Page 51 of Reign

“Anything for His Highness,” Mr. Bednot said with a nod. “Would you like Jane to entertain you this evening? Jane…” he called in a musical tone.

At the sound of her name, the ginger perked up—lips the color of summer berries, hair thick and glossy. With a flirtatious smile, she fluttered her fingers at Fitzroy.

“Thank you, but no,” Fitzroy said firmly. “Tonight, I’ll sit with this good fellow and discuss war tactics.”

Mr. Bednot bowed his head once more as Fitzroy and Benedict withdrew to the quieter end of the table. Their voices dropped to hushed tones, as if their conversations were too important for lowly ears. I watched Fitzroy fiddle nervously with his rings while Benedict steered the conversation; it was unsettling to see him consumed with worry—his usual hubris had momentarily waned.

Bash soon returned to our group, balancing four tankards of ale that sloshed over their rims as he slammed them onto the wobbly table. I slid a tankard toward Tom before claiming another for myself. “Thank you,” I said to Bash as he settled onto an old barrel beside me. “This must’ve cost a small fortune.”

Bash chuckled. “It did, but I think Fletcher will earn it back for me,” he said, nodding toward the bar.

Fletcher was engaged in animated banter with Mr. Bednot, his unscrupulous hand patting the owner’s shoulder one moment and slipping into his breast pocket the next.

“He always does the same routine,” Bash murmured, leaning in close to my ear.

I tingled in wishful anticipation, hoping his lips might graze my skin.

“First, he distracts his target.”

I watched as Fletcher shifted his amoral attention to Jane, ushering her backward until she collided with a drinker slouched over the bar. As Jane turned away to apologize, Fletcher took his chance to position himself behind her.

“Next, he takes advantage of the target’s diverted attention,” Bash continued.

It wasn’t obvious to an onlooker, but I could tell from the mischievous grin on Fletcher’s face that his hands had found their way into the pouch hanging from Jane’s hip. She turned back to him, unaware that Fletcher had pocketed a fistful of her coins.

“Then, he claims his reward,” Bash finished, his breath warming my cheek.

Fletcher flashed Jane a pleasant grin and placed a hand on her neck, drawing her ear toward his lips. As he spoke, his fingers deftly fiddled with the clasp on the chain of her locket. Suddenly, his elbow shot out, knocking over a tankard of ale. His feigned clumsiness created just enough commotion for him to smuggle the jewelry away from Jane’s neck without suspicion.

“He’s good,” I admitted, shamefully impressed by Fletcher’s sleight of hand.

Arthur tutted, struggling to fold his thickset arms over his robust stomach. “He gets caught. A lot,” he muttered, his tone heavy with exasperation.

Bash let out a breathy chuckle, prompting me to look his way.

Our faces were closer than they should’ve been—his gaze flitted over my face before his gentle eyes met mine. I could feel his breath upon my lips. I could almost imagine the taste of his mouth—warm, slightly sweet—and how I longed to know if I was right.

Something heavy clapped my back, snapping me out of a place I longed to stay—close to Bash.

“You’re not tempted by the ladies?” a husky voice asked.

I turned to meet Red, rubbing his calloused palms together with a wild look in his dark eyes. “It might be the last time you feel the soft embrace of a woman.”

A heavy disappointment settled in my chest. For lack of better judgment, I’d come to see Red as a father figure. Yet as he stood before me, urging men to succumb to their desires, I felt nothing but disgust.

“It would be a waste of coins.” Arthur sighed, anxiety governing his jittery movements. “I’m so full of dread for the war, I wouldn’t be able to stand to attention.”

Bash tittered into his tankard.

“Would your wife not mind?” I asked Red, recalling how he’d often gloated about her in the smithy.

Red responded with a sly smirk, and I suddenly felt foolish for ever regarding him as an honorable man.

“She’ll never be wise to my trysts,” he said—loud and proud of his infidelity.

I tipped back my tankard, letting the hoppy ale flood my mouth before my opinions could spill out.

Red wandered off to sate his hunger for carnal pleasures, and I was thankful for his departure—had he lingered any longer, I would’ve said something regrettable.