Page 7 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

“My husband will be like Father,” she went on, her lips curving faintly. “Suitable. Kind. Hardworking.” Her gaze flicked over him once more. “And bonny to look upon.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her steps light, unhurried, leaving the door to creak softly in her wake.

Gowan let out a long breath he had not realized he’d been holding. Why had he asked? He dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head. It had to be the whiskey. Or perhaps Thom’s words, stirring thoughts best left alone.

Thoughts of futures he had no business imagining. A dangerous path, indeed.

*

Gowan jerked awake, his breath catching as he pushed himself upright. For a moment, he lay still—disoriented—then blinked, surprised to find his body rested, the usual stiffness and lingering ache far less than he’d come to expect. He rolled his shoulders, stretching, a deep yawn escaping him as his muscles loosened.

Morning sunlight spilled through the open slats of the barn, casting long, golden beams across the hay-strewn floor. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, turning slowly as though time itself had slowed to match the quiet of the early hour.

It had been a good night’s rest. Better than most.

Swinging his legs over the side of the loft, he rubbed a hand over his face, already setting his thoughts in order. He would wash at the creek first, clear away the dust and sweat, then make his way to the McRay cottage. Perhaps there would be something left to eat. After that, he would see to the horses… and that troublesome mule… before heading back to Tokavaig.

By the time he stepped into the cottage, the morning had fully come alive.

The rich scent of cooking meat, fried eggs, and spiced cider wrapped around him like an embrace, warm and inviting. His stomach answered immediately, a low, traitorous growl, and his mouth watered despite himself.

Fiona McRay turned at his entrance, already smiling. “Sit,” she urged, motioning him toward the table. Before he could barely utter a greeting, a plate was set before him, generous and steaming, and a cup of hot cider placed beside it. The warmth curled upward in fragrant tendrils, carrying hints of apple and spice.

She glanced toward the stairs. “Thom has already gone to the mill. I must go now myself. Effie should be down soon if ye need anything else.”

With that, she swept up her shawl and hurried out, leaving behind the quiet hum of a home already awake.

Gowan wasted no time. He ate heartily, savoring every bite, the simple meal tasting far better than anything he prepared for himself. By the time he slowed, he was nearly finished, eyeing what remained with consideration and debating whether to take more.

A soft creak broke the silence. He looked up just as Effie came rushing down the stairs.

She was… not as he’d ever seen her. Her brown hair tumbled loose over her shoulders in wild, tangled waves, as though she had only just escaped her bed. The thin chemise she wore clung lightly to her form, brushing just below her knees, and her bare feet made no sound against the floor as she hurried past him without so much as a glance.

Still half asleep, she snatched up a piece of bread, slapped a portion of meat atop it, took an enormous bite, and as she turned, she saw him.

Her scream shattered the morning. Bread and meat flew from her mouth as she staggered back, arms raised, fists clenched as though bracing for attack.

Gowan leaned back in his chair, blinking, waiting.

It took her several long heartbeats. Then recognition dawned. Her shoulders sagged, and she pressed a hand to her chest, drawing in a shaky breath. “Oh… it’s ye.”

She straightened slowly, color rising to her cheeks as irritation replaced shock. Hands planted firmly on her hips, she glared at him. “Why are ye sitting there in silence like some lurking shadow, waiting to scare me half to death?”

“I am breaking my fast,” he replied calmly. “I didnae think to announce my presence aloud to the empty room.”

But even as he spoke, his gaze betrayed him. He took her in fully now, the disarray, the softness of her unbound hair, the way the morning light brushed against her skin. She was… striking. More so than he’d ever noticed before. There was something unguarded in this version of her, something that caught him and held fast.

He realized his gaze had lingered too long when a piece of bread struck him squarely on the forehead.

He blinked, startled, as it fell into his lap.

Effie now held a cloth in front of herself, as though suddenly aware of her state. “Should ye nae be out there shoeing a horse or something?” she snapped, eyes narrowing.

Gowan leaned back, suppressing a smile as he lifted his cup of cider. “I would have thought ye would already be up, dressed, and helping yer mother.”

The effect was immediate. She dropped the cloth without thought and strode toward him, fury igniting her green eyes. “How dare ye judge me. I work as hard as anyone in this house.”

She stopped before him, close enough that he could swear he felt the heat of her anger, and something else beneath it.