Page 10 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

Very good. The sooner she was away from him, the sooner she could forget this… whatever this was.

When the wagon rolled to a stop before the blacksmith’s shop, Effie didn’t wait for assistance. She clambered down with far more haste than grace, nearly catching her skirt on the wheel before freeing it with a quick tug.

“Thank ye,” she tossed over her shoulder, already moving. If she lingered, she would speak. And if she spoke, she would very likely say something foolish. Or worse… something honest.

Neither would do.

She refused to glance back. Yet the heat prickling between her shoulder blades told her all she needed to know. Gowan was watching her. Of course he was. The man could stand silent as stone and still make his presence feel like a hand pressed firmly at her back.

Walk. Just walk.

“Effie!”

The call broke through her thoughts, and she turned, grateful for the distraction. Across the village square, Anne, Gowan’s sister, waved her over, seated beside Beitris McRay on a sun-warmed bench. Both women held small paper-wrapped bundles, the scent of roasted nuts drifting toward her on the breeze.

“Come sit with us,” Beitris said, shifting closer to Anne to make room. “We are discussing the upcoming village fête.”

Effie slid onto the bench, glad for the normalcy of being with her friends. The chatter of villagers, the creak of carts, the distant clang of metal from the smithy, it all felt grounding after the chaos in her mind.

“I had forgotten all about it,” she admitted, reaching without ceremony into Beitris’s bundle to pinch a nut.

Anne laughed softly. “Then it is fortunate ye found us. There is much to be done.”

“We must have new skirts,” Anne went on, smoothing her own as though already imagining better ones. “A light fabric for dancing.”

“Aye, I will make myself one as well,” Beitris added, giggling. “Though my sewing is dreadful. I shall have to beg my mother’s help, or risk looking like I dressed in the dark.”

Anne sighed dreamily. “It will be my first fête as a married woman.”

The way her face lit at the mention made Effie’s chest tighten just a little. There was something undeniably sweet in it.

“I propose we wear the same color,” Anne said, leaning forward with sudden enthusiasm. “Perhaps blue?”

Beitris wrinkled her nose. “I agree, as long as it is nae brown.”

“No brown,” Anne agreed solemnly, though her smile ruined the seriousness of it. “Though it is a most practical color.”

Effie huffed a quiet laugh, popping another nut into her mouth.

Anne’s gaze slid toward her then, sharp and knowing. “Ye look different.”

Effie froze, only for a heartbeat, but it was enough.

“Why are ye so quiet?” Anne pressed. “What have ye been doing?”

Heat climbed Effie’s throat before she could stop it, blooming hot and traitorous across her cheeks. Blast it all.

“I only just arrived,” she said, a touch too quickly, so she tried sending an irritated look in Anne’s direction. “Had to ride with yer dreadfully aggravating brother.”

Both Anne and Beitris shared a look, the kind that suggested entirely too much.

Before either could speak, Effie rushed on, grasping the first distraction she could.

“Calum declared he has feelings for me, once again.”

It worked like a charm. Both women’s mouths formed perfect circles of surprise.

“What did ye say?” Anne demanded, leaning forward as though Effie might deliver news of an upcoming battle.