Page 15 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

There was such earnest hope in his expression that it tugged at something inside her, something uncomfortably close to guilt.

Calum was kind. Steady. A year older than her, with an easy smile and a quiet patience that had always made him welcome in her family’s home. She had known him for as long as she could remember. In the past their shared walks, laughter, even long silences that had once felt easy and unforced.

Now… not so much. Because something had shifted.

Perhaps it was the way his gaze lingered too long, or how his questions, once careless and frequent, had grown measured, as though each word mattered more than it should. Where their conversations had once flowed as naturally as the stream beyond the mill, they now stumbled and caught in pauses that stretched too long, filled with things neither of them seemed willing to say.

“Liam and Beitris will be by soon,” Effie said, forcing a brightness into her tone that felt just a touch too practiced. “I made plans with Beitris and Anne to go early. We thought to help with preparations before the fête begins.”

She kept her gaze light, her smile easy, anything to pretend she did not notice the quiet weight in Calum’s attention. The way he dawdled as though hoping she might yet change her mind.

Turning away, Calum began to gently herd the chickens, his movements careful, unhurried. The sunlight caught in his flour-dusted hair, turning it pale as grain in harvest. And for a moment, she saw him as others might, reliable, handsome in a quiet way, a man any sensible woman would be glad to choose as a husband.

“Have ye spoken to Isabella?” she called out to him, glad that the thought had only just come to her. “She asked after ye again when I saw her at the market.” Effie tilted her head, her expression turning playfully conspiratorial. “I daresay she is quite smitten with ye.”

Calum stilled. The easy rhythm he’d found while guiding the chickens faltered, and his brow drew together. “I-I have nae.”

Walking to him, Effie gave a soft, airy laugh, brushing a speck of flour from his sleeve in a friendly attempt to still him. “Ye should seek her out at the fête. She is bonny and sweet besides. A kind disposition is no small thing.”

Instead of a reply, Calum frowned and remained silent.

“Something for ye to think about. We best gather those birds,” she went on quickly, motioning toward the edge of the yard where two of the bolder hens had begun to wander away from the rest. “They are growing far too brave for their own good.”

Rounding him, she hurried off, skirts brushing against her ankles as she moved. The hens protested her approach with indignant clucks, darting just out of reach before finally allowing themselves to be ushered back toward the enclosure.

Behind her, she could feel it again, that quiet, searching look Calum so often gave her now. It pressed between her shoulder blades, warm as the sun overhead. He’d stilled, standing beside the enclosure waiting for the hens to come closer.

Effie kept her focus on the chickens, coaxing them through the gate and securing the latch with more care than necessary. Only once it was firmly fastened did she allow herself a breath.

By the time she turned back, her smile was once more in place. Light, untroubled, and just convincing enough to pass. “I will see ye at the fête then,” she said, as though nothing at all lingered unsaid between them.

And before he could offer to walk with her, or worse, wait beside her, Effie hurried toward the cottage to finish what needed to be done and prepared for an afternoon that could not come quickly enough.

*

Effie stood before the small mirror in her bedchamber, studying the reflection that looked back at her as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

Her light brown hair had been braided with care, the plait wound around her head like a delicate crown. At her temples, softer strands had been left free, curling in gentle tendrils that brushed against her cheeks and fell to her shoulders. The loose curls caught the light from the narrow window, glinting warm as honey against her skin. Her green eyes, bright, restless, impossible to ignore, seemed more vivid today, as though the promise of the fête had brought them to life.

She smoothed her hands over her blouse, crisp and white, the linen fresh and clean against her skin. The skirt she wore was newly made, the rich blue fabric that Beitris and Anne had chosen. When she swayed her hips, the material swayed perfectly, moving side to side, the fabric soft against her legs. A fitted vest hugged her waist, the laces drawn snug by her mother’s practiced hands, shaping her in a way that felt both unfamiliar and not entirely unwelcome.

Turning slightly, Effie tilted her chin, taking in the full effect. For once, she did not look like the miller’s daughter covered in flour and mischief. A slow smile curved her lips.

The day stretched before her in bright promise, music drifting through the village, laughter spilling into the open air, the warmth of the sun lingering well into evening. There would be dancing, and friends gathered close, and tables laden with food so tempting she would surely regret every bite and take another anyway.

Unable to help herself, she spun in a small circle. The skirts flared and swayed before settling again, the fabric wrapping and unwrapping in a graceful rhythm that made her laugh under her breath. Dancing would be fun, and her clothing would emphasize every movement.

She slowed, the movement fading, and with it, her thoughts began to wander. Unbidden, an image formed.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Solid as the mountains beyond the village. Hazel eyes that seemed to see far more than he ever let on. A mouth that rarely smiled yet held the promise of something far more dangerous when it did.

In her mind, his hands found her waist, large and sure, drawing her into the rhythm of a dance. She could almost feel the heat of his touch, the steady strength of him guiding her, keeping her close in a way that stole her breath rather than returned it.

A soft sigh slipped from her lips before she could stop it. Effie blinked, her reflection sharpening once more.

Why was she thinking of Gowan now of all times? If he attended the fête, which she doubted, he would stand apart as he always did, watching rather than joining. And even if by some miracle he stepped into the dance area… he would not choose her. Her smile faltered just a touch, though she quickly lifted her chin, as if daring the thought to linger.

“Nonsense,” she murmured to herself, smoothing her skirts once more.