Chapter Six
Beitris shot Liam a sideways glance as they walked, the weight of her healer’s box biting into her palm. He strode beside her with a determined set to his shoulders, far too close, far too purposeful for someone who was there to only escort her to the blacksmith’s house.
It wasn’t as if he and Gowan were friends.
In fact, she could hardly remember a single interaction between them that wasn’t edged with competition.
Rarely did Liam visit the village at all.
When he did, it was either in his official capacity as archer, guarding the laird’s interests, or making a direct line to his family at the mill on the outskirts of town.
She shifted the heavy box to her other hand. “Do ye ken Gowan well?”
Liam shrugged, eyes forward. “He comes to the keep often enough. Trains the apprentice there. Joins the warriors at mealtimes.” His tone was detached, but his stride remained firm, continuing at her side.
Her brow furrowed. He’s not answered her question clearly.
Her thoughts drifted, unhelpfully, to the first time she’d ever noticed Liam. Truly noticed him.
It had been two years earlier, when her brother, Keir, had joined the guard. She remembered visiting the keep with her father and following her brother to the training field. The clang of swords ringing through the air. The grit of dirt beneath her shoes. And then seeing Liam.
Sunlight had poured over him as if the heavens themselves wanted to show her every angle of the man.
The sculpted arms drawing a bowstring back with effortless power.
The fluid movements of his lithe, battle-honed body.
The sharp jaw shadowed with the start of a beard.
Even the air around him had seemed to shimmer.
And his eyes, saints preserve her, those eyes had caught hers, glinting with mischief.
He’d winked. The rogue had winked at her and then flashed her a smile wicked enough to weaken knees and ruin reputations.
“Stay away from that one,” Keir had warned later, voice hard as steel. “Liam has only one use for women, and that’s to bed them. Nothing more.”
Her heart had argued otherwise, but she hadn’t tested fate. It was safer to remain distant. To bury the pull she’d felt the moment those sunlit eyes found hers.
But distance had grown harder since Liam’s injury. Seeing him vulnerable. Seeing him fight through pain. Seeing his strength and determination. It had unsettled something in her.
“There is really no need to go further,” she said now, trying to regain her balance, emotionally and literally. “Ye should rest yer leg.”
His jaw tightened instantly, the muscles ticking. “I have done nothing but rest for weeks. It is time I do more than sit about,” he snapped.
Heat pricked her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to provoke him. “I only meant, well, ye’ve already pushed yerself today.”
“Clearly.”
She winced. Time to redirect. “What was yer plans for today after… whatever it was ye were doing?”
He sent her a sidelong look, one of those unreadable, evasive glances that spoke of secrets he’d never share. “No thing in particular.”
Saints. He was impossible.
Beitris narrowed her eyes at him. “Ye are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to make her heart misbehave.
“And yet,” he murmured, voice low, “here we are.”
Her pulse stumbled, traitorous thing that it was.
Blast the man and the way he made every step feel like a step toward trouble.
Gowan’s cottage came into view, a modest stone dwelling with a slate roof and smoke curling lazily from the chimney.
The rhythmic clang of metal on metal rang through the air, though softer than usual.
He must still be limiting his work. Beitris could smell the lingering scent of coal and hot iron long before they reached the door.
As they approached, Gowan stepped into the doorway, wiping soot from his forearms with a damp cloth.
His thick auburn hair hung loose around his rugged face, and fresh scars marred the skin of one hand.
He looked every bit the formidable blacksmith, strong, broad-shouldered, and irritated at being told to rest.
His scowl eased when he saw Beitris.
“Morning, lass,” he greeted, voice rough but warm. “I’m ready for yer inspection. I’m hoping ye’ll say I can get back to the forge proper.”
Then his gaze slid to Liam, “McRay,” he said flatly.
Liam offered a curt nod. “Gowan.”
Gowan’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring bright. “Is there a reason he is here?” He addressed the question to Beitris but kept his sharp gaze pinned to Liam, as if expecting him to start trouble right then and there.
Beitris lifted her chin. “Liam came as an escort. It’s early, and I thought it best not to walk alone.”
Gowan crossed his arms, the corded muscles flexing beneath soot-streaked skin. “Escort, is it?” His gaze flicked between them, lingering just a heartbeat too long on Liam.
Liam’s jaw tightened. “Escort is what she said. Nothing more.”
Gowan snorted softly. “I’d bet my best hammer ye didn’t wake this morning thinking, I should go with the healer to see about her patients.”
Liam stepped forward just slightly, a subtle shift, but enough to change the air between them. “I go where I choose, Gowan.”
“And ye choose to follow her?” Gowan’s voice darkened, the edge unmistakable.
Beitris cursed inwardly. Men. They could turn a simple visit into a battlefield with nothing more than a glare and a throaty growl.
She slipped quickly between them, placing one hand lightly against Gowan’s arm. “Enough. I’m here to look at yer burn.” She turned to Liam. “Ye should go. Thank ye for accompanying me.”
Liam’s gaze pinned the blacksmith for a moment, then he nodded and turned away.
Gowan’s glower eased. Then he stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. “Come on, lass. Let’s see if ye’ll allow me back to my forge.”
*
At the village center, Liam eased himself onto a wooden bench, stretching his aching leg as he watched the bustle unfold.
Villagers hurried past carrying ribbons, flowers, baskets of food, and brightly painted signs.
The last two days of the spring festival always brought the most excitement, dancing, feasting, games of strength, and half a dozen excuses for merriment.
Sunlight glinted off freshly polished windows as men hung decorations along the main road. Laughter carried through the air, mingling with the scents of freshly roasting meat, honeyed pastries, and the crisp tang of early spring.
A warrior Liam barely knew, young, broad-shouldered, with an eager grin strode over and dropped onto the bench beside him.
They exchanged pleasantries, conversations turning to duties awaiting them once the festival ended and life returned to the keep.
Liam nodded along, though the words drifted in and out of focus.
Because beneath the chatter, a familiar ache simmered… then surged.
By the time he rose to leave, a lance of pain shot from his hip down to his knee, the kind that made the world tilt and darken. He caught himself on the bench, jaw clenched, breath thin.
A thought occurred. The river’s icy water would help.
In years past, after long days of training or battle, he’d often slipped into the frigid loch near the keep. Since the injury, the numbing chill had been the only thing capable of silencing the torment in his leg.
He should’ve gone straight there earlier instead of walking with Beitris. But saints, those moments with her, too brief, too tempting, had been impossible to resist.
By the time he reached the riverbank, the pain was nearly unbearable.
He barely managed to unfasten his belt and peel away his clothing, each movement sharp and punishing.
The grass swayed in the morning breeze, the faint scent of pine drifting down from the hills.
The river glimmered like a strip of silver, promising blessed relief.
He waded in without hesitation.
The water stole his breath instantly. Icy.
Shocking. But he didn’t stop. He pushed deeper until it reached his chest, the cold piercing straight to the bone.
He closed his eyes and let the river claim him, focusing on the warmth of the sun against his face, the lapping of water against his skin, and the chorus of birdsong drifting through the trees.
Pine. Moss. Fresh water. Nature itself seemed to wrap around him like a soothing balm.
His leg loosened, the pain ebbing away. With a slow breath, Liam pushed off and swam into deeper water, treading lightly, letting the cold numb everything that tormented him. His teeth chattered, but he welcomed it, proof that his body still listened, still responded.
When his muscles trembled, he finally returned to the shore and collapsed onto the soft, new grass. The sun warmed him instantly, heat sliding over him like a lover’s touch, soothing where the cold could not.
But stubbornness ran as deep as his scars. After regaining his breath, he rose and returned to the water for a second immersion, gritting his teeth as the cold seized him again.
By the time he emerged the second time, the pain was gone, washed out, silenced. Temporary, yes. But he’d take temporary over agony any day.
He sprawled back onto the grass, arms outstretched, letting the sunlight dry him. A slow peace drifted through him.
Until…
“What in the world are ye doing?”
Liam cracked one eye open.
Beitris stood several paces away, face blazing red, eyes wide as saucers. Her healer’s satchel hung from her shoulder, and she looked one breath away from either fainting or smacking him with it.
He lifted his head slightly. “Is it nae obvious?”
“Nae, it is nae obvious! Ye are naked on the ground! I thought ye were dead!”
Liam turned his head toward where his clothing lay, entirely too far out of reach. With a resigned grunt, he used both hands to cover himself.
“The cold water soothes my pain,” he explained calmly. “And the sun dries my body.”