Page 17 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

“I am off to speak to Gowan,” Liam said, and the mention of the blacksmith’s name seemed to echo in Effie’s ears.

“What about?” Effie asked before she could stop herself, earning a quizzical look from Beitris.

Thankfully, Liam didn’t seem to consider her question out of the ordinary. “Beitris’ mother asked him to make a grill to be used to keep the meat pies warm. I will let him ken we are here.”

Effie watched him walk away, not sure if she was prepared to see Gowan again so soon.

“Is something amiss?” Beitris asked with a curious gleam in her eye. Her friend missed very little, and Effie had to fight to assume a neutral expression.

“Only that we need something to add color,” Effie said, whirling toward the stand.

She could feel Beitris studying her just as Anne’s voice sounded. “Here ye are. I am so glad to see ye both. I have kept guard to ensure no one took this stall.”

Effie let out a breath at the reprieve.

Chapter Seven

Gowan stood at the edge of the village square, his expression darkening as he watched the growing crowd. Everywhere he looked, people hurried about with content expressions on their faces, hanging banners, erecting stalls, and hauling supplies for the festival. By nightfall, laughter would fill the air, music would drift across the homes, and countless bonfires would blaze beneath the stars.

Most welcomed the celebration.

Gowan dreaded it.

It wasn’t the noise he minded. The laughter and merriment belonged to the village as much as the sea belonged to Skye. What he hated were the surrounding fires.

Already the scent of smoke drifted through the air, carried by the breeze from the first cooking fires being lit. By evening, dozens of bonfires would dot the surrounding fields where families camped overnight. The sight of flickering flames against the darkness and the smell of burning wood hanging thick in the air would steal what little sleep he managed to find.

Strange that a man who spent his days commanding fire should fear it.

But the forge was different. The flames in his workshop obeyed him. He controlled their size, their heat, and their purpose. The fires from his memories had obeyed no one.

Those flames still visited him in the dark.

“Oy, Gowan!”

Liam’s familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

He looked up to find his friend walking with uneven steps toward him, raising a hand in greeting. Liam had recovered remarkably from a battle wound, although it had left him with a pronounced limp.

“I’ve come for the grill,” Liam said. “Where is it?” His gaze landed on the finished piece sitting atop the worktable.

A low whistle escaped him. “That’s fine work.”

The compliment earned only a grunt from Gowan, but pride swelled in his chest. The grill was sturdy and practical, built from blackened iron with short, thick legs. A hinged grate sat atop it, allowing easy access to the bed of coals beneath. It wasn’t just decorative, but it would also keep food warm throughout the festivities.

Liam crouched slightly to inspect it more closely.

“Be prepared,” he said, glancing up. “Once people see this, they’ll ask ye to make more.”

“Perhaps.” Gowan shrugged.

He planned to fill it with hot charcoal before delivering it to the festival grounds. “It weighs too much for ye to carry,” he added. “I’ll take it on the wheelbarrow. Ye can bring the other items required.”

Over the years, Gowan had accumulated a surprising collection of forged goods. With the festival drawing visitors from nearby villages, he’d decided to sell them.

Pots, candlesticks, cooking hooks, knives, fire pokers, hammers, chisels, locks, keys, and countless bundles of nails filled his stall. Business had already been brisk enough that he’d left his apprentice behind to mind the stand while he fetched additional stock.

A short time later, Gowan pushed a heavily laden wheelbarrow through the crowd while Liam followed with a second.