Page 148 of Arrows and Gems
She tilted her chin so her lips sat right next to his ear and ran her fingers lightly down his arm. “Grabbing my bow and escaping to the archery field with you.”
To her delight, a low laugh rumbled through his chest. “I should have known. After all, a quiver of arrowsisthe way to your heart.”
“It is,” she agreed easily. She brought her right hand up to trace his jaw, enjoying the way his hazel eyes grew brighter. “But do you know what might be even better?”
“A new bow?”
She stepped closer. “Finally making you laugh.”
Rafe’s eyes widened, but then he released a short bark ofamusement. “I don’t mind letting you.” Wrapping his other arm around her, he drew her in. “But I can think of something thatI’dlike better.”
Helena raised an inquiring eyebrow. Laughing again, he leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to hers.
Perhaps he was right. This might surpass a quiver.
Maybe even earning his laughter.
As she ran her fingers through his short hair, she smiled against his lips. Both were good.
But neither compared to being kissed by Rafe.
VIGNETTE
Keenan
ONE WEEK EARLIER…
Keenan tightened his grip on the tongs and swung the hammer with more force than usual. The glowing metal rang under his strike.
“He isn’t dead yet,” he ground out while bringing the hammer back up. “The smithy still belongs to him.”
From the corner of his eye, he could see Geoffrey fold his arms and lean back against the workbench. “It’s only a matter of time. My father has been ill for two months, and he’s not getting better.”
Anger as hot as the forge flared through Keenan’s chest at the man’s callous words, but he fought it down. His temper would do him no good. Instead, he spent his fury on the sword he was crafting.
“My father took you in when you had no one.” Geoffrey examined his fingernails. “A few more special orders isn’t asking too much.”
“But Master Elias set limits,” Keenan ground out. “I can’t complete all those orders by the times you promised.”
“You can if you don’t patrol the neighborhood looking for opportunities to play the hero,” Geoffrey retorted. “And if you give up practicing with the swords instead of forging them.”
“I don’t—”
“Iwon’t bail you out the next time you get in trouble,”Geoffrey warned. “So I’m doing you a favor. I suggest you consider that the next time you’re tempted to complain about your workload.”
With that, he pushed off the workbench and left the smithy, letting the door bang closed behind him.
Another strike, another tiny piece of Keenan’s frustration. He would never understand how his kind master had turned out such a son as that.
Setting the hammer down, Keenan plunged the blade he was shaping back into the fire. He was about to pull it out to pound some more when the little bell over the front door jingled.
He huffed in annoyance. The least Geoffrey could do was watch the counter so Keenan could focus on the special orders. Working for Master Elias was a privilege, but Keenan had no desire to work for his son.
Wiping his hands on his apron, he plastered on a smile and stepped into the front room to answer the questions of whichever nobleman had wandered into his shop this time. But instead of one of his usual visitors, a young man in a traveling cloak stood just inside the doorway, a pack slung over his back and a black cat perched on his shoulder. It was a pretty cat, with brown paws and a white sunburst on one shoulder, but most men didn’t bring cats weapon-shopping.
“Can I help you?” Keenan asked politely, resting his large hands on the counter.
The customer turned heavy-lidded eyes on him. “I need a sword. And a bow.”
