Chapter 16 #2
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.
This was inconvenient.
“Thank ye, Brìghde,” he said gruffly, “for putting up with me over all these months. I’ve been a grumpy prick, I know it, and unpardonably rude. If our positions had been reversed, I wouldn’t have put up with me for more than an hour.”
She laughed, shifting forward on the boulder so that she sat a little closer, resting her own elbows on her knees, mirroring his position.
“Ye have been … challenging at times,” she admitted, a smile in her voice. “But a man who’d follow his brother’s wishes so faithfully … even when it was difficult for him to do so, earned my respect.”
He glanced her way to find her studying him, her cheeks flushed now.
In the bright sunlight and this close, he saw that her eyes weren’t just one shade of grey iron as he’d thought. There was steel and ash flecked through it. They were beautiful eyes, soulful, full of frank intelligence.
She was a good woman, the kindest he’d ever met, if he were honest.
And something tightened deep in his chest as he admitted it to himself.
Suddenly, he became aware just how close they were sitting, of how strands of her fine pale hair had come free from their braid and flicked around her face in the wind that eddied about them.
His breathing quickened.
She really was something. Why had he never considered her lovely before?
He must have been blind.
Brìghde cleared her throat then. “Since we’re being frank with each other …
I have something for ye.” She held out her right hand, turned it over, and unfurled her fingers.
A silver ring sat on her palm, glinting dully in the bright sunlight.
A stag’s head had been etched upon it. “I made this for ye … to celebrate conquering Ben More.”
Greig stared down at the ring, unsure how to answer.
She made an embarrassed sound in the back of her throat. “I know I lack a pretty face and grace … but I make up for it in other ways … in making beautiful things.” She cut off there, and when he lifted his gaze to her face, he marked the mortification in her eyes. Her cheeks were now bright pink.
Greig stared back at her, his throat tightening. “Brìghde,” he began. “Ye don’t—”
“I thought a stag’s head was perfect for ye,” she cut him off breathlessly. “I hope ye like it.”
He swallowed. “I do.” His voice sounded strangled, yet he couldn’t help it. “No one’s ever given me something like this.”
“Go on,” she whispered. “Try it on.”
He did, sliding it onto the middle finger of his right hand. It was warm from her skin, and it fit just right.
Glancing up, Greig met her eye once more. “I owe ye a debt, Brì.”
She inhaled sharply, likely shocked by him using such a familiar form of her name, before shaking her head. “It’s a gift. I want nothing in return.”
They stared at each other, the moment drawing out.
And then, Greig lifted his hand, brushing her warm cheek with the back of it.
She trembled under his touch. Her pupils grew wide, her lips parting in wordless surprise.
Greig knew he should probably say something, but he was out of words now. The ache in his throat spread down to his chest. Suddenly, all he wanted was to be closer to her.
He leaned in across the remnants of the meal and grazed his lips lightly over hers.
It was the barest touch, and yet, the shock of it made his heart punch against his ribs.
Sucking in a deep breath, he drew sharply back, as if scalded.
But he didn’t pull completely away. Their faces were still just a few inches apart.
And Brìghde was still looking at him, her gaze limpid, lips parting. “Greig,” she whispered, and just hearing her say his name like that splintered something inside him.
Just one word held so much longing and vulnerability.
And so, despite that he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned in once more, his lips brushing hers once … twice.
And on the third time, his hand slid from her cheek to cup the back of her neck.
A heartbeat later, his tongue swept her lips apart, and he kissed her deeply.