Page 48

GREER WHIPPED AROUND, her hand going to her chest.

She’d been so focused on her task, and on telling Samhradh about her day, that everything else had faded.

The man’s voice that had intruded upon her solitude nearly made her heart leap into her throat.

“Hades,” she murmured, her gaze alighting on Brodie, who lounged against the post outside the stall. “Ye gave me a fright.”

“Apologies,” he replied.

Hand still covering her pounding heart, Greer eyed the blacksmith warily. “Ye don’t sound overly sorry,” she said, unsure of how to respond to him.

It was an irony that the last time they’d spoken was in these stables—an exchange she’d done her best to forget.

His features tightened slightly. “Well, I am … and for what I said last month. I was ill-mannered.”

Greer continued to observe him, as one might a circling wolf. “Aye … ye were,” she admitted softly. “Although it’s all done with now.”

Their gazes held before Brodie’s mouth quirked. “Ye are a good-hearted lass,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t think I’d forgive so easily were I in yer place.”

Greer shrugged. She then started to clean the horsehair off her brush.

Samhradh wasn’t molting, yet her bristly grey hair seemed to get everywhere.

“I’ve never been one to harbor grudges,” she admitted after a pause.

She meant it too—she’d been hurt at the time but would leave it behind her now.

“Life passes too quickly for such things.”

“Ye are a better person than me then,” he replied with a snort. “I never let a slight go.”

Greer lifted an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

For an instant, she worried that her question was too pert, that it would vex him. But then, Brodie sighed. “Ye know I’m a bastard?”

Greer nodded. “It weighs upon ye?”

“Aye … sometimes.”

“Yer brothers appear to love and respect ye though.”

“They do,” he assured her. His mouth twisted then. “But ye have spent some time with my stepmother … have ye not?”

Greer thought of Sheena Mackay’s disapproving face and grimaced. “Aye.”

“She tried to send me away as a lad … both before and after my father died,” Brodie said then. “But first my father thwarted her … and then Iver prevented her. He took over as laird far too young, yet even then, he knew his own mind.”

“Sheena still resents ye?” Greer asked, incredulous. “Even after all this time?”

“Aye … although I hide it well, the sight of her still curdles my stomach.”

Greer frowned. To her, it sounded as if the two of them needed to be locked in a chamber for a couple of days until they sorted out their differences. However, she didn’t say so.

She wondered then if he remembered his promise to make her a dirk. It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him of it, yet a wave of unusual reticence swept over her. It had been an impulsive request. Perhaps it was best for them both if he really did forget it.

Brodie pushed himself off the post then, a rueful smile curving his lips. “Enough about my bitterness,” he said. His gaze then lowered, traveling down the length of her body. “God’s teeth, lass, yer fine surcote is covered in white hair.”

Greer glanced down before heaving a sigh. He was right. She’d forgotten she was wearing her dark-blue surcote—the wrong one for grooming a grey horse in.

“Inghinn will blister my ear about this,” she muttered, brushing belatedly at the hairs. “I can be thoughtless about such things.”

“A clan-chief’s daughter has many fine gowns, I’m sure,” he replied, a teasing edge to his voice now. “If ye ruin one, there will be plenty of others.”

Greer stopped brushing at her skirts, her gaze meeting his once more. “Ye apologized for calling me ‘spoiled’ just before,” she said gently, “yet ye still believe that is what I am, don’t ye?”

Brodie's expression sobered, and he shook his head. “Pay me no mind, Greer,” he said, his voice roughening slightly. “I’m but an ignorant blacksmith. I have little skill in talking to ladies.”

And with these words, Brodie turned and left the stables, leaving Greer staring after him.

“God’s blood,” she muttered under her breath, exasperation flooding through her. Why was it that nearly every exchange between them ended badly?

Greer was rising from her seat in the hall after the noon meal when Brodie approached.

Her pulse quickened nervously as he drew near.

She hadn’t seen much of Brodie over the past week—for he’d been hard at work in his forge, helping to replenish the broch’s armory so the Mackays were ready for war.

They hadn’t spoken since their encounter in the stables either, and she couldn’t imagine what he wanted with her today.

Rose cast Brodie a curious look too, clearly wondering the same thing.

However, he waited until his sister-by-marriage, and the others, had moved out of earshot before he shifted close.

“Lady Greer,” he greeted her brusquely. “Yer dirk is ready.”

Greer flashed him a smile, both surprised and pleased by this admission, especially since she knew how busy he was.

Over the past weeks, she’d been impatient for news of its progress.

She’d requested the dagger on a whim—merely because it was something she’d never been permitted—yet it had grown in significance to her of late.

It would be something she’d take away from this summer: a symbol of the freedom she’d tasted for a short while. “That is good news.”

He nodded, his expression veiled. “If ye wish to come by my forge … ye can retrieve it.”

Greer nodded. “Can I collect it now?”

“Aye, if ye wish.”

“Lady Greer … are ye coming upstairs?” Inghinn approached then. Now that they’d finished the noon meal, it was customary for many of the occupants of the broch to retire to their chambers for a short while before the afternoon tasks began.

“Not quite yet,” Greer replied breezily. She gestured then to the stairwell, where Iver and Bonnie ascended, arm-in-arm. “Go on … I won’t bother with a rest today.”

Inghinn hesitated, her gaze flicking between Greer and Brodie. Curiosity gleamed in her moss-green eyes, and Greer knew she’d be peppered with questions later. “Shall I ask Captain Errol to escort ye?”

“There’s no need … I’m not leaving the broch.” Favoring Inghinn with a bright smile, Greer turned and followed Brodie out of the hall without another word.

“Yer maid is as protective as a mother owl,” Brodie commented as they stepped out into a cool, overcast afternoon. “Anyone would think she doesn’t trust ye.”

Greer cast him a sidelong look, not sure if he was teasing her or not. “Inghinn is one of the few who does trust me,” she corrected him. “Indeed, I wish my kin paid me the same courtesy.”

Brodie raised a dark eyebrow. “Yer parents keep a close watch on ye then?”

She nodded.

“And ye chafe at it?”

“Sometimes.” She paused then, embarrassment stealing over her.

She didn’t want him to think she was complaining about her lot.

“I know I am fortunate … it’s just that sometimes I wish I could experience more …

before…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t believe she was being so candid with Brodie. Her tongue had run away with her.

However, Brodie wasn’t going to let the matter drop, it seemed. “ Before ?”

Greer sighed, heaviness settling upon her shoulders. “I promised my father that I would choose a suitor by the end of the year. This summer is the only taste of freedom I’ll have before I’m wedded and producing bairns.”

Brodie nodded. He likely understood how things were amongst the highborn. Clan-chiefs and their kin couldn’t afford to be sentimental about marriage. She was expected to make a strong alliance for her clan when she chose a husband, just as her mother had before her.

They reached the forge then, stepping into the stuffy stone-lined space.

The hearth glowed, and the air held the sharp scent of hot iron.

Greer spied a wooden door at the far end of the space and wondered if that was where the blacksmith slept.

She knew that the rest of his kin resided in the broch, yet Bonnie had told her that Brodie did not.

“Here it is.” Brodie picked up something from the bench, next to a row of domed iron helmets, and turned, passing it to Greer.

She took the dirk, noting its fine bone handle and the leather sheath that encased the long, thin blade.

Smiling, she withdrew the casing and held the blade up to the light. “It looks a little different to most dirks,” she commented, admiring the way the blade glinted in the glow from the nearby fire.

“It’s made for a woman, not a man,” Brodie replied. “The blade is shorter, the grip smaller. It’s made so ye can carry it at yer hip easily or wear it strapped to yer calf when ye travel.”

Greer nodded, a delighted grin flowering across her face.

“It’s lovely indeed.” She met his eye then, noting that his expression was once more shielded.

Even when he was being kind, this man had walls that were almost impossible to penetrate.

“In truth, I thought ye had forgotten,” she admitted.

“What with the political unrest at present and the threat of war.”

Brodie inclined his head. “Well, I hadn’t. A promise is a promise.”

“Ye had until the end of the summer to finish it.”

“Aye, but none of us know what will happen before then.”

Greer met his eye, tensing. “Will ye join the laird’s company when he rides to the king’s side?”

Brodie’s mouth pursed. “It’s not likely … but I am expected to work night and day to help ready the warriors who do go.”

Greer nodded, placing the dirk and its casing on the bench next to her for a moment. She then reached for her purse, but Brodie stepped forward, putting a hand up to forestall her. “Ye don’t owe me anything,” he said gruffly.

Greer stilled. “But we agreed on a price?”

“Aye, but I’ve changed my mind. Take it as a gift.”

Warmth suffused Greer at his gesture. “Thank ye, Brodie,” she said softly. “And a fine gift it is too.” She picked up the dirk once more. “Now, I’d better let ye get back to work.”

She slid the dirk back into its sheath and then set about trying to buckle it around her waist. The task wasn’t as easy as she’d thought though, and her fingers kept fumbling.

“Here,” Brodie murmured, stepping close. “Let me show ye.”

He brushed her hands aside and deftly buckled the strap securely around her waist. The light, brief touch of his hands upon her midriff caused Greer’s breathing to catch, as did his nearness.

She liked how he smelled—of leather, clove, and iron.

Without meaning to, she inhaled deeply, and her heart kicked hard in response.

What would it be like to be kissed by him, to feel those large calloused hands cup her face as his sensual lips parted hers?

Greer swallowed hard, banishing the images that fluttered through her mind. It wouldn’t do to think of such things. It wasn’t ladylike at all.

“Thank ye,” she said huskily as he drew back. “Ye made that look easy.”

His mouth tugged up into a half-smile that made her breathing hitch once more. “It’s simple enough … ye just need a little practice.”