Page 23 of The Archer’s Wish

As they approached, Gowan stepped into the doorway, wiping soot from his forearms with a damp cloth. His thick auburn hair hung loose around his rugged face, and fresh scars marred the skin of one hand. He looked every bit the formidable blacksmith, strong, broad-shouldered, and irritated at being told to rest.

His scowl eased when he saw Beitris.

“Morning, lass,” he greeted, voice rough but warm. “I’m ready for yer inspection. I’m hoping ye’ll say I can get back to the forge proper.”

Then his gaze slid to Liam, “McRay,” he said flatly.

Liam offered a curt nod. “Gowan.”

Gowan’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring bright. “Is there a reason he is here?” He addressed the question to Beitris but kept his sharp gaze pinned to Liam, as if expecting him to start trouble right then and there.

Beitris lifted her chin. “Liam came as an escort. It’s early, and I thought it best not to walk alone.”

Gowan crossed his arms, the corded muscles flexing beneath soot-streaked skin. “Escort, is it?” His gaze flicked between them, lingering just a heartbeat too long on Liam.

Liam’s jaw tightened. “Escort is what she said. Nothing more.”

Gowan snorted softly. “I’d bet my best hammer ye didn’t wake this morning thinking, I should go with the healer to see about her patients.”

Liam stepped forward just slightly, a subtle shift, but enough to change the air between them. “I go where I choose, Gowan.”

“And ye choose to follow her?” Gowan’s voice darkened, the edge unmistakable.

Beitris cursed inwardly. Men. They could turn a simple visit into a battlefield with nothing more than a glare and a throaty growl.

She slipped quickly between them, placing one hand lightly against Gowan’s arm. “Enough. I’m here to look at yer burn.” She turned to Liam. “Ye should go. Thank ye for accompanying me.”

Liam’s gaze pinned the blacksmith for a moment, then he nodded and turned away.

Gowan’s glower eased. Then he stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. “Come on, lass. Let’s see if ye’ll allow me back to my forge.”

*

At the village center, Liam eased himself onto a wooden bench, stretching his aching leg as he watched the bustle unfold. Villagers hurried past carrying ribbons, flowers, baskets of food, and brightly painted signs. The last two days of the spring festival always brought the most excitement, dancing, feasting, games of strength, and half a dozen excuses for merriment.

Sunlight glinted off freshly polished windows as men hung decorations along the main road. Laughter carried through the air, mingling with the scents of freshly roasting meat, honeyed pastries, and the crisp tang of early spring.

A warrior Liam barely knew, young, broad-shouldered, with an eager grin strode over and dropped onto the bench beside him. They exchanged pleasantries, conversations turning to duties awaiting them once the festival ended and life returned to the keep. Liam nodded along, though the words drifted in and out of focus.

Because beneath the chatter, a familiar ache simmered… then surged.

By the time he rose to leave, a lance of pain shot from his hip down to his knee, the kind that made the world tilt and darken. He caught himself on the bench, jaw clenched, breath thin.

A thought occurred. The river’s icy water would help.

In years past, after long days of training or battle, he’d often slipped into the frigid loch near the keep. Since the injury, the numbing chill had been the only thing capable of silencing the torment in his leg.

He should’ve gone straight there earlier instead of walking with Beitris. But saints, those moments with her, too brief, too tempting, had been impossible to resist.

By the time he reached the riverbank, the pain was nearly unbearable. He barely managed to unfasten his belt and peel away his clothing, each movement sharp and punishing. The grass swayed in the morning breeze, the faint scent of pine drifting down from the hills. The river glimmered like a strip of silver, promising blessed relief.

He waded in without hesitation.

The water stole his breath instantly. Icy. Shocking. But he didn’t stop. He pushed deeper until it reached his chest, the cold piercing straight to the bone. He closed his eyes and let the river claim him, focusing on the warmth of the sun against his face, the lapping of water against his skin, and the chorus of birdsong drifting through the trees.

Pine. Moss. Fresh water. Nature itself seemed to wrap around him like a soothing balm.

His leg loosened, the pain ebbing away. With a slow breath, Liam pushed off and swam into deeper water, treading lightly, letting the cold numb everything that tormented him. His teeth chattered, but he welcomed it, proof that his body still listened, still responded.