Page 22 of The Archer’s Wish

But Beitris stayed beside him, her expression warm with the triumph of someone who had uncovered a truth he could not yet admit, not even to himself.

And as they approached Gowan’s home, Liam realized something unsettling.

He was protecting his claim. One he had no right to.

Chapter Six

Beitris shot Liam a sideways glance as they walked, the weight of her healer’s box biting into her palm. He strode beside her with a determined set to his shoulders, far too close, far too purposeful for someone who was there to only escort her to the blacksmith’s house.

It wasn’t as if he and Gowan were friends. In fact, she could hardly remember a single interaction between them that wasn’t edged with competition. Rarely did Liam visit the village at all. When he did, it was either in his official capacity as archer, guarding the laird’s interests, or making a direct line to his family at the mill on the outskirts of town.

She shifted the heavy box to her other hand. “Do ye ken Gowan well?”

Liam shrugged, eyes forward. “He comes to the keep often enough. Trains the apprentice there. Joins the warriors at mealtimes.” His tone was detached, but his stride remained firm, continuing at her side.

Her brow furrowed. He’s not answered her question clearly.

Her thoughts drifted, unhelpfully, to the first time she’d ever noticed Liam. Truly noticed him.

It had been two years earlier, when her brother, Keir, had joined the guard. She remembered visiting the keep with her father and following her brother to the training field. The clang of swords ringing through the air. The grit of dirt beneath her shoes. And then seeing Liam.

Sunlight had poured over him as if the heavens themselves wanted to show her every angle of the man. The sculpted arms drawing a bowstring back with effortless power. The fluid movements of his lithe, battle-honed body. The sharp jaw shadowed with the start of a beard. Even the air around him had seemed to shimmer.

And his eyes, saints preserve her, those eyes had caught hers, glinting with mischief.

He’d winked. The rogue had winked at her and then flashed her a smile wicked enough to weaken knees and ruin reputations.

“Stay away from that one,” Keir had warned later, voice hard as steel. “Liam has only one use for women, and that’s to bed them. Nothing more.”

Her heart had argued otherwise, but she hadn’t tested fate. It was safer to remain distant. To bury the pull she’d felt the moment those sunlit eyes found hers.

But distance had grown harder since Liam’s injury. Seeing him vulnerable. Seeing him fight through pain. Seeing his strength and determination. It had unsettled something in her.

“There is really no need to go further,” she said now, trying to regain her balance, emotionally and literally. “Ye should rest yer leg.”

His jaw tightened instantly, the muscles ticking. “I have done nothing but rest for weeks. It is time I do more than sit about,” he snapped.

Heat pricked her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to provoke him. “I only meant, well, ye’ve already pushed yerself today.”

“Clearly.”

She winced. Time to redirect. “What was yer plans for today after… whatever it was ye were doing?”

He sent her a sidelong look, one of those unreadable, evasive glances that spoke of secrets he’d never share. “No thing in particular.”

Saints. He was impossible.

Beitris narrowed her eyes at him. “Ye are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to make her heart misbehave.

“And yet,” he murmured, voice low, “here we are.”

Her pulse stumbled, traitorous thing that it was.

Blast the man and the way he made every step feel like a step toward trouble.

Gowan’s cottage came into view, a modest stone dwelling with a slate roof and smoke curling lazily from the chimney. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal rang through the air, though softer than usual. He must still be limiting his work. Beitris could smell the lingering scent of coal and hot iron long before they reached the door.