Page 54 of The Archer’s Wish

“Which is?” she asked suspiciously.

“Tell yer parents.”

Beitris nearly tripped. “What? Now?”

“Ye agreed,” he reminded her. “We’ll do this right.”

He sounded maddeningly proud of himself. She wished she didn’t find it so endearing.

“Fine,” she said, “but if my father brings out his bread stick to hit ye with, I’m hiding behind ye.”

He grinned. “Aye, stand behind the injured man, makes perfect sense.”

Beitris giggled.

*

The moment they stepped inside the bakery, warm air enveloped them, sweet with the scent of honey loaves, spices, and the earthy comfort of rising dough. Beitris’ mother stood at the long table cutting pastries, while her father slid a tray of steaming bread from the oven.

Her mother turned first, smiling. “There’s my girl. Oh!” Her eyes flicked between them, landing on their joined hands. “What is this?”

Beitris opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came.

Liam cleared his throat. “Mister and Missus Lewis… I’ve come to ask yer blessing to court Beitris.”

Her mother gasped, grinning so wide she nearly dropped the pastry knife. “I knew it!”

Her father stared at Liam.

Not blinking. Not smiling.

Just stared.

Liam stood straighter, hand tightening around Beitris’s. “Sir, I ken I’m not perfect, but I care for her deeply, and I intend…”

Her father held up a hand.

Liam stopped midsentence.

A heartbeat of silence passed.

Then her father grunted, “’Tis about time.”

“Da!” Beitris exclaimed, mortified.

Her mother clapped her hands together. “Och, this calls for sweet buns! Sit, sit. Liam, have ye eaten? The lad never eats enough, Beitris, look at ye smilin’, I knew ye fancied him.”

“Mam,” she groaned.

But Liam only chuckled, eyes warm as he looked at her, like she was the only thing in the room worth noticing.

Her father approached Liam, wiping flour-covered hands on his apron before placing one heavy palm on Liam’s shoulder. “Ye treat her well, ye hear? Or I’ll have Keir chase ye into the sea.”

Beitris groaned again. “Da, please stop threatening him.”

“I’m not threatened,” Liam said, lips twitching.

Her father arched a brow. “Ye will be if ye hurt her.”