Page 9 of The Archer’s Wish

Then her hand moved in a slow, circular motion across his hip, spreading the cool poultice. Her touch brushed very lightly against him.

He flinched.

Saints preserve him. Another brush of her fingers, another accidental graze, and he’d embarrass himself thoroughly. He shut his eyes and desperately summoned the most revolting images he could muster. Spoiled meat crawling with maggots. A man retching behind the tanner’s shop. A jar of leeches. Saints, even eating one.

“Are ye in pain?” Beitris’ voice cut cleanly through his internal torment.

His eyes flew open. He realized, too late, that he was grimacing, teeth clenched.

“Uh… nae.” He cleared his throat. “I am nae fond of leeches.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. He closed his eyes briefly, accepting the humiliation.

Beitris gave him a quizzical look, her lips curved, amusement brightening her eyes. She understood exactly what he’d been doing but was far too kind to call him on it. Or far too entertained.

“I am finished,” she announced gently. She stepped back, turning her back to him as quickly as propriety allowed, giving him privacy while he dressed.

By the time he fastened his belt, she was already tying a square of cloth over a small jar of freshly prepared poultice and securing it with twine. Her movements were quick, practiced, and graceful…so graceful that he found himself watching her longer than he ought to.

He cleared his throat. “The ride here made my leg sore,” he said, testing his weight on it. “But it feels much better now. Thank ye.”

He meant it.

Beitris smiled, a small but genuine curve of her lips, as she handed him the jar. “I am glad,” she said softly. “I am heading home too; we best be on our way. It’s getting dark, and the paths grow tricky once the sun dips.”

Her voice held a note of practicality, but her eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat longer than necessary before she turned and called a quick farewell to Camden. Liam followed her outside, into the cool embrace of the evening.

The village square had settled into the quiet hum of end-of-day contentment. Torches flickered from iron sconces, their golden glow softening the edges of stone and timber. The scent of burning wood drifted from nearby hearths, mingling with the faint sweetness of fresh bread wafting from the bakery. Shadows stretched long across the cobbled ground.

“Where do ye live?” Liam asked, doing his best to keep the tone casual.

Beitris glanced sideways at him, brows rising ever so slightly. “In the rooms above the bakery,” she said, motioning with her chin across the square. “My parents live in the cottage beside it. Keir stays with us sometimes too. I believe he will be here for the celebrations.”

“I will see ye home,” Liam said, already falling into step beside her.

“Ye should nae,” she protested quickly, turning to face him. “It’s best ye not walk too much…”

Her words died the moment he stepped forward, the quiet determination in his stride silencing her. “I’ve gone through worse to see a lady home,” he said, a hint of something teasing touching his tone.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t look away fast enough for him to miss the soft blush rising to her cheeks.

A silence settled between them, comfortable and charged all at once.

The walk to her cottage was not long, but Liam found himself wishing it stretched on for miles. The fading light cast warm bands of copper and gold through her hair, catching each loose curl as the breeze toyed with them. Every few steps she’d glance his way, quick, assessing, making sure he wasn’t pushing himself too hard. He pretended not to notice, but her concern settled into him like a slow, unexpected warmth.

His limp was there, yes, but far less pronounced. He told himself it was the fresh poultice. Pride whispered it was because he refused to stagger beside her.

The square had emptied save for the low murmur of voices drifting from the tavern. Lamplight flickered from the windows of the nearby cottages.

When they reached the bakery, Liam paused several paces back, taking it in the soft, welcoming glow from the hearth light inside, the scent of baking bread lingering around the doorway. It was a place that felt safe, beloved.

“Thank ye for walking me,” Beitris said, her voice quieter now. “Ye didnae need to trouble yerself.”

Liam’s mouth tilted into the ghost of a smile. “It was nae trouble. I would nae rest easy knowing ye walked alone.”

Her fingers toyed with the edge of her cloak, eyes lowering, then lifting again. For one breath, he thought she might say something more, something dangerous, something honest.

But instead she whispered, “Well then… good night, Liam.”