Page 48 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

“I should walk ye home.” Her smile faded just enough to reveal the disappointment she tried to hide.

“Unless…” he added quickly, “unless ye would rather stay a wee while longer.”

“I would.” The words escaped before she could pretend otherwise.

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming it completely. The guardedness she’d so often seen melted away, leaving behind nothing but quiet joy.

He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing the gentlest kiss across her knuckles. “I’ve imagined doing that for years.”

Her eyes widened. “Years?”

“Aye.”

“And ye waited until after ye’d kissed me properly?”

“I may ken how to shape iron,” he muttered, “but women remain a mystery.”

She laughed again. “I noticed.”

His mock scowl earned him another grin.

They moved to the small bed near the window, sitting side by side while the afternoon light filtered through the shutters. Neither spoke for several moments. They simply leaned against one another, listening to the familiar sounds of the village beyond the walls, the distant ring of a hammer, vendors shouting somewhere near the square, the gentle rustle of wind just outside the window.

Gowan tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I’ve spent years convincing meself I was meant to live alone.”

Effie rested her head against his shoulder. “And now?”

“Now…” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Now I cannae imagine another day without ye.” She lifted her face to his. “I’ve loved ye longer than I understood what the feeling was.”

His eyes searched hers, still carrying traces of disbelief. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“If either of us begins imagining foolish things again…”

“…we ask.”

He smiled. “We ask.”

Their foreheads met, and the world beyond the little cottage seemed to disappear.

When his lips found hers once more, it was with none of the desperation that had once driven them together, only the quiet certainty of two hearts that had finally found their way home.

Outside, the forge fire burned low while afternoon slowly surrendered to evening. The sounds of their lovemaking masked by the familiar music of Tokavaig.

Later, golden light had given way to the soft glow of a single candle.

Effie lay curled beside him beneath a wool blanket, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder while absentmindedly tracing circles across his bare chest with one fingertip. His arm remained around her, as though he still could not quite believe she belonged there.

For a long while neither spoke as words hardly seemed necessary.

Finally, Gowan broke the comfortable silence. “I’ll speak with yer father tomorrow.”

She tipped her chin to look at him. “So soon?”

He chuckled softly. “After everything I just confessed—and done—I think waiting would only make things more complicated. I dinnae wish to prolong it. Although I am nervous.”

“I find it hard to believe ye will be timid in approaching me da,” Effie teased.