Page 29 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

“Out late,” he observed, glancing past the blacksmith toward the dark stretch of forest from which he’d come. “Most men are in the village enjoying the fête.”

Gowan’s mouth flattened, as though the very thought of festival revelry displeased him. “I had business elsewhere.”

Hamish studied him a moment longer, then grunted softly. “Aye. And I suppose ye prefer the company of trees to fiddles and drunken villagers.”

That earned the faintest shift of expression from the blacksmith, something that might have been agreement, if not amusement.

For a moment they regarded one another in the dimness beneath the trees, the sounds of the fête drifting faintly through the night air, music, laughter, the occasional cheer rising from the village and carrying all the way to the edge of the woods.

“Ye’re heading to the fête?” Hamish asked.

“Avoiding it. Was there yesterday,” came the dry reply.

“How fares it?”

Gowan shifted in the saddle and glanced toward the distant glow beyond the trees. “Busy. The square gets crowded, though more folk are gathered about the bonfires now. There’s ale enough flowing to make half the village regret itself come morning.”

That earned a low grunt from Hamish. “As is tradition.”

Gowan gave the faintest inclination of his head. For a few moments, silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, merely thoughtful. Hamish rested one hand on the pommel of his sword and looked down the path as if seeing not the trees, but something farther off.

“I’ve been wondering lately,” Hamish said at last, “what it might be like to live in Tokavaig.”

Gowan’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Have ye?”

“Aye.” Hamish let out a slow breath. “I’ve spent most of my life either at the keep or riding patrols around it. I ken every stone in the walls, every patch of mud on the roads, every place a fool might hide and think himself clever.” His mouth twitched with dry humor. “But I’ve never truly belonged to the village itself.”

The blacksmith was quiet, waiting.

Hamish shifted his weight, suddenly feeling the awkwardness of speaking aloud thoughts he had scarcely admitted to himself. “I spoke to Laird Ross a few days ago,” he continued. “Told him I’ve been considering stepping down from the guard.”

That got Gowan’s full attention.

“I’m no’ so old that I cannae still wield a sword,” Hamish added before the other man could speak, his pride pricking at the very thought. “But I’m old enough to ken what I am and am nae capable of. A guard does nae only defend himself…he defends the men beside him. If danger comes swift and someone under my command is in trouble, I need to be certain I can get to him in time. I’m no’ as fast as I once was. No’ as tireless either.”

His tone turned quieter. “I would rather step away before I become a burden to younger men than stay until someone pays for my pride.”

Gowan studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. “And ye’d come to live in the village?” he asked.

“Mayhap.” Hamish looked toward the glow of Tokavaig once more. “I cannae see myself at the keep with no duty to tend to. I’d go mad within a fortnight.

“Tokavaig is a good place,” Gowan said after a moment. “Better than most.”

Hamish glanced at him. “Aye?”

The blacksmith nodded once. “There’s always something to occupy a man. If ye wish for work, ye’ll find it. If ye wish for company, there are enough folk in the square and the tavern to keep ye from too much silence.”

He paused. “And if ye wish to be left alone, there are ways of doing that too.”

That brought a rough huff from Hamish. “Spoken like a man who has practiced it.”

Gowan said nothing, though he didnae deny it.

Hamish folded his arms across his chest. “Would they accept me, do ye think? An old guard suddenly deciding he’d rather live amongst bakers, gossiping wives, and lads too young to ken when to keep their mouths shut?”

The blacksmith’s mouth flattened, though Hamish thought he detected the faintest trace of amusement.

“Aye,” Gowan replied. “They would.”