Page 14 of Desire of a Highlander

Elodie forced a smile and waved. “Hello.”

None of them answered.

“Can you tell me where to find the smithy?”

One of the older boys—an unkempt youth with a shock of messy black hair—pointed solemnly in the direction of the setting sun.

“Thanks.”

Elodie set off, walking along the village’s only street although it was little more than a dirt track worn free of grass and vegetation by the tramp of many feet. Her head swiveled to and fro as she walked, trying to make sense of all this. Villagers pottered around, men and women dressed in patched and faded clothing—and a few even called out a greeting. These Elodie responded to with a smile and a wave before hurrying on.

It’s okay, she told herself as she walked, trying to keep the panic at bay. Everything is fine. You’re fine.

As she reached the end of the street, she spotted a larger structure set apart from the rest. It was built of stone but unlike the rest of the buildings, this sported a roof made of clay tile rather than thatch. The front of the building held two huge wooden doors, both of which stood open, and through this Elodie could see the glow of molten metal within. The sound of metal hammering on metal came from inside.

Elodie sucked in a deep breath and walked through the doors. As she crossed the threshold, heat slammed into her like a hammer, forcing her back a step. The interior was dim, lit only by the light from the glowing forge which stood at the back, and a molten metal bar that currently lay on an anvil in the center of the room. A man stood with his back to her, stripped to the waist except for a leather apron and leather gloves, and was hammering the piece of metal, sending sparks showering into the dirt at his feet. She couldn’t see his face but the muscles in his arms and back rippled with the movement.

She’d been rescued by a blacksmith? That made about as much sense as anything else today. Who practiced blacksmithing these days? Weren’t metal goods all made by machines?

Suddenly the man straightened, lifted the bar with a pair of tongs, and carried it over to a water barrel sitting nearby. He thrust the metal into the water which gave off a loud hiss and a plume of steam.

Elodie jumped, letting out a little gasp. The man spun around sharply, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on her.

Elodie swallowed thickly. “Um. Hello.”

He watched her for a second before inclining his head. “Greetings, lass. I’m glad to see ye on yer feet.” His voice was deep and smooth.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. He had penetrating blue eyes and a mop of strawberry blond curls that hung around his face, damp with sweat. ”I...um...” She swallowed again, suddenly unsure of what she’d come to say. “Are you the chieftain?”

He laughed softly. “I suppose I am. As much as we have one, anyway. I’m Ronan Campbell.”

“I came to say thank you. For rescuing me, I mean.”

A soft smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Ye are most welcome, lass.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Right. Good.”

He waited but Elodie had run out of things to say. She suddenly felt uncomfortable beneath his penetrating gaze.

“Do ye have a name, lass?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yes, of course. I’m Elodie. Elodie MacNeil.”

“MacNeil? Then ye are a long way from home. The MacNeil clan’s holdings are many miles to the south.”

MacNeil Clan? What was he talking about?

“I think there’s been some misunderstanding,” Elodie said carefully. “MacNeil is just my surname.”

Ronan frowned slightly. “Aye. That’s what I said.”

“No, I mean...” She stopped. “Never mind.”

The confusion on his face only deepened, but thankfully he didn’t press. Instead, he crossed to the anvil and set aside the tongs he’d been holding.

“How is yer head?”

“Better.” She touched the lump on her forehead. “Still a bit sore.”