Page 24 of The Archer’s Wish

When his muscles trembled, he finally returned to the shore and collapsed onto the soft, new grass. The sun warmed him instantly, heat sliding over him like a lover’s touch, soothing where the cold could not.

But stubbornness ran as deep as his scars. After regaining his breath, he rose and returned to the water for a second immersion, gritting his teeth as the cold seized him again.

By the time he emerged the second time, the pain was gone, washed out, silenced. Temporary, yes. But he’d take temporary over agony any day.

He sprawled back onto the grass, arms outstretched, letting the sunlight dry him. A slow peace drifted through him.

Until…

“What in the world are ye doing?”

Liam cracked one eye open.

Beitris stood several paces away, face blazing red, eyes wide as saucers. Her healer’s satchel hung from her shoulder, and she looked one breath away from either fainting or smacking him with it.

He lifted his head slightly. “Is it nae obvious?”

“Nae, it is nae obvious! Ye are naked on the ground! I thought ye were dead!”

Liam turned his head toward where his clothing lay, entirely too far out of reach. With a resigned grunt, he used both hands to cover himself.

“The cold water soothes my pain,” he explained calmly. “And the sun dries my body.”

He motioned to the patch of grass beside him. “Join me. The sun is quite lovely.”

Beitris sputtered. Actually sputtered. “I cannae sit with ye. Not in that… state.”

Liam couldn’t help the laugh threatening his throat. “Ye have seen every part of me, have ye nae?”

She gave a most unladylike snort. “Aye, but that was different. I was performing healing duties. This…” Her hand waved wildly at the length of him. “is not the same.”

“If it makes ye feel better,” he drawled, eyes dancing, “ye can fetch me my breeches.”

Her flush deepened, though whether from anger, embarrassment, or something else entirely… Liam wasn’t sure.

*

Beitris turned sharply away from him, forcing her eyes to remain fixed on the small tree where Liam had hung his clothing. Her heart thudded unevenly in her chest. Outrage had carried her voice a moment ago, but it had done very little to stop her from looking.

Saints, she’d nearly dropped her healer’s box when she first spotted him. Lying in the grass as though carved from the very sun itself, every inch of him warmed and brightened by the morning light. At first she’d feared he’d been harmed, then she’d seen the steady rise and fall of his chest and realized he’d simply been lulled to sleep by the heat.

And that had been her downfall.

Because looking had become impossible to avoid.

She swallowed hard as she gathered his clothing, forcing her breath to steady before she turned again. She expected to find him watching her, smug and fully aware of her fluster.

Instead, Liam remained on his back, eyes closed, face relaxed in a way she had never seen. Vulnerable. Beautiful.

The sight stole something from her. Perhaps air, or possibly all sense. She drew closer, dropping to her knees beside him, sneaking one last glance at the long lines of his legs, the strength in his shoulders, the sculpted chest rising slowly with each breath.

She tapped his shoulder gently. “Liam.”

His hand shot up, warm and unyielding, curling around her arm. In one swift motion, he pulled her down against him, her breath catching as her face hovered only a heartbeat away from his.

“Fair Beitris,” he murmured, voice low and languid. His half-smile tilted in a way that stole the ground from beneath her. “Always tending the lame and injured. Is that all I am to ye? A man in need of yer healing touch?”

She had no time to think. No time to scold him, or herself. Something inside her, something she’d restrained for far too long, broke free.