A Final Night in Cambas. #4
“I don’t want to be friends,” I interrupted, my chest tightening.
My feelings for him were too strong for our most intimate moments to be handshakes and hugs—I wanted more of him. All of him.
“We’ve never been friends,” I murmured, knowing I’d be heartbroken if he wanted to keep me at arm’s length.
Bash turned back to face me, holding my gaze while I held my breath. My heartbeat thudded as I searched his face for an answer, desperate to know if I’d truly ruined the relationship I cared for the most.
He reached for my cheek, stroking it slowly, sending a spark through me. His fingertips found my chin, cradling it as he edged his mouth toward mine until our lips met. A heavenly tingle spread across my skin, and in that moment, I knew I’d never let him go again.
Bash sighed into my mouth before pulling away, smiling as he tucked my hair behind my ear.
“I don’t want to go that long without kissing you again,” I said.
Bash’s cheeks flushed pink. “Neither do I, Smith,” he murmured, his hand drifting to the locket resting against my chest.
Then, hesitantly, he asked, “Did you want me to call you Niamh?”
I shook my head.
I wasn’t just Niamh or simply Smith—I was both.
A woman, and a blacksmith. Someone who enjoyed feeling pretty and wearing gowns, but also valued the practicality of breeches.
I sought the approval of others, but not at the cost of my own self-worth.
And I wouldn’t marry just because that’s what was expected of a woman—I’d do it if it was right for me, I thought, glancing at Bash.
I hated thinking about Fitzroy, but he was right. I had learned something while living as a man.
I wouldn’t follow the order of things. I’d change the chronology—or invent a new list entirely.
“You can, but Smith’s fine, too,” I said. “You gave me that nickname, after all.”
Bash’s stormy eyes lit up like a bolt of lightning.
Our stares intertwined, and though nervous anticipation fluttered within me, I wasn’t worried about revealing secrets. There was nothing holding me back.
This time I moved into him, eyes closed, finding his lips in the darkness.
Bash slipped his hand beneath my cloak, settling on my waist before edging under my tunic to rest on my bare back.
I flinched—a shiver shuddering through me. “Your hands are freezing!” I mumbled against his lips.
Bash chuckled, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. “It’s cold out here. Come on,” he said, standing and offering his hand. “Let’s go warm up by the fire.”
I wove my fingers with his, and he held them proudly as we walked back into the Anchor. At the trestle table, Fletcher sat beside Billy, slamming his cards down with a triumphant cheer.
“Remarkable,” Billy said, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ve just lost two games of noddy to him.”
“I bet he’s cheating,” Bash remarked with a laugh at Fletcher’s exuberant celebration.
Billy scoffed. “Oh, I know he is—yet the most puzzling part is I cannot fathom how he does it.”
Fletcher drifted over to Jane, undoubtedly trying to lure her into a fixed game, while Bash led me to the armchairs by the fire.
He collapsed into the seat nearest the blaze, and I took the one beside him.
As he stretched out, I couldn’t help but gawk at how his tunic pulled taut across his muscular chest.
Bash caught me staring. “What?” he asked, sitting upright.
I shook my head, my cheeks flushing.
“Why do you always look at me like that?” he pressed, his brow furrowing.
My heart pounded, mortified that he’d noticed how I stared at him like a hungry beast eyeing its prey.
“Like what?” I countered, feigning ignorance.
“Like I’m doing something odd.”
I chuckled, relieved he mistook my lustful gaze as judgment. I couldn’t confess that when I looked at him, all I longed for was to know what it felt like to be beneath his heaving chest.
“Can I ask you something?” Bash’s question pulled me from my indecent thoughts, seconds before desire swept me away.
“Anything.”
“Fitzroy,” he began hesitantly, and a wave of nausea hit me hard. “What is—are you—do you—”
I shook my head firmly, cutting him off.
Part of me had fallen for part of Fitzroy—the kind side of him that valued my talents and trusted me with tasks most would only bestow upon men.
But all of me had fallen for all of Bash.
“I don’t want Fitzroy,” I told him—and I meant it. “I want you. Only you.”
A wide grin spread across Bash’s face as he extended his hand toward me. I reached for it, but before our fingers could meet, Fletcher appeared at the fire.
“Poor, gentle Jane,” Fletcher said as he perched on the armrest of Bash’s chair. He let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly fishing for a reaction.
“What?” Bash asked flatly, his disinterest plain.
“She’s beside herself,” Fletcher began. “I asked her to wager some valuables in a card game, but she outright refused. Said she wouldn’t risk losing any more of her prized possessions.
Not so long ago, some bastard stole her locket—it had a lock of her long-lost mother’s hair inside.
That’s a dire offense.” His fingers tapped rhythmically against his bouncing thigh, frustration simmering inside him.
“If I ever found the man who robbed her…” He throttled the air, miming his intended retribution.
A memory stirred—not so distant, still fresh in my mind. I recalled my first time at Regina’s court when Elizebeth’s hands reached for my locket, then clutched her own. Then, the later revelation—she had a daughter; one she hadn’t seen in over twenty years.
My gaze drifted to the auburn beauty leaning against the bar.
Bash chuckled. “Don’t pretend you care,” he said, the warmth in his laughter momentarily distracting me. “You’re just annoyed she won’t let you rob her blind in one of your rigged games.”
Fletcher slumped forward, a pout appearing on his lips. “I wouldn’t want to win something that means so much to her,” he muttered, picking at the skin around his thumbs, pretending to be genuinely upset.
I studied Jane. Was it merely coincidence that she and Elizebeth both had fiery hair?
That would mean—I choked on the idea.
I took a hard swallow. If Elizebeth was Jane’s mother, then Jane was related to Avice—her niece.
I froze, but my thoughts were moving quicker than the wings of a kingfisher.
Just as I was about to say it out loud, I realized how ridiculous it sounded.
A breathy laugh escaped me at the idea of common Jane bearing the same blood as Avice—yet there was something about her. Though she acted lowly, she looked anything but ordinary. Put Jane in a lavish gown and headpiece, and she’d look every part the daughter of a lord.
When I thought about it, she looked just how I’d imagine Elizebeth’s daughter: thick auburn hair, rosy lips and cheeks, and a womanly frame.
I supposed, in many ways, Jane was Avice’s double.
Bash snorted, and I glanced his way as he leaned toward Fletcher.
“If I recall correctly, it was your thieving hands, cousin, that pried that locket from Jane’s unsuspecting neck in the first place,” he muttered under his breath.
Fletcher straightened abruptly, then turned to me with an outstretched hand. “Oh, right. Give it back.”
I clutched the locket—now concealing Bash’s forget-me-nots—tight against my chest. “Never. It’s my most cherished possession.”
A thought niggled in the back of my mind; maybe it was Jane’s, too.
Fletcher huffed in defeat and retreated toward the bar, seeking a different opponent for a card game.
Bash reached for me once more, and I was completely distracted—no longer questioning Jane’s lineage, only focused on taking his hand without interruption.
His fingers threaded gently through mine as I held on tight.
For a moment, I savored the warmth of his hand entwined with mine.
Then, a craving consumed me, and with a blushing smile, I leaned closer and whispered, “I want to kiss you.”
“Come here,” he murmured, tugging at my hand and casting a suggestive glance toward his lap, as if inviting me to perch there.
I quickly scanned the chamber, aware that every pair of eyes would undoubtedly notice.
Bash chuckled as though he could read my thoughts. “You think these lot are going to pass judgment on us?”
He was right—no one here would care.
I rose from my seat and settled onto Bash’s lap.
As I leaned toward him, his arms encircled my waist, drawing me in.
His gaze flickered between my eyes and my mouth as he closed the distance between us.
At last, we kissed. Each time our lips touched I felt a buzzing inside of me, like my belly was a hive.
Hidden within my cloak, Bash’s hands found their way beneath my tunic.
He lightly traced his fingertips along my back; his touch was gentle, teasing.
I sighed into Bash’s embrace, savoring the tenderness of his caresses.
Then, a moment later, he moved his hand to rest on my thigh.
“Don’t stop, it feels nice,” I whispered, breaking away from his mouth just long enough to let the words escape.
Bash let out a breathy chuckle as he resumed stroking me.
“Get a chamber!” Fletcher cackled.
The enjoyment vanished instantly as I became aware of unwelcome eyes upon us. I pulled back, turning my gaze toward the bar.
Bash laughed, clearly amused by Fletcher’s remark, but I wasn’t. I fixed him with my sharpest glare as he flashed his two bow-drawing fingers at me in a crude gesture.
As I scanned the Anchor, I realized Fletcher wasn’t the only one watching us—the entire chamber looked our way.
Jane and Emma exchanged giddy glances, their excitement plain to see, though it only served to deepen my embarrassment.
Even Billy was staring, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity, likely because he believed I was betrothed to Fitzroy.
Heat flared in my cheeks, and I rose abruptly.
“I’m fetching another ale,” I muttered, making for the bar.
As I poured a pint from the keg, Emma appeared beside me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Would you like to stay in my chamber tonight?” she asked, giving my arm a soft squeeze.