Page 2 of A Heaven to Reach For

Owin made a face, not objecting to the journey, only that it came so soon after the last one, and he had yet to rest or even bathe. He took another cake.

“Stops for my cakes but does not even come in to greet me.” A light smack on his shoulder drew Owin’s attention up to Beau, the daughter of the pub’s owner, who loomed over him only because he was seated. Her lips were smeared blue and she was smiling, so Owin raised himself up enough to kiss her cheek, and shook his head at all the calls and whistles he received for it.

For a moment, Beau’s gaze was somewhere else, and Owin followed it to Margaret, who was interested solely in her wine, it seemed.

“I think Beau was aiming for more, Owin,” Steph chided, leading Owin to sigh.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” remarked Aubrey, in a particular way, and briefly met Owin’s stare.

It was, of course, wise to be careful. The ways of the Church were ever-changing, and often twisted to suit the desires of clergymen Owin would never meet, much like the laws handed down by rulers Owin had never heard of. But there were manysins that did not seem especially sinful, and this country had never completely given way to the Church, and the Duke was as reasonable a man as a noble could be. Steph was simply oblivious to what would have been obvious to others, even though many of the other guardsmen were far less discreet.

Owin looked up to Beau again and winked. “The lady has her sights on something far prettier than my ugly face.”

Steph scoffed.

Denys raised his head, then his hat, to peer at them both. “That face has rested on plenty of pillows, as I recall—including mine.”

Steph jerked back in surprise and nearly fell from the bench. A laugh slipped out of Beau, who hurried away in the next moment, sliding up to the next table to place some cakes in front of Margaret.

Aubrey took a long drink, then put down his cup with a decided air. “It’s not a terrible face to wake up to,” he announced, drawing a shocked gasp from Steph and a giddy sort of cackle from someone at the other table. “Although, I must be honest and say that we were not often face-to-face the night before.”

“Mary’s tits,” somebody swore from somewhere around them, disapproving or perhaps disgusted.

Owin gazed at Aubrey for another moment, his eyebrows likely up to his hairline, before Denys made a noise of outrage.

“I thought I was the only one. Owin, you stealer-of-hearts.” He grinned for it, and Owin fixed him with a look that was only mildly disgruntled.

Dahl had a hand to his throat like a startled and virtuous maiden, though he was anything but. “Don’t tell me—you were sharing a blanket for warmth.”

“No, that was me,” Bartlemeo offered, “though that really is all we did. Well, mostly.” He paused. “The nights were very cold, and he has very big hands.”

Owin straightened up. “And you’ve a sweet mouth, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Dahl clapped his hands together in excitement, ignoring the wrinkled nose of the server passing near him. “Isn’t it though?” he asked Owin. “I have often thought so.”

“Often?” Wolfe wondered, the quiet question nearly drowned out by Beau’s giggles as she left.

“The lot of you,” Margaret despaired, though in truth, there was much fondness in her voice as well.

“A guard’s life is often lonely, with few opportunities to marry, or partner,” Dahl responded breezily. “Who wouldn’t occasionally turn to a friend who is built like a tree?”

“A twice-broken nose, an ear swollen from too many punches, and countless scars are all easily overlooked if you’re after a companion for one night and your only requirements are friendly and large.” Owin smiled despite his words.

Wolfe broke the resulting silence. “Now I feel cheated. I’ve only ever known Owin’s kisses, thoughfriendlyis not how I would describe them.”

His smile grew when Dahl turned to gape at him. Maschi, between them, had also let his mouth fall open.

“Hear, hear,” added Aubrey playfully, drawing Owin’s attention back. “We should all pity those who have never experienced Owin’s kisses.”

If Owin had been eating, he would have choked. He coughed regardless, thinking of his dull brown hair, now matted with sweat, and the bashed-in bridge of his nose, and the misshapenshell of his ear, and his hands, big, certainly, but not elegant as Aubrey’s were.

“Perhaps today is the day someone else will discover them,” Denys suggested, gently enough to remind Owin of their younger years, and past, easy intimacies.

“From the sound of it, it’s far too late for anyone here.” Margaret could not conceal her smile this time. She did not mention herself, although she could have. Though, then Owin supposed the two of them had done their share of drunken cuddling, which may have counted in the tally it seemed the others were making, but not kissing, which may not have. Margaret looked sly. “Except possibly Steph.”

Owin pursed his lips but pointedly said nothing. Steph sputtered, and that was all it took to have Bartlemeo and Dahl roaring with laughter.

“Was it a very cold night for you too, Steph?” Bartlemeo asked.

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