Page 4 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

Effie nodded, grateful for the interruption, and immediately annoyed again when she realized what it meant.

She would have to pass Gowan to reach the door. Drawing herself up, she glared at him. “Move, ye great oaf. Ye’re blocking the way.”

One dark brow lifted. His shoulders rose in a careless shrug before settling again. “It is ye with the manners of an oaf.” He stepped aside at last, though not nearly as much as she would have liked.

Effie brushed past him with deliberate disregard, her skirts swaying, only to catch the scent of him as she did. Smoke. Heated iron. A trace of leather and the lingering warmth of the forge.

Not unpleasant. Not at all.

Her fingers tightened on the handle of her basket as she slipped inside the apothecary, silently cursing the way her heart had begun to race all over again.

*

The ride home was a short one, the path winding just beyond the edge of the village and stopping shy of the forest where the trees stood tall and watchful. The afternoon was pleasant, sunlight stretching golden fingers across the land, though a faint chill lingered in the air, just enough to still require a thick shawl.

Effie had to direct her mule, Merlin, past other wagons to unhitch the beast.

The mill bustled with its usual morning trade. Merchants and villagers gathered in steady numbers, their voices mingling with the rhythmic creak of the grinding wheel and the soft rustle of grain being poured and weighed. Effie’s father worked with practiced ease, lifting heavy sacks of flour with fluid efficiency, while his assistant Calum, slighter of build with light brown hair that constantly fell over his earnest brown eyes, moved beside him, doing his best to match the older man’s strength. Effie’s mother stood near the counter, swift and efficient, seeing to each purchase with a warm smile and sharper eye for coin.

That left Effie, as it often did, with the morning errands into the village and the preparation of the midday meal. She did not truly mind the arrangement. In fact, she rather preferred it. It granted her a few extra moments beneath her blankets each morning while her parents were already hard at work before dawn.

As she passed the mill on her way toward the house, she lifted her hand in greeting, making certain her parents saw her return. If she slipped by unnoticed, her mother would fret, and her father would likely come searching before long.

As expected, Calum noticed her at once.

He stopped mid-task, abandoning the sack he’d been hauling, and jogged toward her with an eagerness that made Effie’s shoulders tighten ever so slightly.

“Do ye require help carrying things inside?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over her before settling on the basket in her arms, as though it were far heavier than it was.

Effie let out a quiet breath, schooling her expression into polite neutrality.

Calum’s attentions had been flattering, briefly, but that feeling had faded quickly, worn thin by persistence. There was nothing overtly wrong with him. He was decent looking enough, hardworking, and clearly well-meaning. Yet something about him unsettled her in a way she could not quite place. It was not anything he said or did outright… more a feeling that he could never be the man for her and she’d end up hurting him.

Her mother, of course, saw things quite differently. More than once, she had gently suggested that Effie consider Calum as a future husband. She said he was dependable. A good worker. A man who could build a life beside her here at the mill, close to family.

Effie wanted those things: marriage, a home, children one day. But when she tried to imagine that future with Calum, the image simply would not take shape. It would be an unsatisfying arrangement, and she’d be bored within days.

“Ye can unhitch the mule,” she replied quickly, tightening her hold on the basket. “I must hurry in and begin preparations for the meal.”

Without waiting for further protest, she turned and made her way toward the house, her pace quickening into something just shy of a run.

One would think her clear disinterest might eventually discourage him. Instead, it seemed only to strengthen his resolve.

*

“Gowan should be here this afternoon,” her father announced, once they had gathered for their meal.

Effie stilled, though she kept her eyes on her plate.

“He’ll be seeing to the mule’s shoes, and my horse as well,” he continued, tearing a piece of bread with satisfaction.

Though the blacksmith visited every fortnight or so, his arrival never felt routine to Effie. There was always a moment, sharp and unwelcome, when she became acutely aware that he would be nearby for hours. Her parents, as always, would insist he stay for supper. And afterward, he and her father would linger long at the table, sharing stories and whiskey deep into the evening.

It had been that way for years. And every time, Effie found herself at a loss.

Most would assume it was because she harbored some lingering infatuation. That would have been far simpler. But the truth was far less comfortable. Gowan Black unsettled her in an entirely different way than Calum ever had.

Where Calum’s presence felt like a persistent nudge she could not quite escape, Gowan’s was something far more consuming, like standing too near a fire, unsure whether to step closer for warmth or flee before it burned.