Page 167 of Reign

Bash nodded.

“I hope you still want to. I want nothing more than to eat lamprey with you, meet your family, and go out on your father’s boat.”

Bash squeezed my leg, his hand resting on my thigh.

“We’ll still do that,” he said, his big mouth curling into a reassuring smile.

“Promise?” I asked.

He nodded, mimicking drawing a cross on his heart like I’d just done.

I let out a breathy laugh, blowing my tears off my upper lip.

“I’ve done my time being angry at you,” he said, his comforting grin fading. “And if you’d never pretended to be Smith, I’d never have met Niamh. And the idea of that is just…” His voice trailed off, as if unable to finish that painful thought.

His gaze drifted out to sea, his brow drawn tight as he watched the silvery haze ripple across the water.

“Like I told you last night, our friendship—”

“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.”