Page 13 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

Silas’s complaints ceased the moment food found his bowl. With the cat finally appeased, Gowan shut the door against the deepening dusk, leaving one window cracked open to the cooling air. He lowered himself into his chair before the fire with a quiet exhale, the weight of the day settling into his limbs. Most evenings, this was where he found his peace.

Reaching for the small trunk at his side, he lifted the lid and withdrew his sketches, his private indulgence, one he shared with no one. Only his sister knew of his hobby.

It was a habit born of quieter days, when illness had kept him indoors, and his mother had placed charcoal in his hand, urging him to fill the hours with something other than restlessness. He’d never quite let it go.

Paper was a luxury, but one he allowed himself. The keep produced it, and he found ways to acquire it when he could. Charcoal, at least, he had in abundance.

Tonight, he chose a familiar subject. A bird. With slow, steady strokes, he shaped the curve of its body, the delicate sweep of wing and feather. His hand moved with quiet certainty, each line softening into the next as the creature began to take form beneath his fingers.

Outside, the last of the light faded. Inside, the only sounds were the crackle of fire and the faint scratch of charcoal against paper.

Knocks jarred the silence. A sequence of sharp sounds.

Gowan stilled, the charcoal hovering mid-stroke. It was rare that someone came to his door at this hour. Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze shifting toward the entrance, unease threading through the quiet.

“Tis open!” he called out.

The last person he expected stood in the doorway…Peigi.

For a moment, neither spoke. The lantern light caught in her fair hair, turning it to spun gold, and her cheeks were flushed from the evening chill. She stood framed by the dark beyond, a woven basket held carefully in both hands.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, her voice soft, hesitant but warm. “I was passing and thought… well…” She lifted the basket slightly. “I finished the order ye asked for. And the pears, from the tree near our cottage… they’ve ripened perfectly. I thought ye might enjoy them.”

Gowan rose at once, setting the charcoal aside. “Ye are nae intruding,” he said, though surprise still lingered in his tone. Crossing the room, he reached for the basket.

Her fingers brushed his as he took it, light, fleeting.

Needing something to hold his vegetables, he’d asked Peigi’s mother to make a couple of baskets for him. Peigi only held one, though it was of a good size and well made. The weave was fine, even better than he’d expected. Nestled within lay a small cloth-wrapped bundle and several pale green pears, their skins blushed faintly with gold.

“Both are… much appreciated,” he said, searching for the right word and not quite finding it. “Both the basket and the fruit. Thank ye.”

Peigi smiled, her expression brightening at his approval. She was pretty, any man in the village would say so. Soft features, gentle eyes, a sweetness about her that made her easy to be around.

And yet…

Gowan stepped back, setting the basket on the table as something restless stirred beneath his ribs. There was no spark. No pull. No unsettling awareness that tightened his chest or made him forget what he’d meant to say.

Nothing like what he felt when being near Effie. The thought came unbidden. Sharp and unwelcome.

Effie, with her wild hair and sharper tongue. Effie, who never stood quietly in a doorway but instead burst into a room as if it belonged to her. Effie, who unsettled him in ways he did not understand, and did not particularly appreciate.

He cleared his throat, dragging his attention back to Peigi. “Ye did fine work,” he said, gesturing to the basket. “Better than fine.”

“I’m glad ye like it.” She shifted her weight slightly, her gaze lingering on him just a moment too long. “I… thought I might stay a bit. If ye’ve no objection.”

Gowan felt it then, not discomfort exactly, but a heaviness. A sense of expectation pressing in where moments ago there had only been quiet.

“Aye,” he said after a beat, though the word did not come easily. “If ye wish.”

Behind him, Silas let out a low, unimpressed sound before curling tighter into himself by the fire, as if even the cat sensed something had shifted. And Gowan found himself wishing that it had been someone else knocking at his door.

Peigi stepped farther inside at his invitation, the door closing softly behind her with a muted sound that lingered in the quiet.

“I will not stay long,” she said, though she made no move to leave. Her gaze drifted about the room, settling briefly on the hearth, then the chair… and finally the sketches Gowan had not yet tucked away.

“Ye draw?” she asked, moving closer, curiosity warming her tone.

“Aye.” He crossed the room and gathered the papers before she could see too much, stacking them with more care than he intended. “It is nothing of note.”