Page 35 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

Although she had been aware that he’d been injured in the fire that had consumed the family home and later had an accident at the forge, she never imagined what she’d just seen. A lump formed in her throat as she stared at the closed door.

The extent of the injuries was astonishing. How much agony he must have endured. It was no wonder he didn’t wish to be seen, for anyone to discover how disfigured his body was.

Did he expect disgust or even pity? Because it wasn’t anger she’d seen in his eyes. It had been fear that when she had looked at him, it was only the scars she would notice.

Slowly, Effie walked to the rain barrel. The abandoned bucket floated lazily against the rim, so she set it upright, then rested her fingertips upon the weathered wood.

“Gowan,” she said out loud toward the closed door. “I came to ask why ye dinnae return to the fête.”

There was no reply to Effie’s soft knocks and the silence from the interior stretched. “Gowan. What are ye doing?” she asked in an even tone.

If he expected repulsion, he couldn’t be more wrong. Nothing about his body was repulsive; instead, in her opinion, he was beautifully built, and the scarring did little to hide it.

“If ye donnae open this door, I will kick it in.”

Effie planted her fists on her hips, glaring at the stubborn oak door. Her gaze drifted to her worn leather boots, and she grimaced. Kicking solid oak would likely leave her hobbling for days. Still, if that was what it took to drag one mule-headed blacksmith from hiding, then so be it.

She drew back her foot just as a thought occurred to her. What if the door was not locked? Feeling rather foolish, she reached for the iron latch. It lowered with little resistance beneath her trembling fingers.

The door creaked inward. The cottage lay quiet, the afternoon light filtering through the small windows and casting long shadows across the floor. The scent of soot, iron, and fresh water lingered in the air.

“Gowan?” she called softly.

She had barely taken two steps inside when a powerful arm wrapped around her waist.

A startled gasp escaped her as her back struck the back of the heavy door with a thud. Before she could catch her breath, Gowan loomed over her, one hand braced beside her head, his broad chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

His jaw was tight, his gray eyes blazing. “What do ye want?” he growled, his voice rough enough to scrape stone.

She was too startled to speak.

The silence stretched as he waited for her answer, his gaze locked on hers. Only moments ago she had seen him at the rain barrel, water glistening over the terrible scars that twisted across his shoulder, down his back, and along his side. Angry ridges of ruined flesh that spoke of agony no man should have endured. She could still picture him jerking away, rushing inside as though she had witnessed something shameful.

He believed the scars made him unworthy. The realization settled deep within her chest with painful clarity. Every time he had turned away… every excuse… every guarded glance… none of it had been because he didnae want her. He had been protecting himself.

The answer escaped before she could stop it. “What I want is…ye,” she whispered. “Ye, ye daft idiot. I want ye.”

The fierce mask he’d worn cracked. For one suspended heartbeat neither of them moved. Then he claimed her mouth.

The kiss was desperate, almost painful in its intensity, as though months of restraint shattered all at once. Effie melted against him, her hands finding his face before sliding to his shoulders. She no longer noticed the roughness of his skin or the heat of the forge lingering upon him.

Then there was only Gowan, the man who believed himself too damaged to deserve love.

At the thought, another realization struck. She was in love with him.

The certainty washed over her like a rising tide, sweeping away every lingering doubt. It had never been simple attraction. Never idle curiosity. Somewhere between shared barbs, quiet conversations, and stolen glances across the village, her heart had chosen him.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, raw with conflict. She knew he stood on the edge of retreat, ready to pull away before she could recoil from what lay beneath his shirt.

Slowly, deliberately, she took his face again and held it whilst peering into his eyes.

“Ye need nae hide any part of ye from me,” she whispered. Her fingertips brushed the scar that crept above the edge of his collar before she rose onto her toes and pressed the gentlest kiss just beneath his ear.

“I am yers,” she breathed.

The words shattered whatever defenses he had left. With a broken exhale, Gowan gathered her into his arms as though he feared she might disappear if he loosened his hold. His forehead rested against hers, and she understood that for the first time since the fire that had scarred his body, he allowed someone that close.

Lifting her up as if no heavier than a feather, he carried her to the rumpled bed and lowered her gently to her feet just beside it. As they kissed, he undressed her. Effie’s skirt pooled around her feet, her blouse and chemise quickly followed. As for Gowan, he removed his breeches but kept his tunic on.