Page 45 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

The pounding on the door startled Gowan awake. His eyes flew open. Another thunderous knock rattled the door.

Blinking away sleep, Gowan looked toward the window. Golden afternoon light streamed across the floorboards. He had slept far longer than intended.

Certain it was Conor, with the lad’s unfortunate habit of treating every door as though it needed breaking down, he swung his legs from the bed and hastily pulled on his breeches.

“Enter,” he called, dragging his fingers through hopelessly disheveled hair.

The door burst inward, but it was not Conor who entered.

Instead, Effie swept into the room like a highland storm. Her cheeks were flushed from haste, loose strands of chestnut hair escaping their braid and framing a face blazing with indignation. Green eyes flashed like polished emeralds, narrowed upon him with enough fury to bring any warrior to heel. She planted both hands firmly upon her hips, breathing hard from either anger or the speed with which she had crossed the village.

Gowan forgot every word he had intended to say. For endless days he had convinced himself she wanted nothing more to do with him. Yet here she stood. Beautiful, breathless and gloriously angry.

Her lips tightened into a fierce scowl. “Have ye been avoiding me, Gowan Black?” she demanded, each word striking him harder than any hammer ever had. “Because I will nae have it.”

She took another determined step toward him, refusing to let him retreat even a single pace.

“If ye dinnae wish to have anything more to do with me…” Her voice wavered ever so slightly before hardening again. “Then ye’ll look me in the eye and say it to my face.”

Chapter Fifteen

Gowan staggered back two paces, his pulse thundering loudly and his breath hitching.

Was it truly her?

It was. It was Effie who stood just inside the doorway as though she’d marched straight out of one of his dreams, or perhaps from whatever strange magic the Miracle Stone had woven into his mind. Sunlight poured around her, setting loose wisps of chestnut hair ablaze with gold. She was real. Surely she had to be.

Or perhaps he’d finally lost what little sense he possessed.

“Will ye stop gawking at me as though I’ve sprouted antlers?” she demanded, planting both fists firmly on her hips. “Ye owe me an explanation, Gowan Black. Where have ye been?”

The spark in her emerald eyes would have set damp timber aflame. She looked furious. Beautifully, gloriously furious.

“I…I went to purchase iron and—”

“For days?” she interrupted, taking a step closer until he instinctively leaned back. She narrowed her eyes into suspicious slits. “All of a sudden ye decided the village could nae survive without another wagonload of metal?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing materialized.

“If ye were too much of a coward to face me,” she continued, pointing an accusing finger squarely at his chest, “then say so. I may be many things, Gowan Black, but I am nae daft.”

She continued, although her voice softened only enough for hurt to creep through. “But hear me well. Ye are nae going to make me believe what happened between us meant nothing. Whether ye admit it or nae, there was something between us. Something real.”

She swallowed, lifting her chin with stubborn pride. “And I will nae shame meself by chasing after a man determined to flee every time his heart stirs.”

Gowan stared. Did she… Was she saying… His thoughts tangled together worse than a basket of fishing nets.

She cared? Or she wished to throttle him? Perhaps both.

“I apologize,” he blurted.

Her brow arched.

“For what?”

Blast. There had been entirely too many things for which he ought to apologize. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly wishing an anvil might tumble from the rafters and put him out of his misery.

“I… for leaving.”