Page 41 of The Archer’s Wish

Her heart was broken. There was no kinder way to name it.

For months she had tended Liam’s wounds, watched him struggle, watched him rise again. Somewhere between poultices and quiet conversations, between hope and denial, she had fallen in love with him. She had tried to convince herself it was gratitude, fondness, duty, but the raw pain that tore through her when he told her he was returning to Ross keep and no longer required her care had stripped all such comforting lies away.

She leaned over the basin and splashed cold water onto her face. Once. Twice. She soaked the corner of a drying cloth and pressed it over each burning eye, holding it there until the sting eased and the world steadied again.

The ache in her chest remained.

Still, she would not allow heartbreak to make her useless. Her mother expected her to shop this day, and Camden would no doubt need her help at the apothecary. Life didnae pause merely because her heart had shattered.

Thankfully, her parents were too occupied to note the dullness in her demeanor as she descended to the bakery. The warmth inside wrapped around her at once, the comforting scent of rising dough and baking crust. She drank a cup of sweet cider and ate warm bread spread thickly with butter. The simple fare grounding her more than she wished to admit. Then she gathered the shopping basket and tied her hair back.

“Wear yer shawl,” her mother called from behind the counter. “There’s a chill in the air.”

Beitris returned upstairs for one of her shawls and paused at the window. The stretch of road before the tavern was already alive with vendors forced from their usual spaces by the spring festival tents. Nothing seemed amiss.

Low, grey clouds hung heavy over Tokavaig, muting the light of the afternoon and casting the village in a veil of soft shadows. The chill bit through the thin air as she walked the short distance to the square. Her steps slowed, her pulse quickening with the memory of what had happened here only days earlier. Her gaze swept the crowd instinctively, searching for a familiar, unwanted face.

But the square was filled only with women bargaining for food, vendors calling their wares, and a few villagers beginning their preparations for the final night of the festival. Relief loosened the tight knot at the base of her throat.

At the first stall, she was surprised by the bounty stacked upon the rough table. The farmer grinned as he explained how he’d shielded his garden from frost with fencing and left it open to the sun above. She selected a heavy cabbage and two broad green squash, then added cured pork and a fresh bundle of carrots to her growing basket.

Content with her purchases, she turned to leave.

And then she saw him.

Cormac emerged from between two stalls, a weighted sack across his shoulders, his hat pulled low over his brow, far too low. As if to hide the bruising. His gaze darted about, wary, until it landed on her. For the briefest instant their eyes met.

Then he hurried past, head bowed.

Beitris released the breath she had trapped in her lungs. The strange, unexpected sensation of victory settled over her. The bully was avoiding her now, and that meant Liam’s warning had not been given in vain.

“Miss Beitris,” a deep voice called behind her. “How fare ye?”

She turned to find Gowan standing behind his tall display of utensils and finely worked kitchen wares. Each month he came with new things that made the housewives’ eyes light with want. She stepped closer, drawn by the gleam of polished metal.

“I am well,” she said. “And yer burn?”

His dark eyes warmed as they lingered over her. “Much better.” He shifted his weight, then cleared his throat. “Will ye attend the dance this eve?”

The question stole the air from her chest. It had been a long time since any man had openly shown interest in her. Today, she’d not expected it at all.

Instinct urged her to refuse. The memory of Cormac’s attack still coiled too close to her spine, and she had only planned to attend if Keir accompanied her. Yet after seeing the cowardice with which he now moved, she might go.

And the thought of seeing Gowan there stirred a faint curiosity she had not expected.

But even as the notion formed, she knew the truth.

Her heart belonged elsewhere. To a man who did not feel the same toward her.

“I…” She faltered, then lifted her chin. “Aye. Perhaps I will see ye there.”

“I will ensure it,” Gowan said with a hopeful grin, dimples deepening in his cheeks.

He was handsome. Kind. Steady. If only that were enough.

Beitris gathered her basket closer and turned toward home beneath the heavy grey sky, carrying with her all the things she could not set down.

Despite the turmoil of the last few days, with Liam’s departure, her own sleepless nights, and the ache that had refused to loosen its grip, Beitris found herself in good spirits. The festive feel of final evening of the Spring Fête had wrapped the entire village in a haze of warmth and celebration. Lanterns swung from ropes strung high between the cottages, their soft glow chasing away shadows as dusk settled. The air shimmered with the scents of honeyed sweets, roasted nuts, and meat turning slowly over open flames. Laughter rippled through the crowd, lifted even higher by the lively notes of fiddles and pipes.