Page 10 of The Archer’s Wish

“Good night, Beitris.”

She turned toward the door. He should have stepped away. Should have turned his back.

But she paused again, just before opening it, and looked at him.

Their eyes met.

Something flickered. Warmth, interest, longing. He didn’t dare name.

It lasted only a heartbeat, but it struck through him with the sharp clarity of an arrow loosed true.

Then she disappeared inside.

Liam exhaled slowly, heat tightening his chest. “Fool,” he muttered, though there was no bite to the word. A man who’d only meant to see a lass safely home had no business walking away with his pulse quickened.

The sight of the large cottage, light emanating from the windows, smoke wafting from the chimney, horses grazing nearby was a welcome one.

When he entered, his family greeted him with light and laughter. Effie and his mother fussed over the fabric he’d brought, declaring it the most beautiful they’d ever seen. His father poured whiskey with a grin so broad it tugged at something deep in Liam’s chest.

The scents, peat smoke, stew simmering, and his mother’s lavender soap, wrapped around him like a blanket. For a moment, he had to swallow hard past the lump rising in his throat. It was good to be home. Too good.

While Effie and his mother bustled about the kitchen, ladling fragrant stew into wooden bowls and slicing thick pieces of still-warm bread, Liam’s father settled himself across from him with the determined look of a man preparing for interrogation.

“So tell me,” his father began, leaning forward as he handed Liam a cup of ale, “what rulings has the laird made of late? Any trouble with the boundaries? Any disputes between clansmen?”

Liam chuckled into his drink. His father would have made an exceptional councilman if he’d ever desired the position; no detail of village politics escaped his interest. The steady stream of questions came one after the other. Land debates, barley stores, the new fencing around the keep, and with each one, Liam felt something inside him loosen. Here, he wasn’t a wounded warrior or an object of pity. He was simply Liam, the miller’s son, who had always found a willing listener in his father.

When the stew was finally served, steam curled up in comforting spirals, carrying the scent of herbs and slow-cooked meat. They ate together at the small wooden table, candles flickering gently against the walls. The conversation flowed easily, from tales of the upcoming spring fête to Effie laughingly insisting the Ross clan were sure to win the dancing competition.

Then his mother, never subtle, cleared her throat. “Of course,” she said pointedly, “Liam will need a partner for the dancing. There are several fine young women here in the village.”

Liam groaned under his breath, already anticipating what was coming. “I cannae dance.”

“I am sure ye can,” his mother chided.

“I could nae dance before and certainly cannae now.”

Effie’s eyes sparkled mischievously continuing as if he’d not spoken. “Aye! Like Morna, the cobbler’s daughter. She’s pretty.”

“She’s loud,” his mother countered. “What about Isla? Sweet lass, and she can weave like an angel.”

“Too shy,” Effie declared.

His father grinned broadly. “Nora at the seamstress shop has always taken a liking to ye, lad.”

“Mam!” Effie gasped, delighted. “She blushes every time Liam walks in.”

Liam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, as his family enthusiastically debated which village woman would best suit him, each apparently determined to outmatch the other in ridiculous reasoning. He didn’t interrupt; he didn’t even try to defend himself. Instead, he watched them with a smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long while, the ache in his chest eased.

Here, with stew warming his belly and laughter filling the room, the weight he carried day after day seemed to lighten. The love in this small, bustling cottage wrapped around him like a blanket. For this one evening, nothing else mattered, no pain, no limping gait, no stolen dreams.

Just home. Just family.

And the deep, steady comfort of belonging.

His parents retired early, leaving the house wrapped in a gentle hush. Only the fire remained lively, crackling warmly in the hearth. Its amber light danced across the walls and painted soft gold over Effie’s features as she curled her legs beneath her in the chair beside him.