Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Heath

I have 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.

My slow smile is followed by a low chuckle that soon turns into a deeper guffaw.

My dear son never forgot about the damn sword I had hidden under my bed, even though finding it was one of the rare occasions that I took the strap to his behind.

I carefully lay the note down on the table.

And then I sit.

A part of me is devastated that my son has gone; in my heart, I already know he will not be coming back.

I am confident Gray is the bastard Callum refers to and equally sure that the big shifter means Ada no harm. He also won’t hurt Callum, not without damaging what he seeks to build with Ada. Callum will prevail, but perhaps not in the way he expects. Gray is a shifter, after all, and they are more inclined toward sharing a mate than humans might. Not that either man has a choice for I sense fate is at work.

I should have had that talk with him. But this and that happened, and there was never any fucking time. Today, I sense the Goddess at work, forcing matters to a head.

There has been a pull between the three of them since the beginning: Gray, Ada, and Callum.

My son is gone. I already feel how fate guides his path, just as it is acting upon me.

My thoughts center on my homeland and the place I have recalled with increasing frequency in my dreams. Callum was still a babe when we left, yet it is where his roots are, too. Eastern Hydornia: where the mountains climb toward the sky, and the forests are lush and thick. There is a village where I grew up, apprenticing to the local blacksmith—my father—and where a pretty shifter lass used to sneak to when she wanted to escape the harsh politics and dangers in her life.

I didn’t know her story. She was just a lass with an eye for mischief. It was many years later when I learned about her status, but then we were both maturing, and I was fucking gone for her and only her.

As I carefully close the note, it feels like I am closing more than a piece of paper.

“It is time I moved on,” I say to myself. It will take a while to get my affairs in order, to find a buyer willing to take on the shop, although a few have approached me over the years, and I will put the word out.

I feel light like a weight I have carried for too long has been lifted from my shoulders.

I feel free.

Bleakness is changing—the Blighten’s grip is slipping—and while my work here might never be done, I believe it is time.

A village is calling to me. A village where I grew up. Far away. A place I only now recognize as home. It will have changed. There will be different people there. Some of those I once knew will have passed over to the Goddess’ side. There will be new people, too, who I will meet and learn about.

My heart lifts as I consider the road ahead—the long journey—and the only sorrow at leaving Bleakness is related to the hold a certain lass has over me… and I wonder.

It’s time for that talk. If she will listen. If I have not fucked this up beyond recovery.

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. It was quiet when I left, but time has passed, and the patrons will be arriving by now. 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 no part out, 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 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 man 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 thrice, 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. 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.

Her presence hits me in a way I have forced myself to ignore before. My thoughts shift to that moment of weakness after 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.

“Have a seat, lass,” I say, liberating her of the pint and indicating the chair opposite mine. “You are not so busy, and happen an old man has made a hash of matters.”

“You are not so old,” she says. Her pert chin lifts, and her eyes lose some sorrow, flashing with a little of that fire I love so well.

I set the pint of Pilkington out of the way and take her small hands in mine. It’s fair to say my life has taken plenty of unexpected turns. And I’m hopeful that the lass before me is congenial to taking one more turn, with me.

“Do you want to go with me?”

“Go?” she shakes her head.

“Yes, go to Hydornia With me. Would you consider it?”

I am fucking this up.

“What I’m trying to say badly. Very badly. Is will you marry me?”

“Marry? Go? Oh…” Her face is flushed and her eyes are round.

My heart is pounding out of my chest. After all this, have I read her wrong?

Then she suddenly squeals and launches herself across the table at me, peppering my face with kisses. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh yes.”

A cheer goes up from the patrons. I hear Tim’s booming laugh.

I haul my woman into my arms and hold her tight. “Thank you, Betsy. Thank you for never losing faith in me. Thank you for waiting for me to get my head out of my ass. Thank you for being you, the sweetest, prettiest serving lass in all the lands. I am sorry if I caused you even a moment of sorrow. If you will have me, I should love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life loving you. Nothing would make me happier nor prouder than to call you my wife.”

She cups my cheeks, her eyes searching mine.

Then she grins, that perfect, saucy grin. “Pa!” she calls. “Pa, I’m getting married!”

Another cheer goes up.