Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Ada

M y father's strength always terrified me. The understanding of my vulnerability before him and the damage he could wreak upon my smaller form was a constant and present danger. He is not a good example of all a man can be, yet I lived under his tyranny for so long it is hard to let that part of my life go.

I worry, knowing he lives here in this city and might find me again. I never leave the tavern, for I don't feel safe. Betsy has encouraged me to go with her to the market, and I know she has her scars, too, for she was snatched on the way back from the market.

She is brave in confronting her fears while I hide from mine.

Only, Callum makes me realize why it is worth fighting my fears. When he held me, my vulnerability before him made me feel soft and cherished rather than scared.

I would let him hold me again in a heartbeat.

I can't stop thinking about the kiss, Callum's lips against mine, his soft beard tickling me, and the press of his body, so much larger than mine, yet so gentle as he held me. If I have blushed once since, I have blushed a dozen times, and Betsy has noticed every one of them and returned a knowing smile.

As if my mind is not already in a quandary now a stranger has turned up… well, there are two of them, although I only have eyes for one.

Callum is a tall man, but this other one is all hardness and purpose. He is older, with little lines at the corner of his serious blue eyes. A sense of danger surrounds him: not my father's kind of thuggery, but more a brooding menace toward any who dare cross him.

He is handsome, with tousled brown hair that reaches his shoulders. His nose is a sharp line and his jaw bears a layer of dark scruff.

He appears… untamed… primal .

Looking at him makes my belly flutter and my mind very confused.

I like Callum. Callum rescued me… and there were those kisses at the water pump. Callum, with his forest green eyes and untamed ginger hair, is already the hero of my heart. Surely I should not be able to even notice another man?

Maybe it is the lingering effect of my first kiss. I feel like I have been asleep all my life, and that, today, I am waking up to the male species and the pleasure their mere touch can bring.

I'm a breathless mess as I deliver the drinks and food to the stranger that Tim referred to as Master Gray, and his friend Drake, who are visiting from far away.

It is all very mysterious, and I'm baffled as to why anyone would come to Bleakness by choice.

"Never kissed a man before tonight, and now you have two handsome men vying for your favor," Betsy says with a wink.

I flush crimson. "What do you mean?"

"Well, there's Callum, for a start, and now the mysterious Master Gray who can't keep his eyes off your ass."

I make a scoffing sound and busy myself loading another tray of drinks.

She chuckles and is thankfully distracted when the cook calls a ready order through.

I float through the rest of the evening in a happy daze. As Tim calls closing time and the many patrons begin to disperse, I'm sad to see Callum and the blue-eyed stranger go.

Tim locks up, and I help the other servers collect the empties and wipe down the tables so everything is set for the morning. Then I head up to my tiny room in the attic.

I remember Betsy showing me in when I first arrived, apologizing profusely about how it wasn't much. The small attic room had not been used in some time except as a storage place. Gareth had cleared everything out, dragged an old mattress in, and dropped it onto a low bedframe against one wall. Betsy had bustled in with fresh bed linen, blankets, and even a duck-down pillow. I felt like a princess sleeping on the bed.

Two months later, a few extra blankets have found their way in. The woodworker who lives a few doors down gifted me an old dresser. Then Gareth fitted a row of hooks to the wall so I could hang up my clothes. There is even an old, chipped vase on the windowsill that Betsy was going to throw away. I can't even see the chip if I turn it just so.

I'm sad I don't have my old book and wonder what my father did with it. Has he already cleared out my little bedding nook and thrown it away, or does it still linger, hiding under the straw?

For the first time, I have a private space that is all mine.

I pause in front of the window. I can't see much as it faces the back of the tavern and the courtyard. The view is primarily rooftops and the sky. The moon is bright again tonight, reminding me of the night before my father took me away.

The same moon that shines down on poor girls in Bleakness and princesses in faraway lands.

Only, I don't feel so poor anymore, when I am rich in friendship and love. Gratitude wells up inside me as I take a moment to gaze out the window before I ready myself for sleep.

"Thank you, Betsy, for your comfort that terrible day and your kindness and friendship… Thank you, Tim, for your generosity in giving me a place to stay… Thank you, Callum, for taking such a risk as you did to save us that night…" The words form a ritual of gratitude that changes a little every day as new things happen, and I find new reasons to be grateful. It might not feel like much to some people, but to me, this tiny space, barely enough to hold the bed and dresser, is perfect. I have two hand-me-down woolen dresses—one from Betsy and one from the cook's daughter, who had grown out of it. With adjustments, they now fit just fine. I also have a new pair of boots gifted to me by the local cobbler when he heard what had happened. "…Thank you, Master Robins, for my new leather boots…" I even have a few coins, at Tim's insistence. I tried to give them back. But he would hear nothing of it, said I had worked for them, and it was only fair. When I have a room and food in my belly, how could I want or need any coin? Tears trickle down my cheeks as I count my blessings in finding good people who give and expect little or nothing in return.

As I run out of people to thank, my thoughts shift to the workers at the fish market. Are they still gutting fish there? Do they wonder where I went? I rarely spoke to anyone and kept to myself, for I did not have the time to make friends. On reflection, it was a very lonely life. Now, I find myself with unexpected friends in Betsy and the cook, who, while old enough to be my mother, has a kind disposition and is always laughing about something or other.

Yet the joy of new friendships cannot compete with the revelation that is to be found in my very first kiss.

I slip out of my woolen dress and hang it on the hook. I remove my boots before placing them neatly against the wall. Then I slide off my stockings and underthings, collect my nightgown, and pull it over my head. Even that is a wonder—a proper nightgown of soft cotton that falls to my toes.

Climbing into bed, I lie on my back and pull the covers up to my chin. I brush my fingertips over my lips and think about the kiss.

Will he kiss me again?

"Thank you, Callum, for my very first kiss," I whisper as I twist to peer up at the moon.

Yet it is not only Callum who comes to mind, but the stranger with the piercing blue eyes and dark, tousled hair—Master Gray. There is a darkness within him, yet his darkness does not scare me. More, it seems to call me.

My fingers trail down my body, brushing lightly over my nipple. I bite my lip as the pleasure radiates pulses from that tiny touch.

I take my hand away and roll onto my side, willing myself to sleep. But sleep is slow to come as my thoughts drift, and I make up scenarios where Callum might have the opportunity to kiss me again.

These sweet musings chase me into my sleep, where dreams of sensuality, awakening, and unimagined pleasure await me.