Page 45 of The Archer’s Wish

He’d accepted the wrapped loaves, intending to share them with Hendry and Ailith. Disappointment had settled in his chest on the ride out. She hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen her. And he’d tried not to think too deeply on why that unsettled him so much.

“Liam, are ye spinning wool?”

Alexander’s voice broke through his reverie, joined by a wave of chuckles from the councilmen. Heat crept up Liam’s neck.

“I apologize,” he said stiffly. Saints, he needed to gather himself.

Eventually the council dispersed, leaving the great room quieter and thick with the lingering smells of first meal. Alexander crossed his arms, giving Liam the look of a man who’d spent years learning the exact shape of Liam’s stubbornness.

“We should speak,” the laird said.

“Aye,” Liam replied, bracing himself. “Before ye say anything, I admit I’ve been distracted. ’Tis difficult to settle the mind after being gone so many days.”

Alexander arched a brow, silent, sharp, far too perceptive. Of course he knew. He’d known Liam since they’d raced through these halls as boys. He could read Liam clearly.

“I hear ye did well at the archery field,” Alexander began, his tone neutral. “I’m not surprised. Ye should consider continuing with it.”

The words, meant as encouragement, struck like a blade to the ribs.

Liam clenched his jaw. “Without the ability to ride, I’m of little use to ye as an archer.”

“There are other duties…” Alexander began.

“Dinnae offer me something out of pity,” Liam snapped before he could stop himself. His voice echoed off the stone, low and raw. He wasn’t speaking to his laird now; he was speaking to his childhood friend. “I mean it, Alexander. I’m not ungrateful, but we both ken the truth. It’s unlikely I’ll ever ride again.”

Alexander scratched his beard, studying him with infuriating calm. Then, with a loud sigh, he said, “Can ye stop talking and let me finish?”

Liam’s temper deflated just enough for him to look away and nod. “Very well.”

“Good.” Alexander leaned against the table. “This is what I propose…”

And as he spoke, laying out a plan that used Liam’s strengths, his keen eye, his calm under pressure, his knowledge of the clans and their tensions, Liam felt the rigid tension in his shoulders loosen. His fists unclenched. His breathing smoothed.

It was a good plan. A damn good one.

By the time Alexander finished, Liam’s defensiveness had cracked, replaced by something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Excitement.

*

Liam walked past the village square, he’d returned just over a fortnight earlier, four weeks and he’d yet to speak with Beitris. It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to seek her out, but more that he was unsure of what he could say that would make her understand what he felt for her.

Walking into the blacksmith shop, he was assaulted by the heat of the forge and the tinge of metal in the air. Gowan, wearing a thick apron and long-sleeved tunic, hammered a red-hot piece of iron into submission.

The blacksmith lifted his hazel gaze to Liam, his expression unreadable. “What can I do fer ye?” The man’s tone was not unfriendly.

“I require more nails, a deep pot, and some kitchen utensils,” Liam spoke loudly to be heard over the hammering.

Gowan dipped the iron into a tub of water. The loud sizzling sound filled the air. “Nails are over there,” the blacksmith said, motioning to a large square box. “Take what ye need. Ye can pay me when I get the other things done.”

Counting out the nails, Liam slid a look back to Gowan. “Ye seem well recovered.”

The blacksmith nodded, sizing Liam up. His gaze moving over him. “Ye as well. Although I believe her injuries were far worse than mine.”

“Aye,” Liam stated. “The time it took sometimes made me forget to be thankful to be alive.”

“What are ye building out there in the field?” Gowan asked, wiping a cloth over his brow. “Looks interesting.”