Page 8 of The Archer’s Wish

Just beyond the square stretched the wide field reserved for festivals and gatherings. Tents already dotted the grass like bright mushrooms, and long tables had been set out for feasts. At the center, a towering pile of wood waited patiently for nightfall, when it would become the great bonfire at the heart of the celebration.

The land belonged to the Ross family, gifted to the village generations ago with a solemn vow that it would never be farmed or built upon. It existed solely for the people. For festivals, markets, and every cherished moment in between.

Liam made his way down the cobbled road toward the seamstress’s shop. He’d asked Hendry to let him off near the square so he could walk the rest of the way. After hours in the saddle, his leg had stiffened like cold iron. Besides he preferred the slow rhythm of his own pace.

He purchased a length of soft wool dyed a warm blue for his mother and a bolt of pale green linen his sister would like. With those tucked under his arm, he headed toward the apothecary. He wouldn’t see Beitris again until after the festivities, and he needed to prepare the poultice himself if he wished to keep the pain bearable.

The apothecary door creaked as he entered, releasing the soothing aroma of herbs, earth, and candle wax. Candlelight cast a warm glow on rows upon rows of shelves stocked with jars of dried leaves, powders, roots, and tinctures in every shade imaginable. Opposite the shelves stood a long table draped in clean linens for treating the injured. A smaller worktable sat near the front wall, neatly arranged with a mortar and pestle, scales, knives, and tools of the healer’s trade.

Voices murmured from the adjoining room, which was the healer’s living quarters. Liam cleared his throat. “Camden?”

The conversation halted abruptly. Moments later, Camden hurried in, wiping his hands on a cloth. His auburn hair caught the lamplight, making the reddish strands glow.

“Liam,” he said with mild surprise. “I didnae expect to see ye. How do ye fare?”

Despite the healer’s reputation for causing pain in the name of healing, Liam respected him deeply. Camden had worked relentlessly after the last battle, saving every life he could, and mourning those he could not.

“I require the ingredients for my poultice,” Liam said. “My sister can apply it whilst I am here.”

Camden nodded and scanned the shelves. “Good. I am pleased ye mean to keep up the routine. Even if it does not feel like progress, I can see a marked change. Ye stand much straighter than when last I saw ye.”

Before Liam could respond, Camden turned toward the door. “Beitris, can ye prepare the mixture?”

Liam’s stomach dropped, an immediate, unwelcome reaction he despised in himself. He masked it with a neutral expression as Beitris stepped into the room.

She had clearly been in the middle of taking her last meal. She swallowed, wiped her fingers against her skirts, and walked toward the shelves with brisk efficiency. Her gaze flicked to Liam only once, quick and assessing, before focusing on her task.

“How long will ye be staying?” she asked, selecting jars with practiced precision.

“A sennight,” he replied.

“The poultice will keep three days,” she said. “Ye will need more after that. I had already pulled the necessary ingredients…” She set two jars on the worktable, then fetched a third filled with an oily blend of herbs.

As she began her work, Camden gestured to the examination table. “Since ye are here, I want to look at the leg.”

Liam stiffened. “It can wait until tomorrow. Earlier, so as not to disturb yer evening.”

Camden dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense. Ye are here now. Sit. Beitris will need a few moments yet.”

With no graceful way to refuse, Liam resigned himself. He set his bundles on the floor and shrugged off his overcoat. Moments later, he stood with his breeches tugged low on one hip while Camden probed and inspected the scarred flesh.

Liam stared at the far wall, jaw clenched, silently praying for this indignity to end. And trying very hard not to wonder whether Beitris was watching.

“It is astonishing,” Camden murmured, speaking more to himself than to either of them. His fingers traced the jagged scar, pressing into the joint with clinical fascination. Liam clenched his jaw. He’d half a mind to swat the man’s hands away, especially since Camden seemed in no hurry to conclude his examination.

The healer leaned closer, muttering under his breath as he followed the scar’s path with slow, thorough strokes. “Truly astonishing,” he repeated, straightening at last with a look of deep satisfaction.

Liam reached for his breeches, eager to reclaim at least a shred of dignity, but Camden lifted a hand.

“Since ye’re here, Beitris can apply the poultice,” he said cheerfully. “Not too deeply, just enough for it to absorb,” he said, turning to Beitris, who stood frozen, eyes moving from her cousin down to the poultice.

Beitris shot Liam a resigned, almost apologetic look. “We may as well. My cousin will nae let either of us leave until we’ve obeyed every command.” She softened the words with a fond smile at Camden.

She approached with a small bowl in hand. Warming her palms, she scooped the herbal paste and rubbed it between her hands until it glistened.

“Yer family will be glad to have ye home,” she said, her voice calm, steady, even as her eyes lifted briefly to his before flicking away again. She was trying very hard not to acknowledge the fact that he was exposed from hip to thigh.

Liam considered tugging his tunic lower, but pride kept his hands still. He refused to seem embarrassed, even as heat rose fiercely across his neck and cheeks.