Page 41 of The Blacksmith’s Wish
Padriag rewarded her with a contented little coo before drifting into peaceful slumber. Effie couldn’t stop looking at him. His tiny nose, perfect little mouth, and the delicate flutter of his lashes against rosy cheeks. How could anyone grow weary of holding such a miracle?
She scarcely noticed the others talking around the room until her mother appeared beside her with an amused smile. “I believe yer bottom has grown roots to that chair.”
Effie looked up sheepishly. “I only just got him.”
“Nay,” her mother laughed. “Ye’ve held him near an hour.”
“Surely not.”
“Aye.”
Reluctantly, Effie rose, lingering for one last glance before carefully placing the sleeping babe into her mother’s waiting arms. “I suppose…” she sighed dramatically, “…I should share him.”
“How generous of ye,” her mother teased as she carried her grandson near Liam, who immediately looked on with the unmistakable pride of a new father.
Effie watched them together, her heart swelling at the sight. Liam had changed. The once carefree archer now carried himself with a quiet confidence she had never noticed before. Every glance toward Beitris or the babe held fierce devotion, as though nothing in the world mattered more than the family they’d created. The warmth of it wrapped around Effie like a favorite blanket.
She slipped into the kitchen and poured two cups of sweetened mead before returning to the hearth, handing one to Beitris.
Beitris accepted the cup with a grateful smile, her feet propped upon a stool before the fire. Though she looked pleasantly weary, motherhood suited her. A gentle glow softened her features, and joy seemed to shine from every part of her.
Effie settled beside her. “If ever ye need to rest,” she offered, “I can come to yer home and help. Truly, I would love nothing more than spending time with wee Padriag.”
Beitris laughed softly. “It would be perfect. Even if only every sennight.”
“I would gladly come more often.”
“I dinnae doubt it.” Her gaze drifted across the room to where Liam gently bounced Padriag in his arms while speaking quietly with their father. Her smile deepened. “I never imagined happiness could feel like this.”
Effie followed her gaze. “What do ye mean?”
“When evening comes and the house grows quiet…” Beitris said softly, “…and it’s just the three of us. Liam, Padriag and me.” Her voice filled with quiet wonder. “It feels as though the rest of the world disappears beyond our door. We laugh, we talk, we simply sit together, and I realize I need nothing else.”
She blinked back happy tears. “It is as though we’ve become our own little world.”
Effie’s chest tightened, so glad for Beitris, genuinely delighted by her happiness, yet those simple words settled deep within her heart.
She found herself wondering what such a life of her own would feel like. Would it be filled with laughter? Would there be tiny feet racing across the floor? A babe nestled in her arms while a broad-shouldered husband smiled from across the room?
That night, long after the cottage had grown quiet and the fire had burned low, Effie lay awake staring into the darkness.
Beitris’s words refused to leave her. A world of our own.
She closed her eyes. Without meaning to, she imagined Gowan. She pictured him seated before a crackling fire, broad hands cradling a sleepy child against his chest. She imagined laughter rumbling from him as their son, or perhaps a daughter with their father’s bright hazel eyes, wrapped tiny fingers around his thumb. She imagined preparing the evening meal while stealing secret smiles across the room, content simply because he was there.
The vision felt so vivid…and so painfully out of reach. Her eyes opened. The darkness above her seemed colder now.
Could Gowan ever want such a life? A man who hid behind scars and carefully guarded walls might never believe himself worthy of a wife or children. Perhaps the tenderness they had shared had been nothing more than a beautiful moment, born of longing and loneliness, destined never to become anything more.
The thought hollowed something inside her. She rolled onto her side, drawing the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Perhaps it was foolish to let her heart wander so far ahead. Surely it would be kinder to herself to accept the impossible now, before hope rooted itself too deeply.
Yet no matter how fiercely she tried to push the dream away somewhere beneath the ache, a tiny, stubborn spark of hope refused to be extinguished.
Chapter Fourteen
The rhythmic clang of hammer against iron rang through Tokavaig, echoing from the open doors of the smithy and into the bustling village square.
Heat shimmered above the forge while sparks burst with every strike, scattering like tiny stars before fading upon the packed earth floor. The familiar scents of coal smoke, hot metal, and sweat hung heavy in the air, usually as comforting to Gowan as a familiar blanket.
