Page 8 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

“Go away, Gowan Black,” she warned, her voice low and fierce. “Before I strike ye over the head with a pot.”

He did not think. Did not weigh consequence or reason. One moment she stood there, blazing with indignation. The next, his hands were at her shoulders, pulling her toward him.

He kissed her and the world seemed to tilt.

At first, she stiffened in his hold, resisting, but only for a breath, perhaps two. Then she softened, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his tunic and drawing him closer. The kiss deepened, turning urgent, consuming. She climbed into his lap as though she belonged there, and for a fleeting, dangerous moment, everything else ceased to exist.

When her lips parted allowing his tongue access, heat surged through him, swift and overwhelming, stealing breath and senses alike. Effie’s slight body was like a balm to his battered one, smoothing over every ugly ridge and scar, seeming to heal him both internally and externally. Her pert breasts had pushed against his chest, the feel of them so utterly wonderful that he lost the ability to breathe.

When she let out a soft sound of pleasure, the effect had been immediate, his arousal surging, hardening and straining against the rough fabric of his breeches. The sensation was like being doused with cold water. He could never truly have her.

With a sharp inhale, Gowan broke away, rising abruptly and setting her back on her feet, immediately putting distance between them.

“Ye are an enticement I cannae afford.” His voice came out rough, breathless, his chest heaving as he attempted normalcy.

Effie stared at him, wide-eyed, her plump bruised lips still parted, her breath unsteady. She blinked as though waking from a dream.

“I… I think ye should go,” she whispered.

Gowan didn’t argue. He turned and left at once, his steps quick, almost unsteady. The air outside struck him cool and sharp, but it did little to calm the storm within.

Only once he reached the barn did he slow, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, though even then, it felt as though he could not quite fill his lungs.

Chapter Four

Effie didn’t know how long she stood rooted to the spot. It was as if everything continued to move around her, but she’d forgotten how to move along with it. Her heart pounded so loudly it echoed in her ears, each beat reverberating through her like a drum. A strange warmth coursed through her limbs; desire filled her as she fought to gain control of her trembling body.

Some quiet, guarded part of her had always known that any intimate contact with Gowan would be powerful. But nothing could have prepared her for this. For the way a single kiss could unravel her so completely. Delicious tingles had traveled along her spine, stealing her breath, leaving her suspended in that moment where all she wanted, nay, all she needed was to be even closer to him. It had been as though she might melt into him.

He was like a forbidden fruit that drew unsuspecting victims to feel too much and never get their fill.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she sank into the nearest chair, her knees no longer steady enough to hold her. Her gaze fell upon the cup Gowan had left behind, and without thinking, she reached for it, lifting it to her lips. The liquid did little to soothe, though she drank deeply, hoping to quiet the wild rhythm of her breathing.

The memory pressed in, vivid and unrelenting. The solid heat of him against her. The strength of his arms encircling her as though she belonged there. It had felt like slipping into another realm entirely, one where nothing else existed. No village. No expectations. No past or future. Only them. Only Gowan.

The way he had breathed her name, the soft, unguarded sound that escaped him. The firm, lingering press of his lips. She could still feel it, as though he had marked her. And when their mouths had parted just enough for deeper exploration, and their tongues had met, tentative at first, then certain, it had sent a rush through her that left her aching and alive all at once.

Lifting her hand, she touched her lips, unsure what to do next.

“Ye should be dressed, dear. Gowan or Calum could walk in at any moment and find ye in a state of undress.” Her mother’s voice cut cleanly through the haze.

Effie startled, her head snapping up as her mother entered, busily hanging her shawl on the hook by the door and pulling her apron around her waist with easy movements.

“Hurry now,” her mother continued briskly. “There is much to be done. I require ye to go to the village to see about the meat from the butcher. And Isabella should have the baskets I ordered from her ready as well. Ye can ride with Gowan once he prepares to leave. Should be any moment now.”

“I can go myself,” Effie blurted, far too quickly, her voice louder than intended. “It is a fine day, and…”

“Nonsense,” her mother interrupted, already ushering her to her feet with firm hands. “Go on now. I dinnae think Gowan will be long.”

Effie forced herself to move slowly, though her pulse still fluttered wildly, and her thoughts remained tangled in that fleeting, breathless moment she could neither forget—nor entirely wish to.

*

As her mother had predicted, Effie had scarcely gathered her wits before she found herself seated beside Gowan in the front of the wagon, rolling steadily toward the village.

Or rather… not steady at all.

The wagon lurched over every rut and stone in the road as though determined to test their balance, and their resolve. Both of them sat as stiff as carved statues, backs straight, shoulders squared, and the noticeable gap between them might as well have been a chasm. Effie kept her hands braced at her sides, fingers gripping the edge of the wooden seat. Because it was the only thing keeping her from sliding straight into him.