Page 42 of Desire of a Highlander

Clang. Another blow. Clang. Another.

The rhythm should have calmed him, but today it wasn’t helping in the least. His thoughts churned like a midsummer storm. Why had he snapped at Elodie like that yesterday? He’d handled things badly. Very badly. The memory of her hurt expression when she’d stormed out of his cottage twisted his insides.

And the worst thing about it all? She was right. Deep down he knew that the Steading was changing, that the dangers around them were coming closer with each day that passed and he couldn’t keep pretending that they weren’t.

Aargh! He clenched his fist tighter around the hammer and pounded on the metal until sweat stood out on his forehead and his lungs burned.

He heard the door open behind him and he spun eagerly, hoping it was Elodie. But Faye stepped into the smithy. The healer glanced at the battered piece of iron on the anvil.

“Poor thing. I wonder what it’s done to deserve that?”

Ronan glanced at it. The bit of metal was flattened to within an inch of its life and would be good for nothing now except melting down and starting again. With an irritated grunt, he tossed it into the water barrel where it hissed and steamed.

“What can I do for ye, Faye?”

She shrugged. “Can I not just pay a friend a visit? Ye made a quick exit after ye got back yesterday. I thought it best to warn ye that Eamon’s story has grown considerably.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“When I last heard it, ye fought twelve bandits at once.”

Ronan snorted. “Only twelve? I suspect by tomorrow it will be thirty.”

He smiled faintly, only for it to fade again. Faye narrowed her eyes, her shrewd gaze looking him over.

“We’ve come a long way, havenae we?” she said at last, gesturing vaguely around them. “The Steading, I mean. I dinna think either of us could have imagined what it would become.”

Ronan sighed, his shoulders sagging. He put down the hammer and wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. “Aye.”

“Do ye remember when ye first arrived?”

Unfortunately he did, far too clearly, although it had been many years ago now. He’d been hungry, exhausted, bleeding. Determined to disappear, he’d thought he’d reached the end of his road. Then he found this place and Faye had found him.

“Aye, I remember.”

He was a different person now from the naïve youth who’d walked away from the only life he’d ever known. And yet, he didn’t regret what he’d done. Not for a minute.

Faye raised an eyebrow. “Ye were half-dead.”

His lips quirked. “Perhaps a quarter dead.”

“A generous estimate.”

Despite himself, he laughed. “Aye, most likely.”

The healer smiled. “But look at what ye built.”

Ronan glanced around at the smithy, the cottages he could see through the open doors, the people going about their lives.

“What we built, my old friend,” he corrected her.

She waved away his statement. “I would have sent them all away and ye know it. In fact, I almost sent ye away if ye remember? But ye convinced me otherwise. I’ve never been the sociable type.”

He met her gaze and saw the old pain written there. With good reason, he thought. Who would have welcomed strangers after what was done to ye?

“But ye listened to my hare-brained scheme anyway.”

“I did,” she agreed. “And look at what came of it. A home, a community, when we all thought we’d never find such again.”