, lass,” he’d told her. “Soon I’ll be no good to ye. I won’t be able to protect this family. And until Eòghan gets old enough, it’ll be up to ye.”

Brìghde’s mouth thinned then as she thought of her confrontation with Ian nearly a fortnight earlier. Aye, her father had taught her well. Nonetheless, she’d been on edge ever since, waiting for Ian to strike back. Surely, he wouldn’t be so easily defeated?

However, as yet, he hadn’t made a move.

“So, what’s next on the list?” she said, focusing on her companion once more.

Greig looked rested this morning, less drawn and severe. His shoulder-length black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and his dark beard neatly trimmed, emphasizing his strong jaw.

Her belly fluttered. He was an attractive man, indeed; a rougher, slightly more dangerous version of Alistair. A man with more sharp edges. Nonetheless, it was hard not to respond to his masculinity. How many lasses had lost their wits over him? More than a few, she reckoned.

“I plan on swimming the Sound of Mull in the spring … from Duart Bay to Oban.”

Her brow furrowed. “Don’t tell me ye’re going to swim on yer own, all that way?”

“No, I’m not a fool,” he replied with a snort. “Davy will row alongside. If I get into trouble, he’ll help.”

Brìghde nodded, relieved that he was taking precautions. Even so, it seemed a great distance. She’d only crossed to Oban by ferry once with her father a few years ago to pick up supplies. That stretch of water was cold, with strong currents, and could easily churn up in bad weather. It was quite a task.

“Well, we’d better get ye used to climbing hills too,” she said, focusing on why they were out here this morning. “Ben More awaits.”

They were nearing the foothills of the great mountain’s smaller cousin now, riding amongst the fading swathes of purple heather.