Epilogue

Betsy

We wed a few days after Heath’s proposal with my father and all my friends from the tavern in attendance. Soon after, he completed the sales of his workshop and business, and we set sail, bound for Hydornia and my husband’s former home.

Husband.

How I love the sound of that. How I love the man who is warm and patient and who rocks my world of a night. Every day, I learn new reasons to cherish the man who, as I discovered that fateful day, left his home and sacrificed everything to protect his wife and their son. He already had ties with the rebellion, and in exchange for the death of those who persecuted his wife, he agreed to relocate to Bleakness and fight for the cause in secret there.

It was only meant to be for a few years.

Then his wife died. Everything changed, and he found his purpose in raising his son and supporting the rebellion who had helped them in their hour of need… As if I did not already know he was a good man.

Who deserves happiness in this life, and who makes me happy in return.

Only now, as we leave the port on horseback, our destination, his childhood village, do I appreciate how it must have devastated him to leave this bountiful land with green forests and cheerful communities. After the bleak streets of Bleakness, a place that barely lumbers out of winter and exists under the shroud of Blighten control, Hydornia is like stepping into a vivid dream.

Then, we arrive at Blue Bell. The name is as lovely as the village itself, nestled among forests on either side of the River Bell, high street with shops, a tavern, and a church. As we ride down the high street, I see his joy. He points out changes and familiar things. Ahead is an open workshop, the clanging of a blacksmith hammer.

He grins and shares a look with me.

“Is that where you grew up?” I ask.

“Aye,” he says. “It is. The bakery, two doors down, always made the best beef pies. I wonder if they still make them?”

His happiness is infectious. Time has passed, and the reasons he was forced to leave have likewise disappeared. He is free.

The Foresters Arms is opposite the village green.

“We’ll stop here,” Heath says. “Take lodgings while we find our feet.”

We pull our horses up into the stables out the back. A young lad comes and takes the horses for a coin. And then we step inside the tavern. With its dark wood walls, glistening bar, shiny pumps, and neatly set tables and chairs, it is a little worn but homely. Being early, there are only a few patrons here yet.

The proprietor is friendly and remembers Heath and his late father. Callum, my dear friend Ada, and the shifter, Gray, live not far away, he informs us, and have mated for life. “Aye, quite a to-do going on in the pack community,” he says, warming to the gossip. “Your pa’s old workshop is still thriving, but happen they don’t need a blacksmith. Are you looking for work?”

“Aye,” Heath says. “But a home is first order.” He wraps his arm around me and smiles down at me. “Betsy is with child. Due in the spring.”

“Congratulations,” the proprietor says, smiling. “Aye, pity, you are not looking to buy a tavern.”

My eyes flash to Heath.

He chuckles.

The proprietor looks between us, clearly confused.

“As it happens,” Heath says, taking my hand in his and squeezing it gently. “I have a bit of coin gathered over the years. I sold the workshop I had in the city. Betsy, here, has lived all her life in a tavern. Her father is a proprietor of one… and well, she might have mentioned a time or three how it has always been her dream to have a tavern of her own.”

I can scarcely breathe. It feels almost too good to be true.

“Well, this is fate!” the proprietor exclaims. “My daughter has been nagging me to go and stay with her. She and her husband have space for me and a brood of kids I’d like to see more of. Lost my wife ten years ago, and it would make me happy to spend more time with them. I’ll set a fair price. It’s been a bit of a bother, to be honest with you, looking after it now I’m getting on.”

We get down to negotiating then and there.

A price is agreed upon.

One month later, once the deeds are drawn, and the proprietor has collected his personal effects, we take ownership of the Tavern.

As we stand in the empty bar area, my mind is whirling with everything I want to do: a lick of paint here, some flower boxes out the front, and renovations to the guest rooms so we can make the best of the passing trade. The staff working here are excellent; all have advised us they wish to stay on.

“Sign is up!” The local joiner says, poking his head in the front door.

We hasten outside to admire our new sign.

“It’s perfect,” I say, grinning at the sign hanging above the door—a gnarly old green man with curved green lettering beneath: The Green Man.

“Aye,” Heath agrees. “Happen Tim would be proud.”

Heath still has contact with members of the rebellion, and our new home and tavern will always be a safe place for those fighting the cause against the warring Blighten.

We thank the joiner, who accepts his payment, and packs his tool bag.

We head back inside.

Heath wraps his arms around my waist and smiles down at me. “I can already see the cogs turning. I’m the novice here when it comes to managing a tavern. But I’m hard working, and you can teach me the ropes.”

Before I can answer, the barman, Pete, strides in with a fresh barrel of ale, followed by the barmaid, Sally, with a tray full of clean tankards.

“Don’t mind us,” Pete calls as he strides past. He winks at Sally. “Newlyweds, eh?”

Heath chuckles and scoops me up into his arms with a distinctly lascivious smirk. “Just going to have a quick word with my wife upstairs. Be down in time for opening.”

“Heath,” I gasp, fighting my laughter as he heads out the back with me still in his arms. He cuts left at the end of the corridor, taking the stairs for our quarters above the tavern.

“Quiet, woman,” he mutters, not even winded by the effort of carrying me. “We both know pregnancy makes you needy. You’ll never get through the day unless I settle you down now.”

Heath

She giggles as I make it as far as the lounge. “Fuck it,” I say. I have her spread out on the rug before the unlit fire, her skirt is thrust up, and her panties are tugged to the side.

“Oh, Heath!”

Her breathy gasp accompanies me getting my mouth on her pussy and filling my big hands with her ample tits. Her fingers spear my hair, tugging me where she wants.

She is drenched and ready, making those sweet, breathy moans as I eat her out. I swear if I live to a hundred, I will never get enough of her pleasure sounds. My dick is already fighting to get out and threatening to blow. What this damn woman does to me with her mere existence.

“Come for me, wife,” I growl against her pussy. Calling her that is guaranteed to get her off in record time.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Her fingers tighten, making me wince even as I double down. My reward is a flood over my waiting tongue as she comes for me.

I nearly fucking come myself. My hands are at my buckle before I even lift my head. By the time I surge above her and lodge my cock head in her entrance, I am so primed it is a battle of sheer will to get inside her before I spill.

“Fuck!” I thrust deeply once, twice, three times, and then I unload with a grunt.

When I recover enough to open my eyes, I find my wife smirking up at me, pretty hair spread out over the rug, and cheeks flushed. The damn brat loves it when I lose control.

I wiggle my brows and begin to thrust at a more leisurely pace, my eyes lowering to where her tits jiggle about. “Never fear, the sight of my young, beautiful wife, her belly soon to grow ripe with my child, and stuffed full of my cock, has me hard again in no time.”

And it does.

Every time.

She cups my cheek, and I lean down to kiss her as I take her slow and easy, letting the pleasure build this time.

“I love you, Heath,” she whispers against my cheek.

“I love you, too, Betsy. Now, take it like a good girl lest we never get down to the customers in our new tavern.”

Thank you so much for reading The Blacksmith in My Tavern .