Chapter 28
FOR A HEARTBEAT, she thought it was Greig.
Her stomach dropped.
But no—this was Davy.
Younger, leaner, and sharper featured than his elder brother.
Brìghde’s pulse quickened, and she took a hurried step back. “Sorry,” she muttered, pulling herself together. “I was just leaving.”
Davy inclined his head. “Don’t on my account.”
“Aye, well … I’ve got to get back. There’s still much work to be done.”
He nodded. “I’ve just come from the village. Greig’s there too … helping raise some roofs.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. She’d marked the way Davy’s eyes glinted when he said his brother’s name.
Did he know about her and Greig?
She cleared her throat. “I’m sure the locals will appreciate the help … some of them lost everything.”
Davy nodded, his young face growing stern. “They did.”
“I never thanked ye,” Brìghde said then, the words tumbling out of her. “For arriving when ye did that night … we wouldn’t have lived to see the dawn if it hadn’t been for ye … and Greig. Make sure ye pass on my thanks to him, as well.”
Hades, she wished her face didn’t feel as if it were burning.
There hadn’t been time to thank Davy or Greig—and she hadn’t seen either man ever since.
She was grateful Greig had stayed away, and yet, despite the anger that still spiked through her chest whenever she recalled what he’d done, she wanted him to know she appreciated him coming to her family’s rescue.
“I will.” Davy moved closer then, studying her face intently.
An awkward pause followed.
Squirming inside, Brìghde took another step back. “I should go,” she began.
Davy forestalled her. “That’s a bonny posy ye’ve left Al,” he said, his voice oddly gruff.
Brìghde glanced his way once more, marking the way his dark eyes glittered. His fingers flexed at his sides.
Emotion boiled close to the surface in this young man. Even after spending only a few moments in his company, she noticed how different he was from Greig. His elder brother was steadier. There was a coiled energy in Davy, something waiting to be unleashed.
“He’d have appreciated the gesture. When we were bairns, he’d spend long afternoons with Ma up in her Winter Garden, helping her with her flowers and herbs.” His voice turned wistful then, even as pain flickered across his face. “God, how I miss him.”
Brìghde stilled. She wasn’t sure what to say. Were there any words that could ease Davy’s grief over his brother? Eventually, though, as silence swelled between them, she felt that she had to reply, or it would seem rude. “Ye two were close then?”
Davy nodded. “There is barely sixteen months between us. Greig came into the world three years before Al, and it made all the difference. Sometimes, when we were wee, Al and I used to call ourselves ‘twins’.” His lips quirked then, his gaze still shadowed.
“We used to get up to all kinds of trouble.”
Despite herself, Brìghde smiled. “I remember. I’m a few years older than ye, but I can recall the incident with the toads.”
Davy smirked. “Ye do?”
“Of course. My parents laughed about it for days afterward.”
The two lads, full of impish mischief, had filled a bucket with toads and tipped them into Father Hector’s bed.
The chaplain had hated the creatures.
“Da gave us both a hiding for it,” Davy said, rubbing his chin as he eyed Brìghde. “But it was worth it … just to hear Father Hector’s shrieks when he climbed into his bed for his afternoon nap.”
Brìghde couldn’t help it. She laughed.
It felt strange to do so. Life had felt heavy of late. Ever since the night of the Games, a shadow had dogged her steps.
The attack on Duart had left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth, but it was more than that, of course, for her. For Brìghde, it was the knowledge that she had been nothing but a notch on Greig Maclean’s belt, and the man hadn’t even had the decency to admit it to her face.
Her laughter faded too quickly, a familiar tightness forming under her breastbone.
Davy was giving her that searching look again—one that made her nervous.
He does know about the list … about me.
Her pulse quickened, her palms growing damp as she waited for the mockery to begin.
She waited to see derision spark in his eyes.
Surely, he must wonder at his older brother’s taste?
What if she’d been nothing more than a jest between them?
Feeling slightly sick, she backed up further and made to move along the path out of the graveyard. “I really should go.”
“All is well, Brìghde?” Davy asked, a groove etching between his dark brows. “Ye’ve gone as pale as a shade.”
“I’m fine,” she gasped.
Without another word, she hurried away.
Her stomach churned as she did so. She’d felt queasy ever since the attack.
At least, she didn’t have to fear a bairn.
The possibility alone had driven her to Moy.
Hazel hadn’t asked questions—only handed her a vial and instructions. Bitter as gall, yet effective. To her relief, it had brought on her menses.
Lost in thought, she walked on. She rarely had a moment alone these days, although when she did, she found it impossible not to brood.
Of course, her family had wondered where she’d disappeared to for a day and had questioned her upon her return from Moy.
Brìghde had refused to answer them. She couldn’t come up with a plausible excuse, and she didn’t have the energy to argue.
So, when her mother had begun to interrogate her, she’d simply gotten up from beside the fire and gone out to her forge, where she’d made herself a bed.
The next day, Ada had let it be.
Re-entering the village, Brìghde spied Greig then.
He was halfway up a ladder, and she noticed how he used his right knee to brace himself.
Indeed, he had learned how to live with his maimed left leg. It would never be right, but it wouldn’t stop him from doing most things either. He’d always have to be careful with his left leg, though, and he’d always have to work to keep it strong.
Somehow, knowing how determined the man was, she was confident he would.
She told herself not to look—to slip by and make for the wagons that had arrived from Craignure, bringing in much-needed supplies for the rebuild—but she couldn’t help it.
Sensing her stare, Greig lowered the hammer he’d been using, twisted, and glanced in her direction.
Pulse lurching, Brìghde yanked her own gaze away and hurried on.
“Yer mother told me about the list.”
Seated by the glowing hearth, his fingers wrapped around a cup of wine, Greig tensed.
It was a rare moment of companionship between father and son.
For once, Mairi wasn’t present, nor was Davy. Loch had called Greig in to share a drink with him before bed.
And now, Greig knew why. He shouldn’t have been surprised, though. His parents didn’t keep secrets from each other. Of course, Mairi would have told him.
His stomach hardened.
No—if ye loved someone, ye didn’t lie to them.
“I worried about ye, son,” Loch said then, his voice roughening. “Watching ye fade before my eyes … and not interfere … was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
Greig’s eyes widened at this, yet his father wasn’t yet done.
“I knew I had to let ye be … that only ye could find yer way back.”
Greig’s throat thickened. He appreciated his father’s words. However, he hadn’t recovered without help. Not without Brìghde.
“All the same, I’ve been relieved to see the change in ye,” Loch went on, lowering himself into the high-backed chair opposite Greig. “I had no idea Alistair was the reason though.”
Greig’s fingers tightened around the cup. “I made him a promise,” he replied, cutting his gaze away and staring into the flames. Aye, and he’d paid for it. “I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t honored it.”
His father’s lips curved into a smile. “He’d have been impressed, I think. Although no surprise … Al worshipped ye.”
Greig jolted. A moment later, warmth crept up his neck. “No, he didn’t.”
His father’s smile widened. “He did, Greig. Ye were everything he wanted to be.” His father paused then.
“I must confess, I don’t know what that feels like.
I never had an older brother. But ye were just old enough for him to watch ye go through every rite of passage first …
and he always tried to measure up to yer example. ”
His father’s smile faded, his dark eyes guttering.
“That’s why he volunteered to lead that patrol.
I didn’t want him to. He wasn’t ready. But he accused me of coddling him …
of undermining him.” His father halted once more, his throat working.
“We argued the night before that patrol. And eventually, I relented.” Loch sat back in his chair, his eyes glistening, before he dragged a hand down his face.
“I’ll always regret that. My last words with him were heated … combative.”
Greig had gone still. He’d had no idea that had transpired. However, the guilt writ upon his father’s face was difficult to see—and it was also unwarranted. “Ye let him take the role he wanted, though,” he said finally. “Al would have borne ye no ill will.”
Loch swallowed before raising his cup to his lips and taking a long, fortifying draft. “No,” he said roughly. “Yet I sent him to his death.”
“Don’t blame yerself,” Greig countered, leaning forward. “It wasn’t yer hand that killed him.”
His father didn’t answer.
He likely knew that Greig’s words made sense, but guilt was a strange thing. It was like a rampant weed; once it took root in a person’s soul, it was hard to kill.
Greig should know.
His innards had been twisted up with it ever since leaving Brìghde’s forge that fateful night.
He’d seen her today, briefly, as he’d been working on one of the roofs in the village. She had caught his glance and looked away, her expression stony.
She hated him now. And every time he thought of how he’d hurt her, guilt clutched at him once more. Yet, unlike his father, who was condemning himself unfairly, Greig had to squarely shoulder the blame.
Setting aside his wine, he then placed a hand on Loch’s arm, squeezing firmly. “If ye had denied Al, he would have resented ye for it.”
“Aye, but he’d still be alive,” his father replied gruffly, his arm stiffening under Greig’s grip.
“He made his choice. Do ye think at the same age ye would have wanted yer father dictating to ye?”
Those words hit home, and Loch’s eyes widened slightly. His lips then tugged up at the corners. “No, I would have told the auld man to go to the devil.”
“Well then.” Greig released his father’s arm and drew back. He then picked up his cup and held it up in a toast. “Ye understand.”
His father nodded, raising his cup aloft too.
“Al died bravely,” Greig said, even as his throat thickened. “Protecting his clan. With honor.” He held his father’s eye. “It’s the best any of us can hope for.”