Chapter Five
The evening had settled into a bone-deep chill, the kind that crept beneath cloaks and nipped at exposed skin. A thin veil of mist clung to the narrow creek as it murmured beside them, the water catching what little light remained.
“This is so exciting. I just ken we will find it!” Effie declared, her voice bright and buoyant as she hopped over a cluster of stones. “It was last seen somewhere near here.”
Liam bit back a groan as he hobbled after her.
Two things grated on him at once. His leg was stiff, so he was forced to rely on his cane to navigate the uneven trail, and he’d been mercilessly bullied into chasing after some mystical rock that he was certain didn’t exist. As Effie slipped gracefully through a curtain of tall grass into a nearby clearing, a third irritation flared.
She moved with ease while every step jarred his hip.
The clearing itself was unremarkable, just a broad patch of earth scattered with leaves and the skeletal remains of an ancient fallen tree. Still, Effie’s enthusiasm didn’t dim. “I think we should stay still and wait,” she whispered, as if afraid the woods might overhear.
They perched together on the massive trunk, the bark rough and uneven beneath them.
Liam inhaled the familiar scent of damp earth, crushed grass, and the faint musk carried on the breeze.
It tugged at memories of long nights spent on patrol with fellow warriors, campfires crackling under the weight of darkness.
The chorus of night creatures blending with the snores of exhausted men.
He had loved those nights. Missed them fiercely.
Above them, the sky was a pitch-black void, starless and impossibly vast. Their only light came from the lantern Effie set between them, its golden glow flickering like a restless heartbeat. She scanned the clearing with sharp, searching eyes, hopeful, determined, and annoyingly expectant.
“Effie,” he murmured, breaking the quiet. “Dinnae get yer hopes high. From what ye said, sightings of the stone are rare.”
She turned toward him, her face lit by stubborn resolve. “Yer doubt is nae helping. Be quiet and wait.”
He almost laughed, but he bit back the sound and pushed himself to his feet. He walked a few paces into the darkness, far enough that shapes blurred and distance dissolved, then waited for her to follow. She always did.
For the next hour, they meandered the same small stretch of forest, Effie insisting they stay close to the exact place the stone had supposedly revealed itself in past tales. Every time Liam suggested heading back, she waved him off with a dismissive flick of her hand.
Finally, she released a sigh so heavy it stirred the leaves at her feet. “I suppose we’ll return tomorrow.”
Liam nudged her shoulder with his. “I appreciate this more than ye ken. In truth… I am nae sure I have a proper wish to make.”
Effie froze mid-step. She set the lantern down, planted both hands on her hips, and leveled a glare at him fierce enough to make grown men reconsider their life choices.
“What do ye mean, Liam Alastair?” she snapped. “How can ye say that? Of course ye ken what to wish for. Yer leg, ye daft oaf!”
Ah. His middle name. She was truly furious.
“Effie,” he said quietly, “there are many who require a miracle more than I. I can live with my injury. My leg grows stronger each day. My life is nae in danger.”
“But what of yer livelihood?” she retorted, stepping closer, her voice rising with each word. “Yer place in the laird’s guard? Yer skill as a leader? As an archer?” She jabbed a finger toward his chest. “Do ye nae wish for all of that to be given back to ye?”
Liam’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Aye, lass. I do. More than ye ken. But a stone cannae return it to me. I must do it myself. Fight for it. Earn it back.”
His grip tightened on his cane as he breathed out, the cold air wrapping around them like a mantle. The creek whispered in the dark. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted.
Effie stared at him as though he’d spoken pure nonsense. The cold breeze tugged a strand of hair loose from her braid, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed entirely on him. Sharp, assessing, and frustratingly perceptive.
“Ye would say such a thing,” she muttered. “Always the noble one. Always thinking of everyone else before yerself.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Noble? Nay. Just realistic.”
“Realistic?” she scoffed. “Ye limp like a man twice yer age and still act as if nothing is wrong.”
Liam clenched his jaw, the familiar sting of pride thrumming beneath his ribs. “I am improving.”
“Aye,” she said softly. “But ye’re still hurting, Liam. Every step costs ye. I’ve seen the way ye grit yer teeth when ye think no one’s looking.”
His jaw tightened. He’d thought he hid it well.
Her anger ebbed, leaving something gentler in its wake. Effie stepped closer, her voice lowering to a tender murmur. “Ye were born to be a warrior. To stand with the guard, shoulder to shoulder with the men ye trained beside. To lead them. Ye’ve always carried that weight proudly.”
He stared down at the ground, boots half-buried in leaves. The truth of her words pressed heavily against him.
“Aye,” he admitted. “But if I let a stone fix it then I’ll not ken if I’m strong enough on my own.”
Effie sighed, the sound soft and aching. “And if the stone could do what ye still doubt? If it could give ye one small miracle would that truly take away from all the years ye fought to earn yer place?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The silence stretched, long and brittle.
Effie lifted the lantern and held it between them, its glow catching the hint of moisture in her eyes. “I just… I want ye to have hope again, Liam.” Her voice broke on his name. “I want ye to believe in something more than pain. Even if it feels foolish.”
He swallowed hard, emotion tightening his throat. “I do believe, Effie. Just perhaps in different things.”
“Such as?” she pressed, stubborn to the very end.
He considered. The woods, the cold, the echo of memories still clinging to him and… something else. Something warm and unexpected that had been stirring in him ever since a certain healer’s apprentice had entered his life.
“Such as the idea,” he said slowly, “that strength is nae only measured by a man’s leg.”
Effie blinked. Then her mouth curved into a small, knowing smile. “Ah. So that’s it.”
“What?” he demanded.
She twirled the lantern. “Nothing. Just that maybe yer healing is nae the only thing weighing on yer mind these days.”
A sharp look from him only made her grin wider.
“Let’s go back,” she said gently. “Return tomorrow night. Perhaps the stone will reveal itself. Perhaps it will nae. But hope, brother… Hope is never wasted.”
As they turned toward the path, Liam felt the weight in his chest shift, not disappear, but lighten, as if the night itself carried some of the burden away.
Maybe Effie was right.
Maybe hope wasn’t foolish after all.
Beitris drifted into his thoughts as naturally as breath.
Her steady hands, her quiet determination, the way she’d tended him without complaint, even when he’d met her care with stubborn pride, rose in vivid clarity.
She had been unwavering since the moment he’d been carried into the keep utterly broken.
Her dedication to his healing had been as constant as the tide.
And then came the memory of the kiss.
He hadn’t meant to do it. Not truly. Yet something in the air, something he still couldn’t name, had urged him forward.
An invisible pull that felt older than desire and deeper than impulse.
Even now, hours later, he could taste the faint sweetness of her lips, feel the warmth of her breath brushing his skin.
It had been his first kiss since the battle that nearly claimed his life, and it had taken every shred of discipline he possessed not to deepen it.
Not to crush her to him and kiss her until the world vanished around them.
Beitris was made for kissing, soft curves to fit a man’s embrace.
A face a man could wake to for the rest of his days.
She hadn’t recoiled or stepped back. Instead, she’d stood perfectly still, as though time had stopped or as if the moment itself held her fast. As if something unseen had wrapped around them both, urging them closer, refusing to let her flee.
Had she enjoyed it? Had she felt that strange pull too? That whisper of warmth beneath the skin, that spark that felt almost enchanted.
“Liam! Ye’re going to trip and fall in the dark!” Effie called from ahead, her lantern bobbing like a lone star through the trees.
He quickened his pace, though the forest floor was little more than shadows and shifting shapes. Still, the thoughts of Beitris clung to him, warm against the cold night air.
Behind him, a faint breeze rustled the leaves, soft, swirling, almost musical. He caught a flash of light from the corner of his eye, but when he turned, there was nothing. Liam narrowed his gaze but then continued walking.
As though the woods themselves had heard his thoughts and approved.
Back at the family home, sleep refused to come.
Liam added a thick log to the glowing embers in the hearth, sparks spiraling upward like tiny fire spirits, then eased himself into the worn armchair.
He stretched his injured leg onto the padded footstool, a small luxury his mother insisted stay near that chair in particular, as if it belonged to the limb more than the family.
Ambrose, the old grey wolfhound, lifted his massive head from the rug.
His amber eyes studied Liam with ancient wisdom, or perhaps mild judgment at being woken.
After a long stretch, the dog padded over and collapsed beside Liam’s uninjured leg, exhaling a huff of warm breath.
Liam reached down and stroked the coarse comforting fur.
“Aye, Ambrose. Neither of us sleeps tonight,” he murmured.