Page 5 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

He was… insufferable. Too confident. Too assured of himself. A man who carried his presence as though the world would bend to accommodate it.

Aye. That was it. Arrogant. Self-centered. And entirely too difficult to ignore.

Chapter Three

Gowan guided the wagon along the narrow path at an easy, unhurried pace. The soft creak of wood and the steady clop of hooves were a welcome contrast to the constant clang of hammer on anvil. The farther he traveled from the forge, the more the tension in his shoulders eased, as though the wind itself carried away the weight of heat and fire. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp, salt-tinged air, and tipped his head back to study the wide, cloudless sky stretched above him.

The past sennight, the weather had been uncommonly serene, too calm, if experience taught him anything. Spring was a fickle season, often turning from gentle warmth to biting rain without warning. And here in Tokavaig, so near the restless sea, a storm could rise quick and fierce, rolling in from the horizon like an uninvited guest and leaving its mark behind.

A sudden rush of wings drew his gaze upward. A flock of birds swept across the sky in a graceful arc before diving toward the thick branches of an old tree, settling in with a flurry of feathers and soft calls. Gowan followed their path until the last of them disappeared into the green canopy, the quiet that followed settling deep in his chest.

When he crested the hill, the McRay lands spread out before him, and he slowed the wagon further, taking in the sight. It was, he had to admit, a fine piece of land. A narrow creek wound its way through the lands like a silver ribbon, dividing the pastures with gentle ease. On one side stood the sturdy cottage, smoke curling lazily from its chimney. And across a grassy area stood the mill, its great wheel turning in a steady rhythm, water churning beneath it.

A large stable and corral were near the mill and just past that, pigs rooted about in their pen, content in their small kingdom of mud and straw.

Across a wooden bridge that spanned the creek, the land opened to rolling grass where sheep grazed in quiet clusters, and a trio of cows flicked their tails lazily, unbothered by anything beyond the next mouthful of grass.

Gowan directed his horse toward the small stable and brought the wagon to a halt. He climbed down, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud, and cast a quick glance around. The stalls stood empty. No horses. No mule. A faint frown tugged at his mouth.

Leaving the wagon where it stood, he made his way toward the house and knocked. The door opened on the second attempt, revealing Effie. Her eyes widened for the briefest moment at the sight of him, surprise unmistakable, before her expression shifted into the familiar look of mild annoyance she seemed to reserve just for him.

“What is it?” she asked, though her gaze had already slipped past him toward the stables. “Are the horses or the mule nae in the stalls?” she asked in a curious whisper.

Gowan pressed his lips together, biting back the remark that sprang too readily to mind. Instead, he leveled her with a calm, measured look. “Nae. Before I go searching the woods beyond, I thought to ask if anyone knew where they might be.”

Her brows drew together as she considered this, the irritation in her expression giving way to something more thoughtful. “Ye are right; it is strange they are nae there. Father is expecting ye. Unless…” Without another word, she stepped past him and set off toward the stables at a brisk pace.

Gowan fell into step beside her, noting, as he always did, how swiftly she moved despite her slight frame. She barely reached his shoulder, yet he found himself lengthening his stride to keep up.

“I am sure it is nae cause for worry,” he offered, though he wasn’t entirely convinced himself.

They reached the mill to find Thom McRay and Calum hauling heavy sacks of grain, the dull thud of each one landing echoing against the wooden walls.

“Ah, Gowan, there ye are,” Thom greeted, though his gaze quickly shifted to Effie with a hint of concern. “Is something the matter?”

“The horses and the mule are nae in the stable or the corral,” Gowan said evenly. “I wondered if ye had them elsewhere.”

Thom’s expression darkened as he turned a sharp look on Calum. “Did ye tie the rope on the gate when ye put them up?”

The younger man’s eyes went wide with sudden realization. Without a word, he bolted from the mill, his long strides carrying him toward the trees at a near run.

Thom let out a weary sigh, shaking his head. “Unless that gate is tied proper, that mule has learned how to see itself free. And once it does, the others are quick to follow. They’ll be off to the woods for tender greens, no doubt.”

Gowan nodded, already turning back toward the wagon. “I will fetch my horse and lend a hand.”

“Aye.” Thom rubbed the back of his neck before glancing at his daughter. “Effie, go to the house. Tell yer mother we may be late for the last meal.”

There was a heaviness to his voice, the promise of a long, tiring search ahead. “Another long day, I am afraid,” he muttered.

By the time they tracked down the runaway trio and coaxed them back toward the barn, the sun had dipped low, its golden light fading into streaks of amber and rose along the horizon. Shadows stretched long across the fields, and the evening air carried that quiet stillness that came just before night settled in.

Despite the trouble the animals had caused, none of them had been able to keep a straight face for long. The moment the horses caught sight of them, the pair had lifted their heads and trotted closer as if they’d done nothing wrong at all, docile, obedient creatures once more.

The mule, however, had proven true to its nature. The stubborn beast had flicked its ears, cast them a look that could only be described as knowing, and then, rather than come forward, had turned and wandered off at an infuriatingly casual pace, as though daring them to try and catch him. In the end, the task had fallen to Gowan.

Mounted on horseback, he gave chase across the dimming field, guiding his steed with steady precision until he managed to outmaneuver the mule’s lazy evasions. With patience, and more effort than he cared to admit, he finally brought the creature to a halt and secured it. The animal offered only the barest resistance, as though the entire ordeal had been a game it had thoroughly enjoyed.

“Of course ye will sleep here. There is nae need for ye to go to the village only to return in the morn,” Thom insisted, leaning back in his chair with the satisfied air of a man who’d just enjoyed a proper meal.