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The clearing itself was unremarkable, just a broad patch of earth scattered with leaves and the skeletal remains of an ancient fallen tree. Still, Effie’s enthusiasm didn’t dim. “I think we should stay still and wait,” she whispered, as if afraid the woods might overhear.
They perched together on the massive trunk, the bark rough and uneven beneath them. Liam inhaled the familiar scent of damp earth, crushed grass, and the faint musk carried on the breeze. It tugged at memories of long nights spent on patrol with fellow warriors, campfires crackling under the weight of darkness. The chorus of night creatures blending with the snores of exhausted men. He had loved those nights. Missed them fiercely.
Above them, the sky was a pitch-black void, starless and impossibly vast. Their only light came from the lantern Effie set between them, its golden glow flickering like a restless heartbeat. She scanned the clearing with sharp, searching eyes, hopeful, determined, and annoyingly expectant.
“Effie,” he murmured, breaking the quiet. “Dinnae get yer hopes high. From what ye said, sightings of the stone are rare.”
She turned toward him, her face lit by stubborn resolve. “Yer doubt is nae helping. Be quiet and wait.”
He almost laughed, but he bit back the sound and pushed himself to his feet. He walked a few paces into the darkness, far enough that shapes blurred and distance dissolved, then waited for her to follow. She always did.
For the next hour, they meandered the same small stretch of forest, Effie insisting they stay close to the exact place the stone had supposedly revealed itself in past tales. Every time Liam suggested heading back, she waved him off with a dismissive flick of her hand.
Finally, she released a sigh so heavy it stirred the leaves at her feet. “I suppose we’ll return tomorrow.”
Liam nudged her shoulder with his. “I appreciate this more than ye ken. In truth… I am nae sure I have a proper wish to make.”
Effie froze mid-step. She set the lantern down, planted both hands on her hips, and leveled a glare at him fierce enough to make grown men reconsider their life choices.
“What do ye mean, Liam Alastair?” she snapped. “How can ye say that? Of course ye ken what to wish for. Yer leg, ye daft oaf!”
Ah. His middle name. She was truly furious.
“Effie,” he said quietly, “there are many who require a miracle more than I. I can live with my injury. My leg grows stronger each day. My life is nae in danger.”
“But what of yer livelihood?” she retorted, stepping closer, her voice rising with each word. “Yer place in the laird’s guard? Yer skill as a leader? As an archer?” She jabbed a finger toward his chest. “Do ye nae wish for all of that to be given back to ye?”
Liam’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Aye, lass. I do. More than ye ken. But a stone cannae return it to me. I must do it myself. Fight for it. Earn it back.”
His grip tightened on his cane as he breathed out, the cold air wrapping around them like a mantle. The creek whispered in the dark. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted.
Effie stared at him as though he’d spoken pure nonsense. The cold breeze tugged a strand of hair loose from her braid, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed entirely on him. Sharp, assessing, and frustratingly perceptive.
“Ye would say such a thing,” she muttered. “Always the noble one. Always thinking of everyone else before yerself.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Noble? Nay. Just realistic.”
“Realistic?” she scoffed. “Ye limp like a man twice yer age and still act as if nothing is wrong.”
Liam clenched his jaw, the familiar sting of pride thrumming beneath his ribs. “I am improving.”
“Aye,” she said softly. “But ye’re still hurting, Liam. Every step costs ye. I’ve seen the way ye grit yer teeth when ye think no one’s looking.”
His jaw tightened. He’d thought he hid it well.
Her anger ebbed, leaving something gentler in its wake. Effie stepped closer, her voice lowering to a tender murmur. “Ye were born to be a warrior. To stand with the guard, shoulder to shoulder with the men ye trained beside. To lead them. Ye’ve always carried that weight proudly.”
He stared down at the ground, boots half-buried in leaves. The truth of her words pressed heavily against him.
“Aye,” he admitted. “But if I let a stone fix it then I’ll not ken if I’m strong enough on my own.”
Effie sighed, the sound soft and aching. “And if the stone could do what ye still doubt? If it could give ye one small miracle would that truly take away from all the years ye fought to earn yer place?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The silence stretched, long and brittle.
Effie lifted the lantern and held it between them, its glow catching the hint of moisture in her eyes. “I just… I want ye to have hope again, Liam.” Her voice broke on his name. “I want ye to believe in something more than pain. Even if it feels foolish.”
He swallowed hard, emotion tightening his throat. “I do believe, Effie. Just perhaps in different things.”
