Page 43 of The Archer’s Wish

Her body knew him as surely as it knew the rhythm of her own breath.

His presence, warm and unsettling, drew nearer until the hairs on her nape lifted.

“Enjoying yerself, are ye?” Liam’s voice emerged behind her, low and edged with something that didnae belong at a cheerful village fête.

She inhaled slowly, smoothing her features into polite indifference before turning to face him. He stood only a pace away, staring down at her as though she’d personally offended the saints by daring to smile tonight. Torchlight flickered over the sharp line of his cheekbones, casting shadows beneath eyes that burned hotter than any bonfire in the square.

“Aye,” she replied, matching his tone with careful calm. “’Tis a festival. It would be odd not to.”

Behind him, Keir’s brow arched high. He glanced between the two of them, his gaze sharpening as if he’d walked into a conversation spoken entirely in sword strikes. After a beat, he cleared his throat.

“I’ll continue my rounds,” he said slowly. “Try not to kill one another.” And off he strode. Beitris wanted to call him back and make him dance with her so she could get away from Liam. She needed to be saved from what could be another time he hurt her feelings.

Liam’s jaw flexed. “Ye danced with Gowan.”

She blinked, feigning innocence. “Aye. He asked. I accepted. That is how dancing typically works.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a frown, not quite anything else. “Ye seemed to enjoy it.”

“Why should I not?” she challenged lightly before turning to look for Keir. “He is kind. Polite. And he does not scowl at me from across the square.”

“That’s not…” He stopped himself, jaw tightening again. A muscle feathered near his temple. “I was not scowling.”

“Oh? My mistake. Ye looked positively delighted.”

His breath left him in a rough exhale, somewhere between frustration and something far more dangerous. “Beitris…”

Her name, spoken in that tone, wrapped around her like a caress.

“Dinnae,” she said softly, lifting her chin an inch. “Dinnae speak to me as though ye have a right.”

“Perhaps I wish to.”

The words struck her harder than a blow. How dare he? She should walk away; otherwise, it would be tempting to kick him. It was his nature to charm, and she would not fall for it.

Before she could gather a response, the musicians began a new melody, slower this time, sweeping and warm, and couples drifted toward the center of the square. Lamps flickered overhead, casting soft golden halos. Everything around them felt suddenly quieter, closer, as though the night itself leaned in to listen.

Beitris swallowed. “I am going to find Keir.”

His eyes darkened, the tension in him shifting, coiling. “I would dance with ye. If I could.”

Her breath caught, startled by the honesty in his gaze. The longing. The confusion.

She forced herself to hold steady, though her pulse rioted. “Then perhaps ye should walk away.”

His throat bobbed. But he didn’t move.

Neither did she. And for one suspended heartbeat, every sound in the fête seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them, bound in a dangerous pull they both pretended not to feel.

Chapter Twelve

“Liam!”

The moment shattered.

Effie’s voice sliced through the air like a flying arrow, and Liam closed his eyes briefly in silent, brotherly suffering.

Of course.