Page 14 of The Archer’s Wish

Anne gave her a weak smile. “I ken. It is just that he will nae longer need me.” She gave Beitris a weak smile. “As of late, I find myself a bit lonely. With our parents dead, Gowan is all I have. I am being daft. Best get this done and head back home.” She motioned to the dishes and let out a long sigh. “Thank ye for everything.”

Walking away from the blacksmith’s home, Beitris tried, truly tried, to imagine Gowan as a potential husband. He was handsome enough, his work respectable, and though he’d grumbled through every bit of her healing care, he had a steady temperament. A fine candidate if she were realistic.

But her heart, traitorous thing that it was, went elsewhere. She felt nothing for Gowan, not the way she did when Liam McRay so much as looked her way. Perhaps she was destined to spinsterhood like Anne.

She slipped between two cottages and stepped out into the village square, where the festival had burst to life. Crowds drifted from stall to stall, admiring pottery, woven goods, carved trinkets, and warm pastries dusted with honey. Jugglers tossed flaming torches into the air while acrobats somersaulted to applause. Musicians tuned their instruments on the stage, the first notes floating across the square, mingling with the savory smoke of roasting meats and candied nuts.

The energy of it all pulsed around her, but her attention snagged on a single figure stepping out from behind a group of merrymakers.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Hair pulled back into a neat queue. A slight limp that was nearly invisible unless one knew to look. He cut a striking silhouette in his dark tunic and black breeches, his boots dusty from walking, without his cane.

Her pulse stumbled.

Without thinking, she veered off the path and hurried toward him as he turned down a narrow lane.

“Liam!” she called.

He took one more step before pausing, his back still to her.

“Liam,” she said again, breath hitching.

He turned, and her heart promptly forgot its duties, thudding hard enough to echo in her ears. Her breath caught, her nerves lit up like sparks dancing from a forge. It was ridiculous and annoying, how easily he unraveled her.

“Miss Lewis,” he greeted, voice flat but lips subtly curved.

Lips she stared at far too long.

Beitris forced a scowl. “Are we formal now? Should I call ye Mister McRay?”

He sidestepped her jab entirely. “How fare ye?”

“Well enough. Why are ye walking without yer cane? If ye stumble and fall, ye’ll undo all the healing work.”

His gaze flicked toward the busy square. “I dinnae require it today. As ye can see, I can walk well enough without.” His eyes slid sideways, assessing her. “Are ye upset because I’ll nae need yer care much longer?”

Oh, now he was just being insufferable. Beitris snorted, an utterly unladylike sound, which only made her irritation rise.

“Of course not. If I wanted ye to remain in my care, I’d tell ye to run and leap about in hopes ye’d fall flat on yer face.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “True.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “Has yer mum or sister applied the poultice regularly?”

“Aye,” he said, then stepped closer, far too close, until only a breath separated them. “Though not as well as ye do. Why do ye suppose that is?”

The world narrowed to the space between them. She swallowed hard, every nerve in her body springing awake as if struck by lightning. Her breath vanished. Her thoughts scattered.

“I-I dinnae believe ye,” she murmured. “I best… go.”

She didn’t move. Her feet betrayed her entirely.

The rogue’s lips curved knowingly.

“I’ll come fetch more poultice tomorrow,” he said softly.

All she could manage was a tiny nod. Her gaze, blast it, dropped to his mouth again.

And in the next heartbeat, he closed the remaining space and brushed his lips against hers.