Page 42 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

Today, they did nothing to quiet his mind. His hammer rose and fell with practiced precision, though his thoughts were nowhere near the glowing iron resting upon the anvil. His body worked from years of habit while his mind wandered somewhere entirely different.

To the bed in his cottage. To emerald green eyes. To Effie.

Three days. The words echoed in his mind.

Three endless days had passed since seeing her, and she had not come into Tokavaig once. She’d not come to the village to wander through the square as she often did simply to greet those she knew. She’d not visited the bakery, visited his sister, nor gone to the apothecary. She’d certainly not come to seek him.

He’d looked for her every morning. Expected her every afternoon. Listened each time footsteps paused outside the forge, only to feel disappointment settle heavier upon his shoulders when someone else stepped through the doorway.

His hammer came down harder than intended.

Clang.

The glowing iron buckled beneath the blow, and he scarcely noticed. Instead, his thoughts returned to that afternoon in the cottage. The softness of her fingers weaving through his hair. The warmth of her breath against his cheek, the way she’d looked at him.

She’d seen his scars, saints above, she’d kissed him after seeing his scars. He squeezed the hammer tighter.

That day while washing up and noticing her presence, he’d been jolted by the realization that she’d seen him bare and his heart had nearly stopped. She had tried to hide her surprise. Bless her gentle heart, she’d done everything she could not to stare. But she’d seen everything.

The thick ridges of twisted flesh that climbed across his shoulder, wrapped around his ribs, and disappeared beneath his tunic. Angry reminders of the fire that had nearly claimed his life.

She had been with him after seeing them. Why did she? If she’d run away, he could hardly blame her.

“Gowan?” The familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.

He turned to find Camden standing in the doorway carrying a leather satchel over one shoulder.

The healer’s lips twitched into an amused smile. “I wondered if ye meant to make that pot look as if it’s been trampled by horses.”

Gowan frowned. “What?”

Camden crossed the room and pointed to the metal pot he held.

Gowan turned it slowly in his hands. One side leaned noticeably lower than the other, while the rim wavered so unevenly it looked as though it had melted.

Camden raised a brow. “I’ve seen bowls fashioned by children with straighter sides.”

Gowan stared at the misshapen thing before tossing it to the table next to the forge. “So have I.”

A reluctant chuckle escaped Camden. “I was hoping ye’d say that. I’ve never known ye to turn out careless work.”

Silence settled between them. Only the crackle of the forge filled the space. Gowan reached for the tongs, turning an iron rod absently within the coals, fully aware of Camden watching him and waiting. They had known each other since boyhood. Had shared many things in life, from victories to tragedies.

There were precious few men Gowan trusted completely. Camden was one of them.

The words hovered on his tongue. I kissed Effie. She saw my scars. I think I’ve lost her.

He swallowed them back. Perhaps it was better left unsaid.

Camden spoke first. “Would ye care to tell me what has occupied yer thoughts so completely?”

Gowan forced a shrug. “Nothing worth discussing.”

“Hmm.” Camden wandered toward the open side of the shop and looked out over the village before speaking again. “Strange.”

“What is?”

“I’ve found that when a man says nothing it is usually something.”