Page 74 of Steel & Surrender

That wasn’t the truth, though. As she’d left the games, a pang of longing had assailed her; a wish that she’d chosen an easier path. But then, she reminded herself that running her father’s forge hadn’t exactly been a choice, but a necessity.

It wasn’t that she hated the job—she didn’t. Nonetheless, it was grueling, and if she were honest, she’d been tiring of making hinges, horseshoes, and tools of late. The jewelry she’d crafted over the past year was something else, though. She’d loved working on each piece—Greig’s ring, especially—and was already thinking about the next item she’d attempt: a necklace. She had a garnet she’d picked up in Craignure the year before. It would be perfect, inlaid with silver. And maybe she’d keep it for herself.

Seeing that they were wasting their breath trying to convince their stubborn daughter otherwise, her parents stopped trying to get her to return to the revelry. Together, the trio made their way through the scattering of thatch-roofed bothies to where theirs sat on the southern outskirts of the village.

Once indoors, Ada poured them all cups of refreshing ale and roused the fire’s embers. “I hope Eòghan doesn’t get up to mischief,” she grumbled as she bustled about, going through her usual evening routine, while Brìghde and her father looked on from the fireside.

“Hopefully not,” Brìghde replied with a shrug, “but he’s getting to an age where ye can expect such things.”

“I was the same as a lad,” Breac admitted then, his wide mouth tilting at the corners. “The Harvest Games were my favorite day of the year.”

Brìghde smiled back, knowing he couldn’t see her, and placed a hand on his arm. Despite that he hadn’t swung a hammer in a while, it was still brawny. “Ye’d have bested them all in the strength contests today,” she said sincerely. Aye, his sight had been taken, but he was still fearsomely strong.

However, her father just gave a slightly wistful laugh. “Maybe, lass, maybe.” He yawned then. “The day’s worn me out. I’m off to bed.”

“Go on then, mo chridhe,” his wife said. “I’ll join ye soon enough.”

He nodded, rising to his feet. Then, moving by instinct rather than sight, he slowly made his way around the fire and across to where the heavy curtain of sheepskins shielded the sleeping area for her parents. In the beginning, when he lost his sight, they’d had to guide him there. But these days, in such a small space, he knew the way.

Disappearing behind the hanging, Brìghde heard her father moving around, and then silence. And all the while, she sat sipping her ale slowly, staring at the glowing embers in the hearth.

“Ye really shouldn’t be here with us, Brìghde,” her mother said, leaning in.

Brìghde’s chin kicked up, irritation sparking through her. “Leave it, Ma. I’ve already told ye—”

“Enough of that.” Her mother cut her off with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with ye these days. It’s as if ye think ye don’t deserve to be out there enjoying yerself like others yer age.”

“Maybe I don’t,” Brìghde shot back, her anger rising now, “because I’m not like other lasses, am I? I’m the Forge Maiden. A great, hulking thing that swings a hammer for a living.”

Her mother stilled at this, her eyes drawing wide. “Do ye think that makes ye undesirable?”

“Of course, it does,” Brìghde snapped, her patience fraying. She wasn’t in the mood to have this conversation. “Look at me.” She raised a scarred, calloused hand. Her lip curled then. “Only bloody Ian Maclean has ever shown any interest.”

He’s not the only one, a voice whispered. Greig did.

A familiar ache twinged deep in her chest at the thought of him.

God. Would this ever get easier?

“And I’ve already told ye I’ll never wed Ian,” she plowed on. “And I mean it.”

“I know,” her mother replied, placating now. “There’s no need to get upset.”

Brìghde’s throat tightened. It was too late for that. It all felt like too much this evening, and her mother was just unwittingly rubbing salt in the wounds.

Silence fell, swelling between them before Ada cleared her throat. “Ye’re wrong, ye know, Brì. Ye are bonnie. And the fact that ye stand out from the other lasses isn’t the curse ye think it is.”

Brìghde gave a rude snort. That was easy for her mother to say. She was a foot shorter than her.

“It’s just that ye spend yer days in work clothes, yer hair scraped back, covered in ash and soot. It does ye no favors, lass,” her mother added.

“That doesn’t matter,” Brìghde replied, her fingers clenching around her cup.

She needed to let this go.

Another silence followed before Ada suddenly rose from her stool. “I have a gift for ye,” she murmured.

Brìghde’s spine stiffened, her gaze tracking her as she went to the far corner of the bothy and pulled out a wooden box from underneath a work table, removing something from within—a garment.