Page 60 of The Wolf in My Tavern

Now that those last deadlines have been met, the workload has tapered off, and I can complete what is on my books in a week at the most.

I had planned to do a bit more in the workshop today, but on a whim, I now decide to finish early.

While I have not yet gone, my mind is already disconnecting, and so it is a sense of nostalgia that calls me to a familiar tavern—The Green Man.

I rise, lock up, and head out the back toward a familiar place. Although the weather is grim, with snow blanketing the ground, The Green Man is always cheery. The fire is always well stocked, the food always tasty, and I already anticipate Tim’s booming hail as I push the door open, for it never fails to put a smile on my face. I want to store it up as a reminder, when I am gone, that I have friends here.

Except, today, as I open the door, Gareth is barreling out and nearly knocks me off my feet.

“Heath!” he says. “Was coming to look for you!”

Inside, the fire is blazing with the usual cheery glow, but that is where the scene diverges from my expectations. There are no customers gathered in the taproom. Rather, the only ones before me are Anders, Tim, and a weeping Betsy.

Gareth shuts the door behind me and slams the bolt across.

Before I can say a word, Betsy is in my arms, crying her heart out. I soothe her hair back from her tear-ravaged cheeks, feeling that telltale softening in the center of my chest. “Hush, lass. It is going to be okay. I know what this is about.”

“They are gone,” she sobs.

“Aye, I know.” With her still clinging within the circle of my arms, I explain what I know. These people here are part of my inner circle, and I have trusted them the whole time I have lived in Bleakness. Now, it is time to trust them with my deepest secret.

So I do, leaving out no part, for they will need to know everything if I am to ease their concerns.

As I come to the end, Anders shakes his head. Betsy is now tucked at my side, no longer weeping but giving no indication that she plans to let go.

“Eh, this is a tall story, and I would not believe it were it anyone but you,” Tim says, his worry lines softening a little. “You mean to go back to your homelands, then?”

“I do,” I say.

“Well, the rebellion will miss you and Callum for sure,” Anders says, coming over to clasp hands with me. “I better be going. I’ve got a ship full of former captives to track down afore they fall into the wrong hands again. And, Tim, if I might be bold enough, I suggest you open up, lest it draw more attention. It’s quiet at this time of day, but your regulars will be arriving soon. The fewer tongues wagging, the better.”

As he strides away, Tim gives Gareth the nod to unbar the front door. “Gods, I’m going to miss that young lass and your Callum,” he says, with a sad smile. “Won’t be the same around here, for sure. And it’ll be worse still, when you go. Betsy, get Heath what he wants: on the house tonight.”

“I will, Pa,” she says. “Just going to wash my face, and I’ll be right back.”

I must admit, I miss her as she slips from my arms. She rubs her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, and plasters on a weak smile before she hastens off.

The door swings open, bringing a blast of cold air, and three dockworkers hasten in, rubbing hands to ward off the chill as they hang cloaks on the hooks beside the door.

“Cold ‘un tonight, Tim!” one calls. “We’ll have three pints of Pilkington and a serve each of steak and kidney pie, please!”

“Coming right up,” Tim calls.

I take my favored place at the table to the right of the fire.

The door opens again.

“You are early today,” Tim says, with a good-natured smile as he addresses the carpenter and his apprentice, who join him at the bar.

Gods, I want to soak up the moment and the way easy conversation picks up around me.

By the time Betsy returns, the door has opened three more times, and a dozen patrons are sitting at tables or chatting with Tim at the bar.

I watch her approach, noting that tears still glisten in her eyes. It dawns upon me that I have been unintentionally careless with the precious gift of a young lass’s heart, by announcing I am leaving, right off the back of telling her that her dear friend has gone and will never be coming back.

As I look at her now, her presence hits me in a way I have forced myself not to acknowledge before. My thoughts shift to that moment of weakness I felt, when I caught her and Ada sneaking beneath the fighting pit.

She is too young, but, fuck it. I admit I am as charmed by her ways as I am by her pretty face and smile… and her tits, and her ass, and her mouth when it is stretched around… Somewhere far above, another lass with forest green eyes and shifter blood is smirking with approval at Betsy’s boldness.

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