Page 54

GREER DIDN’T SLEEP well that night. Instead, she lay there, staring up at the rafters, waiting for dawn to come.

Eventually it did, the first glimmers of light pushing through the sacking on the window. Rising silently, for it was still very early and she didn’t want to wake Inghinn, Greer pulled on a lèine and kirtle, pushed her feet into slippers, and threw a woolen shawl around her shoulders.

Then, moving with exaggerated care, she skirted around the fireplace, in front of which Inghinn still slept soundly, and let herself out of the bedchamber.

Clutching the shawl about her, she descended the steps, grateful that her soft slippers were noiseless on the stone.

Greer didn’t usually venture out of her chamber half-dressed like this.

Inghinn always helped her don a surcote over her kirtle before her maid carefully brushed her hair, pulling some of it back into an elaborate style.

But this morning, her hair was mussed from sleep, and she hadn’t even splashed water on her face.

Greer had to get to the forge before the rest of the broch awoke.

She had to say goodbye to someone.

The hall below was packed with slumbering bodies, including her father’s party now too. Greer’s pulse quickened as her gaze swept over them; the last thing she needed was a Forbes warrior to spy her.

Moving quickly, she slipped out of the broch and darted down the steps. Fortunately, the barmkin was deserted. She’d risen early for her knife-fighting lessons, but never at this hour; the sun was barely beginning to lighten the eastern sky.

Worry tightened her ribcage as she crossed to the forge.

What if Brodie wasn’t yet awake? She certainly didn’t want to pull the man from his bed just to say goodbye.

However, when she halted in the open doorway, relief swept over her—for she spied a figure seated before the hearth within.

Brodie was lighting the charcoal inside the forge.

Greer halted, and for a few moments, she simply allowed herself to watch him.

He was dressed in braies and a leather vest that left his muscular arms bare.

Auld Edeen was right. He did have a body that appeared sculpted by the gods, but that wasn’t what had drawn Greer to this man.

Something else, something far more powerful than physical attraction, tied her to him.

Being in his company brought every sense awake.

She would miss his dry sense of humor, the teasing glint in his eye as they sparred, and his long-suffering patience with her clumsiness.

But more than that, she would miss how he made her feel. When Brodie was present, the sun shone a little brighter and the world seemed full of infinite possibility.

Greer’s throat tightened as her conversation with Bonnie rushed back in. Her friend had wanted to warn her about Malcolm Sutherland, and Greer understood why—but it made no difference.

She couldn’t go against the accord her father had struck.

Her hands were tied.

And yet, as she watched Brodie coax the charcoal to life, his handsome face stern with concentration, longing pulled at her.

If she were someone else, a local lass perhaps—a farmer’s daughter like Rose—she might have had a chance with him. Aye, Brodie had walls, yet she’d have scaled them eventually.

But the reality was that a match between the two of them was impossible.

Greer swallowed hard, trying to ease her aching throat.

She was here to say goodbye, not to torture herself about what might have been. Inhaling deeply, she then murmured his name.

Brodie snapped out of his reverie, his gaze cutting to the entrance to his forge—and to the comely small figure framed there.

Lady Greer.

Brodie’s heart punched hard against his breastbone, and for an instant, he merely stared at her.

Her look was different this morning, untamed. Instead of her usual fine surcote and carefully coiffed hair, she wore a plain kirtle and a woolen shawl—and her golden mane cascaded in wild curls over her shoulders.

She was pale, her steel-hued eyes hollowed, as if she had slept poorly.

His heart thudded once more, painfully.

Christ’s teeth, had the lass no sense? Her father was resident in the broch; she couldn’t go about dressed like a servant, paying visits to the blacksmith.

“Lady Greer,” he greeted her brusquely. “Ye shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” she murmured, drawing her shawl closer about her shoulders as she entered the forge. The morning wasn’t cool, yet her body was tense as if warding off the cold. “I won’t stay long … I just wanted to say goodbye, Brodie.”

Their gazes met and held, and something pulled hard, deep in Brodie’s chest.

Ignoring the discomforting sensation, he frowned. “Farewell, Lady Greer,” he said, his tone polite now. “I wish ye all the best for the future. Ye shall no doubt be glad to see Druminnor again.”

A nerve flickered in her smooth cheek. “Have ye met my husband-to-be?”

He nodded. “Recently … Malcolm Sutherland was at the meeting I attended with Iver … at Kilchurn.”

Her throat bobbed. “And?”

“And what?”

“What was he like?”

Brodie shrugged. “He’s a Sutherland, so I wasn’t kindly disposed toward him.”

Silence fell, swelling between them like an incoming tide, before Greer took a hesitant step forward. “Bonnie told me about what happened at that inn … on the way back from Stirling.”

Brodie stilled. He wasn’t sure Bonnie had done a wise thing.

“It seems the man I’ve been promised to … is a brute,” she went on, her voice roughening.

Brodie sighed. “Aye … although that doesn’t necessarily mean he’d mistreat ye .”

Greer’s features tightened, a rare flash of anger darkening her eyes. “He insulted Bonnie so gravely that Iver had to defend her honor,” she said stiffly. “Do ye think such a man would make a fine husband?”

Brodie’s mouth pursed. No, he didn’t. He’d heard about the incident in Doune. Iver had never revealed exactly what Malcolm had said to Bonnie, although the fact he hadn’t only warned that the insult had been serious.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he sighed. “It seems yer father doesn’t have yer best interests at heart.”

In truth, he wasn’t surprised. He’d taken an immediate dislike to Alexander Forbes the day before. The man’s haughtiness had grated on him; he didn’t seem the type to consider his daughter’s wishes at all.

“He always told me I could choose,” she replied. The knuckles that clutched at her shawl were white now, and pity constricted Brodie’s throat.

An instant later, he swiftly caught himself.

He couldn’t let himself feel anything for this woman. After this morning, their paths would never cross again.

“Aye, well … it sounds as if the Sutherlands made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” Brodie murmured.

Greer didn’t reply. Instead, her breast rose and fell sharply, as if she was struggling to contain a strong emotion that had just swelled inside her.

“This has been the best summer of my life,” she whispered. Her grey eyes gleamed as she met his gaze once more. “I will never forget it … or ye, Brodie.”

Brodie flinched. His reaction to her words was visceral—as if she’d just punched him in the guts.

“Ye need to,” he ground out, his voice harsher than he’d intended.

“I shouldn’t have indulged ye … when ye wanted a dirk made or lessons on how to wield one …

those things have no place in the life ye are meant for. ”

Greer shook her head and took another step forward. A tear escaped, trickling down her cheek.

The sight of it made Brodie’s heart ache, and he fought the urge to move into her, reach up, and sweep the tear away with the pad of his thumb. Greer was usually such a happy lass; it pained him to see her weep.

“I was never meant for that life,” she whispered before pausing briefly. “I was meant for ye .”

Her words made his breath catch.

Heat washed over him, and suddenly his heart was galloping like a bolting horse. “No, Greer,” he rasped.

“Aye,” she countered, her expression turning fierce. “I know it, in the marrow of my bones … as do ye.”

Brodie shook his head. “Ye have a head full of fanciful ideas … but life isn’t all sunshine and roses, as ye have just discovered.” He paused there, noting that he was starting to sweat. “I’m not the answer to yer problems.”

“Ye, Brodie, are everything .” Suddenly, she was standing very close, her chin tilted up, her gaze glittering as she stared fearlessly into his face.

Brodie’s pulse went wild. Her audacity, her bravery, stunned him.

What kind of fool exposed their underbelly like this?

He’d never show his vulnerability to another so nakedly.

He’d never risk having his heart torn to pieces.

As if reading his thoughts, her lips lifted at the corners. “Aye, I’ll be the one to say it … from the first time we met, I’ve been yers.” She released her shawl with one hand, clenching it over her heart instead. “This doesn’t lie.”

“Aye, it does,” he growled back.

“No,” she gasped, another tear trickling down. “I won’t be—”

Brodie reached out then, gripping her by the shoulders, and hauling her against him. His mouth captured hers in a hard kiss.

He wasn’t sure what he’d intended, only that he couldn’t let her keep talking. She was tying him in knots with her words, making him feel things he didn’t like or understand. He had to stop her.

But he’d made a mistake, for as soon as he pressed his lips to hers, as soon as the sweet, warm scent of her skin filled his nostrils, something inside him snapped.

An instant later, he was mating his mouth with hers, forgetting who they were, and where they were. And the more he tasted, the more he wanted.