Page 38

GREER WALKED OUT into the barmkin with a spring in her step.

“Morning, Lady Greer,” Kerr Mackay greeted her with a smile. The Captain of the Dun Ugadale Guard was crossing the wide cobbled space. “Ye are up early?”

“Aye, I’m an early riser,” she replied, her mouth curving.

Indeed, she always liked to be up with the lark.

Just after dawn was her favorite time of day.

This morning, the sky arched pale blue and cloudless above them, and the air was cool.

“I thought I might take a walk around the walls before breaking my fast.”

Kerr nodded. “Of course, Lady Greer … mind yerself on the steps though … they are steep.”

“I will,” she sang out, heading across the barmkin toward the nearest set of stairs. A few yards away, the clang of metal drifted out from the entrance to the forge, echoing against stone.

Greer slowed her pace, curiosity flickering up.

She hadn’t forgotten the husky blacksmith—Brodie—from the day before.

He’d attended supper too, although he’d been seated at one end of the table, far from her.

He hadn’t paid her any attention, but, nonetheless, she’d glanced his way more often than she should have, still fascinated despite herself.

Brodie had worn a crème-colored lèine, unlaced at the top.

The shirt revealed a triangle of tanned skin, and despite that the garment was loose, every time he leaned forward to help himself to food or ale, muscles rippled under it.

It was hard to keep her eyes off him. All the same, she checked herself. It wasn’t ‘proper’ to gawk at men so. After her display in the barmkin earlier, Brodie Mackay likely thought her a halfwit now.

“Focus on yer walk, lass,” Greer murmured to herself.

“Not on brooding blacksmiths.” Reaching the steps, she picked up her skirts and climbed to the top of the wall.

A high rampart wrapped around the broch, making it safe for her to stroll along the narrow space.

She could just see over the top; there was quite a view from up here.

To the east lay Kilbrannan Sound, glittering in the morning sun, while the village spread out north of the broch.

Greer strolled the ramparts, greeting the guards at watch, and when she reached the western walls, she found herself looking out over rolling, sculpted green hills.

The landscape on the Kintyre Peninsula was different from home—wilder, starker—yet like the day before, this place called to her. Excitement kindled inside her as she breathed in the scent of grass, mixed with the briny tang of the sea.

“I hope this summer passes slowly,” she told the gently whispering breeze. “I don’t want to go home.”

Her breathing grew shallow then. The truth of it was that she hadn’t missed her kin at all in the fortnight since her departure.

Her family was joyless and critical, and their expectations of Greer made her feel caged.

She was of marriageable age now, and so far this year, her father had already paraded a succession of potential husbands before her.

Much to his ire, she hadn’t warmed to any of the suitors though.

She was fortunate indeed that her father had granted her this trip. However, by the end of the summer, he’d be out of patience. If she didn’t choose soon, her father would select someone for her.

Alexander Forbes was eager to use his only daughter to make important alliances.

Trying to ignore the stone that had settled in her stomach, Greer leaned against the rampart and rested her forearms on the top of the lichen-covered wall. Aye, she knew what lay before her. All the same, there was a rebellious part of her that wished she could follow her own path in life.

She sighed then and tilted her face up at the sky, letting the breeze caress it.

Maybe I’ll be lucky, like Bonnie , she thought wistfully.

Few high-born women married for love, yet she still dreamed she’d be the exception.

Maybe one of the fresh suitors her father no doubt had lined up to meet Greer upon her return to Druminnor might set her pulse alight, might steal her heart as Iver Mackay had stolen Bonnie’s.

Her friend had told her the night before that she was with bairn—exciting news indeed.

But Bonnie and Iver weren’t the only happy couple at the table the eve before. Greer had noted how well-matched Kerr and Rose were too. The pair had barely taken their eyes off each other all evening. The charge between them was palpable.

“Maybe there’s hope for the rest of us, after all,” she murmured wistfully.

The atmosphere at Druminnor was quite different.

Her two elder brothers had both married for convenience; there seemed little love or happiness between them and their wives.

Likewise, her parents had barely suffered each other over the years.

Yet despite, or perhaps because of, the absence of loving relationships around her, Greer hadn’t lost her optimism.

And now that she’d seen the two happy couples, she clung to it even more tightly.

Greer’s belly growled, reminding her that she would soon be expected to join the laird and Bonnie in the chieftain’s solar to break their fast. The supper the eve before had been delicious, but she’d been too excited, to focused on hearing all of Bonnie’s news, to eat much.

Turning from the wall, she made her way to the nearest steps and descended the walls. In the barmkin below, hammering still echoed out from the blacksmith’s forge.

Greer paused at the foot of the steps, her gaze shifting to the glow that emanated from the open doorway, the odor of hot iron drifting across the courtyard. And then, without realizing what she was doing, Greer found her feet moving toward the forge.

Halting in the doorway, she peered inside where Brodie Mackay, stripped to the waist, hammered a blade he’d just pulled out of the fire. Jaw set, he pounded the knife-blade, sparks flying, before using tongs to plunge the glowing iron into the slack tub at his feet.

Steam billowed as Greer looked on, fascinated.

Mother Mary, the man looked like some ancient god, Thor himself, hammering out thunder across the sky.

She’d never seen such leashed power. The muscles of his naked torso bunched and rippled as he worked, his tanned skin gleaming in the ruddy light of the forge.

His short brown hair curled damply against his scalp.

As Greer continued to watch him, he held up the thin blade he was working on, eyeing it critically. He then frowned and muttered a curse—clearly vexed about how things were progressing.

Greer didn’t speak, didn’t wish to intrude, and indeed might have slipped away unnoticed if the blacksmith hadn’t glanced up and seen her there.

He scowled, and Greer’s heart jolted. “Good morning,” she greeted him brightly, deciding to brazen the moment out. “I see I’m not the only early riser here.”

“No,” Brodie replied tersely, cutting his gaze away. “I’ve got a job to finish. A hunter’s picking up his knives later today.”

Greer inclined her head. “I thought blacksmiths didn’t make weapons?”

He gave a soft snort. “I don’t just spend my days making nails and horseshoes,” he replied, gaze still averted.

Unlike the day before, when he’d held her eye so boldly, the blacksmith seemed to be avoiding doing so now.

“I’m also capable of crafting armor … and can even turn my hand to dirks when needed.

” His voice was gruff, as if he was slightly embarrassed.

Greer looked then to the line of already completed knives lying upon a piece of leather on a nearby worktop.

Fascinated, she entered the forge to get a closer look.

They were much smaller than a dirk and lighter, yet with wickedly sharp thin blades.

Instantly, she recognized the style. “Are these throwing knives?”

“Aye,” he grunted. “My customer competes at games all over Scotland … or so he tells me.”

“My elder brothers are both skilled at knife-throwing,” Greer admitted.

A frisson of envy darted through her then.

She’d always watched them compete at summer gatherings and wished that she could do so too.

However, her father would never have permitted it.

Glancing up, she met Brodie’s gaze. “Are ye?”

“Aye … it’s a common enough pastime. My brothers and I all compete from time to time.”

He did meet her gaze then, briefly, and she caught the same glint of male appreciation in his eyes that she’d spied the day before. No, she hadn’t imagined it.

Greer cleared her throat. “They look like fine blades,” she murmured, shyness stealing over her. It wasn’t empty flattery; Greer had an eye for quality, inherited from her exacting father. As such, she’d noted the polished finish and the beautifully carved bone handle for each knife.

The blacksmith’s expression softened just slightly, his mouth tugging up at the corners. “Aye … let’s hope the customer likes them.”

He fell silent then, and awkwardness stole over Greer. “I’m intruding,” she murmured. “I shall let ye get back to work.”

Dismissing her with a brusque nod, the blacksmith returned to his task, thrusting the blade back into the fire. Meanwhile, Greer backed up toward the doorway.

Part of her knew she should walk away, should let the ill-tempered smithy be. However, something, an invisible tether that linked the pair of them, wouldn’t let her leave—not yet.

Moments passed, and she cleared her throat.

Brodie glanced her way, a groove appearing between his brows. Irritation clouded his hazel eyes, yet Greer held her ground. “Sorry, just one more thing,” she said brightly. “I realize ye are busy at present … but once ye have time, I’d like to commission a job from ye.”

That got his attention. Brodie yanked the blade from the fire and straightened up. His frown deepened. “Excuse me?”

“Aye.” Greer flashed him a smile. “Ye say ye make dirks … so I’d like ye to fashion one … for me.”

It thrilled her to ask such a thing. She’d never have made such a request from the blacksmith or weaponsmith at Druminnor. Her father would have crushed such behavior. Yet, away from his domineering ways, she felt different. Bolder.

Brodie arched an eyebrow. “And what does a well-bred lady want with such a weapon?”

Heat prickled across Greer’s skin at his mocking tone. However, she chose to ignore it. “Even well-bred ladies are at risk on long journeys,” she replied, squaring her shoulders while keeping her smile firmly in place. “And in truth, I’ve always wanted a dirk of my own.”

Aye, it was true. Growing up, she’d envied her brothers the dirks they wore proudly at their hips.

As a bairn, she’d pretended she was a lad rather than a lass for a time, donning leggings rather than skirts, wearing a wooden knife tucked into her belt, and copying her elder brothers in all things.

However, neither of her parents had indulged her for long.

But she was no longer a bairn—and she was free from her parents’ censure for the moment. Owning a dagger that she could carry at her waist or strapped to her leg when traveling was daring indeed.

Brodie’s features tightened, and his lips parted as he readied himself to respond, yet Greer pressed on. Now she’d asked him, she wouldn’t back down. “I can pay ye well.” She patted the coin purse on her belt. “Just name yer price.”

The blacksmith muttered a rude oath under his breath before slamming the blade down on the anvil and crossing to her. He pulled off his heavy leather gloves as he approached, finally giving her his full attention.

He was a big man, and Greer was short. The crown of her head barely reached his shoulder. As such, he loomed over her, and Greer had to rock back on her heels and crane her neck upward to hold his gaze.

His closeness seemed to suck all the air out of her lungs, and her pulse went wild, bucking against her breastbone.

Mother Mary, what was it about this man that addled her wits so? Being this close to him was thrilling indeed.

He was grumpy, foul-mouthed, and scowled at the sight of her—and yet when his gaze met hers now, she was in danger of forgetting her own name.

“I’ve got a waiting list,” he rumbled, still scowling down at her. “And ye’ll have to go to the back of it, Lady Greer. Don’t think ye get special treatment, just because ye are the laird’s guest.”

“I don’t,” she assured him. “And I’m happy to wait.”

“It’ll cost ye fifty silver pennies.”

Greer sucked in a breath. That was steep—half of what she carried in her purse. “Thirty,” she said, deciding to haggle with him.

His jaw tightened. “Forty-five.”

Greer drew herself up, her gut tightening. She loved a good negotiation, much to her mother’s chagrin when they went shopping together. “Forty … and that’s as high as I’ll go.”

Brodie Mackay stared down at her, and she nearly grinned at the incredulity that sparked in his hazel eyes. This close, she could see there were flecks of green and amber around his irises. She’d never seen eyes that color before.

“All right, Lady Greer,” he growled, and the low timbre of his voice made something unfamiliar stir in her lower belly—a quickening that was like excitement but darker, headier. “Forty silver pennies. I’ll have it ready before ye depart for Druminnor at the end of August.”

A wide smile blossomed across Greer’s face. “Excellent.” She then glanced away, reaching for her purse. “Will half now suit ye?”

His gaze narrowed as if she’d offended him. “Pay me when the job’s done,” he snapped, his jaw tightening. “Not before.”

Greer hesitated before nodding. The blacksmith was clearly a proud man, and she wouldn’t insult him by insisting. “Very well, Brodie.” She stepped back, flashing him another bright smile before moving toward the doorway once more. “Good day then.”