Page 17 of The Blacksmith in My Tavern: Tales of Bleakness

He lifts his head slowly, his lips breaking from mine. Our eyes meet, and I see so much emotion and understand little.

“Thank you, Betsy,” he says, the formal version of Heath once more in place.

I want to make demands. To tell him how I feel.

But we are in a changing room beneath the underground fighting club, and I recognize this is not the time. That worse, coming to find him here, letting him fuck me like this, will only reinforce the version of Betsy that I wear like a shield.

A saucy smile blooms upon my face as I call upon the Betsy he knows well and push down—for now—the woman who would give everything to be his wife. “The pleasure was all mine.”

Chapter Six

Heath

Ihave been out all morning, meeting with an acquaintance involved with the rebellion. On returning, I find the workshop shut. Matters have progressed between Callum and his lass. A wedding is being planned, and the two of them are inseparable. Thinking my son might have popped around to The Green Man to speak to her, I decide to call in. Either way, I know I need to speak to Betsy. I have been putting off something that needs to be addressed. I have been busy with my blacksmithing work after a rush order came in, and there have been fresh troubles regarding the rebellion.

Yet I know these are excuses.

It has been seven years since illness took a woman I loved from me. Time has a way of softening the pain without ever taking it away. I tell myself I’m not ready for someone else and never will be, and yet Betsy is surely a Goddess-sent test to my resolve. I am honest with myself; I admit that the blonde tavern lass with her freckles and her saucy smile has taken a starring role in my recent filthy dreams long before I fucked her on a rough bench.

The lass is too young for me, too bold, too stubborn, and, further, clearly needs a firm hand applied to her ass just to keep her in line.

A man has a type that is not necessarily measured by how a woman looks.

I like women with spirit who rise above life’s hardships and tests, who are indomitable, even as they make me want to try to tame them for nothing more than the hell of it.

She is unexpected.

And already in my heart.

How often I have thought about events after the fight, the wild coupling, and the sense of connection that no matter the angle I view it from, I know I did not imagine.

I have been careless with something precious.

An apology would be a good start.

Telling her how I feel would be an advisable follow-up.

Begging her to forgive me for having my head up my ass these past weeks would also not go amiss.

When I push through the tavern door, I find it quiet. The head cook informs me that Callum called in looking for Ada. He left after hearing she and Betsy had gone to the market.

The short walk back to the workshop only increases a strange sense of foreboding. I find myself frowning as I take my key from my pocket to undo the lock.

Even before I step inside, I feel the prickling of unease and a premonition that something is wrong.

Absent.It is quiet. Too quiet.

I walk out the other side of the workshop and into our house, which lies behind. The kitchen is neat and tidy. My eyes skim over it, searching for the elusive sign that proves or negates the prickling at the back of my neck.

Callum’s cloak has gone from the hook by the door, but that is to be expected. It is cold and miserable outside as Bleakness lumbers into the depths of winter.

My eyes alight on a note sitting on the mantle over the fire. A cold sensation settles in the pit of my stomach as I stride over and take the note.

The bastard has taken her. I don’t know what the fuck he intends to do. But I am getting my woman back.

Callum

P.S. I took your sword.

---