Page 14 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

“They are beautiful,” she said softly. “The wings on the bird look as though it might take flight.”

He inclined his head, unsure what to do with such praise. It sat oddly with him, like a garment that didn’t quite fit.

Silas flicked his tail near the hearth, watching with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“I brought enough pears for more than one evening,” Peigi went on, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the basket. “If ye find them to yer liking, I could bring more.”

“There is no need,” Gowan said, perhaps too quickly. He softened his tone. “These will serve well.”

A quiet fell between them. It was not uncomfortable but edged with something unspoken.

“The village prepares for the fête,” she said after a moment, her voice gentler now. “They say it will be the finest one yet. Lanterns, music… dancing. Well into the night.”

“Aye,” he replied, offering nothing more.

Peigi’s gaze lifted to his, her expression thoughtful. “It is always more enjoyable when one has someone to walk beside. To share the evening with.” Her lips curved into a small, hopeful smile. “I imagine it would be… very nice to be escorted this year.”

The words were lightly spoken, but they didn’t miss their mark. Gowan stilled, recognizing the meaning beneath them as clearly as if she had spoken it outright.

He straightened, resting a hand against the table, his voice steady when he answered. “If I go, I expect I will see ye there.” It was not unkind. But it was not an offer.

Peigi held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, understanding dawning slowly. The faintest flicker of disappointment crossed her features, though she smoothed it away with practiced grace.

“Aye,” she said softly. “I suppose ye will.”

Silas shifted near the fire, the quiet thump of his tail filling the silence neither of them seemed eager to break.

“I suppose I best leave. There is much to do at home,” Peigi offered. When she turned back to exit, Gowan moved to the door, opening it for her. “I thank ye for the basket,” he said. “And the pears.”

“They are yers to enjoy,” she replied, pausing in the doorway. The fading light caught her features, lending them a softness that made the moment feel more fragile than it ought.

“Good evening, Gowan.”

“Good evening.”

She stepped out into the dusk, her figure soon swallowed by the deepening shadows. Gowan remained where he was, the door still open, the cool air brushing against his face. It had been the right thing to say. The only thing. And yet, as he closed the door and the quiet settled once more, it felt different. Not as before. The surroundings shifted with emptiness.

Just the presence of a woman, a pretty one like Peigi left a stark reminder of how different his life would be if he had a woman to share his evenings with.

Chapter Six

The morning of the fête dawned warm and golden, the sort of day that seemed made for laughter, music, and stolen glances beneath fluttering ribbons and banners. Sunlight spilled across the yard, catching on the dew still clinging to the grass, while the chickens clucked in contented chatter, scratching lazily at the dirt as though they, too, sensed something special in the air.

Yet for Effie, the day refused to pass as easily as it should.

The scent of fresh bread filled the cottage as she worked chopping potatoes, her hands moving by habit rather than thought. It was that way as she moved through all her chores with a restless energy. Even tasks such as shaking out bed linens and pinning them to the line where they billowed in the soft breeze. Or scrubbing the floors, a task she could usually finish without a second thought, felt longer, harder, as if the hours themselves dragged their feet.

Though the festivities would not truly begin until after noon, most folk would arrive early in hopes of finding the perfect space to spread blankets. Her own family didn’t plan to go until near dusk, as they always did. But Effie had made other arrangements. Beitris and Effie’s brother, Liam, would collect her on their way into the village, allowing her to reach the fête early, and hopefully beat most of the crowds before the dancing began.

“Do ye require help?”

Calum’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. He had a way of appearing just when her mind wandered too far, as though he kept careful watch over her without meaning to. He stood a few paces away, a light dusting of flour across his sleeves and hands, even a smudge along his cheek, evidence of the morning’s work at the mill. It should have looked untidy, but on him it only lent a boyish charm that made him seem softer somehow… approachable and endearing.

“Nay,” she said, brushing her hands against her skirt, making her way to the door to look out. “I am just about done with everything. Only need to usher the chickens into their enclosure before I leave for the village.”

At once, Calum turned, scanning the yard for the wandering birds. The small flock meandered about, their clucks filling the air. Fortunately, the hens were creatures of habit, remaining near the coop rather than venturing far.

“I can do that for ye,” he offered quickly, already moving toward them. “I am sure ye have much to do in preparation. I am going to the village myself and could take ye, if ye wish.”