Page 58 of Steel & Surrender

She closed her fingers around the ring. Lord, she wished she wasn’t so on edge.

Goose, just try to relax.

Stretching her legs out before her, Brìghde leant back slightly, tilted her face to the sky, and closed her eyes. The wind gusted across the mountaintop, yet the sun was bright and still held warmth.

“The weather’s much better up here than it was when Da and I climbed Ben More,” she said then, breaking the silence between them. “We got caught in a rain shower that day.”

He didn’t reply. Opening her eyes, she glanced left to find Greig watching her.

She stilled.

Something in his expression made her belly dip.

This man could be disarmingly intense at times.

And suddenly, she felt even more self-conscious than before.

Greig hadn’t meant to stare at her—or to let himself be caught staring.

But in the aftermath of that intense conversation, Brìghde held his undivided attention.

There was something about this woman. A quiet strength. An ageless wisdom. Earlier, he’d teased her about being a philosopher, yet he wouldn’t do so now.

She’d never know just how much her words had meant to him, how they eased the weight he’d carried for too long.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel so alone.

Brìghde’s cheeks were still flushed from the climb. Although the bright sunlight merely accentuated the creaminess of her complexion. And she really did have lovely skin, milky and unblemished.

He’d been admiring the long curve of her neck, the sweep of her jawbone. She had a broad face that many wouldn’t consider to be classically pretty, but her high cheekbones, straight nose, and high forehead all gave her face character.

She had full lips too, and Greig had studied them. Soft and pink, he wondered what it’d be like to kiss—

And then she’d opened her eyes.

Just as well, for the tell-tale tightening in his gut, the stirring in his braies, had knocked him off guard.

What was this?

Ever since his maiming, he’d avoided taverns, especially The Barnacle in Craignure, where he’d once gone to find relief. Instead, whenever his bollocks grew uncomfortably tight, he used his hand instead.

It was easier and wouldn’t result in humiliation.

Even when Davy had flirted outrageously with the lasses at The Bonnie Badger and The Clam and Oyster, he hadn’t joined him. The women had all been comely, and from their lingering glances and soft smiles, he’d sensed they were willing.

But his body hadn’t responded.

Until now.

Brìghde hadn’t been trying to seduce him, yet the intimacy of the things she’d just said, coupled with the vulnerability of her stance—the way she closed her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks—made hunger stir.

It disarmed him, worried him.

Traitorously, his rod stiffened further.

He willed it to subside, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees so she might not see the sudden tent in his braies.

Shite.