Page 5 of The Archer’s Wish

Her gaze dropped reflexively, and her eyes widened at the unmistakable bulge beneath the drape. Heat shot to her cheeks so swiftly she feared he’d see it. She forced herself to keep moving, slipping into the calm detachment of a healer. This was normal. Natural. A man’s body reacted when touched near sensitive places, especially when pain didnae overshadow sensation.

It meant nothing.

Of course, it meant nothing.

He felt no desire for her specifically. It was simply the closeness, the warmth of her hands at his inner thigh and hip. Natural reaction, not attraction.

“Just an application of the other poultice, and we will be done,” she said, her voice even.

Liam was quiet. Not a word.

She turned to the table and scooped up the second mixture, this one softer in both scent and texture. Lavender and crushed herbs drifted up, a gentler fragrance compared to the earlier mint. She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. It wasn’t at Liam’s situation, never that, but at the surreal power of the moment.

A man like Liam, once the clan’s untouchable rogue, charming every lass with a crooked grin, reacting to her. Whether intentional or not, the awareness thrummed through her, warm and strangely heady.

She returned to his side and applied the lavender mixture. His body responded again, another involuntary twitch, another sharp inhale.

Beitris lingered longer than she should have, letting her palms glide across the curve of his hip before moving to the rest of his leg. A part of her chastised herself for it, another part reveled quietly in the way he reacted beneath her hands.

When she finally stepped back, she cleared her throat. “Do ye wish for me to bind yer knee? It is swollen. Wrapping it will ease the discomfort.”

For a moment, she thought he’d refuse out of sheer stubborn pride. His jaw worked, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if willing it to swallow him whole. Then, with a small, defeated shrug, he said, “Aye.”

Liam braced a hand on the cot as he rose, his expression carefully composed as if emotion were something he refused to let slip. He tugged his tunic down over his breeches, cinched his belt tight, and slid a dagger into its sheath with practiced ease. Last came the leather pouch, which he pulled over his head and let fall against his chest.

“Thank ye,” he said, voice low.

Beitris folded her hands to keep from fidgeting. “Do ye feel better?”

He hesitated, his gaze meeting hers as if he were searching, weighing, deciding.

“That,” he said at last, “is a difficult question to answer.”

Her brow lifted. “Pain or no pain, Liam. ’Tis not a riddle.”

“The pain is less,” he conceded, “but I feel… fatigued.” The word landed heavily, as though he disliked admitting weakness even more than feeling it.

Beitris opened her mouth to reply, but he was already moving toward the doorway. His gait, although still uneven, looked steadier than before. His shoulders a touch straighter. She noted every improvement and knew they would fade before she saw him again. He pushed too hard. He always did.

When he crossed the threshold, he paused briefly and turned to her. As if he might say something else. But then he nodded once and walked out.

The silence he left behind seemed to expand in the small chamber.

Beitris let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and dropped into the nearest chair, her fingers curling hard against her skirt. A warm, unwelcome sensation lingered in her chest. A pull. A yearning.

“Nae,” she muttered sharply to herself. “Nae, nae, nae. It will nay do, Beitris.”

She pressed a hand over her eyes. Saints, what was wrong with her? Developing feelings for Liam McRay of all men was lunacy. Absolute madness. He was trouble wrapped in muscle and good looks.

And yet…

Every time he walked away, she felt unmoored, as if the world tilted until she saw him again. It was ridiculous and dangerous to her heart.

Soon enough, the treatments would end. Her visits to the keep would stop. Their paths would cross only in passing, if at all.

Would this ache fade once she no longer tended him? She straightened, steeling herself with a breath. She certainly hoped so.

Beitris arrived in Tokavaig late in the afternoon, having gotten a ride with a family returning home from the keep. The village spread before her in a gentle bustle of smoke from chimneys and the distant bell from the chapel. Though she had planned to go straight to her parents’ bakery to help with the evening dough, a thought tugged at her mind. They needed more poultice for Liam’s treatments, and her cousin Camden’s shelves would have exactly what she required.