Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Callum

Two months later…

I t has been a busy day at the forge. A new commission came in for pickaxes for shipping out to a distant mine. It's simple enough work, but laborious. It is a tight timeline, and we have been working long hours.

As per usual, once we finish up for the day, my pa and I spend some time training in the old barn out the back. I work on my form using the heavy bag, go through drills, and finally spar with my pa. I'm tired after the day's work, so tonight is a short session, but I always feel better afterward, like it clears my mind.

Money is never plentiful, but there is always food on the table. Much of what we earn is invested in the raw materials and the tools we use. We make a tidy income, enough to afford a housekeeper to ensure the home is clean and who prepares supper for us if we want it.

More often, though, we head to one of the local taverns at the end of the day to chat with our friends, have a pint, and enjoy freshly prepared food.

I don't mind the long hours and I enjoy the work. My blacksmithing skills are improving, and I can handle most tasks. My father has garnered a reputation for weapon repairs, which can be more intricate, and I'm learning that, too, under his watch and instruction. He is patient with me—a good father who has instilled a firm sense of right and wrong.

In some ways, life here is not so bad, yet I find myself wishing more often that I lived somewhere far from Bleakness and the Blighten. Although they take a cut of our taxes via the marshal of this district, they don't interfere with us, nor with traders in general, leaving us to our business. Yet one can never forget them, not when the ships come in, and they march down the streets. Occasionally, trouble starts when one of the lords gets ideas of independence, but rebellions are usually poorly organized and dealt with swiftly.

The Blighten remain a cloud over us, as do the slave markets. I still think about that night we raided. It is hard to forget: it has left a forever impression upon me, and not least because of the sweet lass I saved along with Betsy.

I wash up quickly, feeling my cheeks fill with heat. Ada has been through a trauma and doesn't need me mooning over her. I shouldn't be thinking about her at all, but, fuck it, I can admit, I'm gone for her.

Finishing my wash, I change into a clean shirt and tuck it into my pants.

My father joins me at the entrance where our cloaks hang. "Jolly Sailor tonight, then?" he asks, grabbing his cloak.

We went to the Jolly Sailor on Wednesday. Tonight is Friday, and we usually go to The Green Man, which I consider our local as we go there more than any other tavern. Certainly, we never go to the Jolly Sailor twice in one week.

When my mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, my pa chuckles.

My ears go red. He likes to tease me about my fixation with a certain lass.

"The Green Man it is then," he says, with a wink.

I snatch up my cloak and drop it over my shoulders; a stupid grin on my face. Friday evening at The Green Man is officially my favorite night of the week.

Hail lashes me the moment I step out. It is always fucking cold in Bleakness. It is icy rain in the spring and autumn; in the winter, it is snow. We get a brief summer and some respite, and then it is back to the fucking awful weather again.

We close the workshop, and my father locks up. Not that there is much trouble in this part of the city. A few years ago, a gang of thugs broke in, but this is a tight-knit community, and we look out for one another. The wheelwright, who lives two shops down, saw who it was. My pa and a few of our neighbors paid them a visit, and we recovered most of our things.

And put a thumping on the idiots so they didn't make that mistake again.

I pull my hood forward to protect myself from the stinging hail as we walk the short distance to the tavern. The Green Man is a respectable establishment. To those in the know, it is a safe place for enemies of the Blighten.

Still, the windows emit a welcoming glow, and as we step inside and the door slams shut behind us, I draw my hood back and feel the warmth from the fire.

It is heaving. But it is always busy here, especially on a Friday when everyone lets loose.

"Evening, Heath!" Tim booms from behind the bar, where he is busy pulling pints.

"Evening!" my pa calls.

I lift my hand in acknowledgment as we take off our wet cloaks and hang them on the pegs by the door.

"Looks like Pete has kept us a space over by the fire," my pa says, rubbing his hands together. "I've worked up a thirst today. See if you can get us a couple of pints, lad. And some of that beef stew for supper."

He heads toward the fire, and his buddy, Pete, and I head to the bar. The serving lasses come around, although on busy nights when they are hard-pressed to keep up with demand, I usually order from the bar to speed things up.

"Two pints of Pinkington, please," I say to Tim as I edge between two merry sailors and a dockworker. "And we'll have two beef stews."

"Coming right up," Tim says, before he calls the order to the cook.

Which is when Ada comes rushing out of the back. The raucous tavern patrons fade away as I get lost in her pretty eyes. I feel a familiar catch in my breath. She has a sensual beauty: her hazel eyes hold sensitivity, her nose a little button that turns up at the end, and her lips, full and berry red, make my thoughts sink to inappropriate places.

She looks like she's about to speak to Tim, but her eyes slide past him and slam into me.

I've never been with a lass. I'm busy and don't have much spare time… which is an excuse when the truth is I'm cursed to be shy. Unless the lass is forward, matters are unlikely to progress. I've thought about it often, lifting their skirts and touching them, making them moan in the way I sometimes hear when they slip out the back… Betsy offered to teach me last year. Flustered by her proposal, my ears had gotten hotter than our forge. I couldn't look her in the eye for a month, so that was a no-go.

I've kissed a couple—I was sweet on Doreen from two doors down the whole of last year. But I'm going to be honest; I've not thought about the young seamstress once since I met Ada.

She is my first thought on waking and my last thought before I submit to sleep. After what she has been through, I'm fucking terrified that I wouldn't know what the fuck to do and might upset her if I did something wrong… Well, I know what to do, but I'm still terrified and wish I'd let Betsy coach me with hindsight.

It is too late now. My cock is broken for all other lasses but Ada.

As the noisy tavern breaks through the spell, I recognize that we can never be.

Ada

The pump has broken again, and I need to let Tim know. The human-orc hybrid and proprietor of this establishment runs a tight ship (pun intended—this is a seaport, after all). He looks mostly human, except that he is the size of an orc and has pink, pointed ears.

He's a good boss, and I consider myself lucky to have a job here. My life wasn't always so enviable, and I appreciate my turn for the better.

I come barreling out of the kitchen then come to a grinding halt. My eyes go from Tim straight to Callum, and my mind goes blank. In a glance, my gaze rakes a loving trail over his windswept ginger hair, handsome face with darker scruff on his chin, and broad, brawny shoulders.

Callum is a local blacksmith who saved me from a life of servitude and all the horrors that entails.

Not quite a blacksmith yet, I amend, but an apprentice. He is virtually a blacksmith and works for his father in their workshop at the end of the street. They come here every Friday night. It is my favorite night of the week when I can give myself new dreams for when I slip into bed at night.

I feel a blush creep over my cheeks. Betsy has been coaching me in the ways of working in a tavern, yet it is an uphill struggle when my life not so long ago consisted of treading a path between a hovel and the fish markets where I would gut fish all day until my fingers cramped and I was fit to drop. There was no time for looking at lads, especially not handsome ones with impossibly broad shoulders and large, capable hands.

Don't think about his hands.

My blush deepens.

I tell myself to look away, but it is proving very hard. His eyes are bright and green, and his cheeks are always flushed and rosy with the weather. He has a lot of freckles on his face, and they all seem to merge, giving his complexion a golden glow. When I lie in bed of a night, I think about how he burst into the cell and told Betsy that her pa had come for her. The cell was dark, and the light from the passage illuminated him like an avenging angel, the hammer in his hand dripping with blood.

Betsy insisted that I come with her. I still thank my blessings every day that she did… that she had a pa who cared. Then Callum slipped his sturdy hammer into his belt and lifted me into his arms.

Heroes come in many guises. This one has ginger hair and a smile that could make the Goddess swoon.

I swallow. I've been staring for some time. There was something important I was going to say, but I can't remember what… Oh, that's right. The pump at the back has finally given out. Tim tried fixing it, and so did Gareth, one of the barmen here, but to no avail.

I drag my eyes away from Callum to find Tim watching me—his lips twitch. Gods, everybody knows I have a crush on Callum… which is hardly surprising when he is so handsome and, further, saved my life. "The pump has got stuck again. I'm so sorry to interrupt."

"Aye, lass," Tim says, turning to me and patting my shoulder. "No need to apologize. I should have had it fixed."

Given his immense size, it still comes as a shock when he is so gentle and such a contrast to my pa… no, I won't give that bastard any of my precious thoughts…

"Do you want me to have a look at it?" Callum offers, his eyes bouncing from Tim to me.

"Aye, would you?" Tim asks, drawing Callum's eyes back to him. "Will promised to have a look, but he's been under the pump." He emits a deep guffaw at his pun.

Callum chuckles, too, and how I love that sound. "No problem," he says. "I'll have a look now." He turns and raises his hand to gain his father's attention before gesturing toward the back of the tavern. His father waves an acknowledgment and returns to talking with his friend.

"Well, supper is on me tonight then," Tim announces with a boom—he is used to shouting over the noisy patrons and doesn't do quiet. "Go and show him where it is, Ada."

"This way!" I gulp as Callum slips around the back of the bar and approaches me. He is tall for a beta and broad-chested from working at the forge. The top of my head barely reaches his shoulder. Doing a quick about-face, I take him to the broken pump under the awning out the back. The lantern doesn't cast much light, and he moves it to the nearby ledge to see better. He has been working all day, but he doesn't seem bothered or impatient as he rolls up his sleeves… and goodness, seeing his muscular forearms emerge has me lost in a daze.

He doesn't notice me ogling him while he inspects the mechanism.

I leave him to his business, but when I return to check on him a short time later, it is drawing water again.

"It'll last a few days, but it needs Will to do a proper repair," he says, washing off his hands.

"Thank you," I say.

He rises to his full height, turning toward me with a smile. Before I can think better about it, I rise to my tiptoes and kiss his cheek.

Blushing furiously, I go to turn away; only he catches my hand, stilling my flight. His other hand lifts to cup my cheek, and his thumb brushes over the skin. I fight back the urge to flinch away, a legacy of a lifetime of abuse. For so long, the only touch I felt was delivered in anger. I remind myself that was not the norm.

"You look better now that the bruises have healed."

My chest tightens with emotion, and I turn into his warm hand, delighting in the way the light touch stirs a flutter low in my belly.

Hearing his groan, my eyes flash open to meet his.

"I want to kiss you, Ada," he says softly. "So badly, it hurts."

I nod. Words are beyond me, but I want him to kiss me with equal desperation.

My breath catches as he leans down, and his soft lips brush against mine. I moan and hitch another breath as his tongue slides across the seam. I've never been kissed before, and I'm not sure what I should do, yet it seems natural to part for him.

His fingers sink into my hair, turning me slightly as he angles his face and deepens the kiss. My hands find his broad shoulders to steady me as the world begins to spin.

I hear a moan and realize it's me, that I have boldly pressed closer and opened my mouth further. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and my breath traps in my lungs. My body feels alive with energy, a heady rushing sensation that makes me tingle all over as heat pools in my lower belly.

His lips are suddenly wrenched away, and he sucks in a breath. "Fuck," he mutters gruffly. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean… Did I scare you?"

"No," I say quickly. I'm still leaning into him shamelessly with my fingers petting his shoulders. His body is big and firm against mine and makes me feel so safe.

He smiles. "Good. Because I want to do it again."

The next kiss is far bolder. I entwine my arms around his neck and sink straight into it. I can't get enough of him, of the feel of his lips, hungry against mine, the rushing urgency that seems to consume me until there is nothing but him.

Someone clears their throat loudly.

We break apart.

Goodness, what was I doing?!

"Don't mind me," Gareth says. "Just need a fresh barrel of Pilkington!"

Callum chuckles and takes my hand as we move out of Gareth's way. "I've had a taste now, Ada," he lowers his head to whisper beside my ear. "And I'm going to want another one."