Page 7 of Ashborne Forged

But this place was smaller. Darker. Also, much more private.

My belly fizzed.

Grace hurried straight to the small bookshelf on the opposite wall, running her fingers along the spines of the dozen books we kept out here, changing them sporadically when one of us purchased a new one.

She saw the stool in the corner where we sat because it was easier to take boots off in a small space.

The pitcher and bowl on top of it were for washing. There was a bucket on a pulley that I could lower through the trap door to bring more water up.

And then, her eyes fell on the bed and she went still.

Sized for Gil and me, it wasn’t huge, but long enough to be comfortable. And stuffed with furs that we’d collected over the years, so we didn’t have to change a straw tick every season. Still, it was hardly a lord’s chamber.

Would she be too uncomfortable here? Should I take her back?

“Grace?”

“How did you do this?” she whispered, touching the side of the box-frame of the bed, lifting one of the quilts and bending it back to reveal the less-faded side, then dropping it again.

“Over years,” I said honestly. “It’s my sanctuary.” And Gil’s. Who would throttle me for bringing her out here.

Unaware of my thoughts, she nodded and touched the bed again before finally meeting my eyes. She opened her mouth, but the first patters of rain began on the blanket of leaves above us and she was distracted.

She looked up and gave a small smile. “I love the sound of rain. You can never hear it in the big houses unless it’s a storm.”

Big houses. So big, you couldn’t hear the rain.

Grace had grown up in homes larger than our barracks.

I swallowed hard and crossed the few paces between us to stand at her side. She saw me coming and she looked wary, but didn’t back away as I stopped at her toes and took her chin in my hand.

“I brought you here because this is where I feel safe,” I said quietly. “And I want you to feel safe, as well.”

Her eyes widened, but she only nodded.

I took a deep breath. “Grace, I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I discovered you in that forest. But… I know I fucked up.” She shrank a little, and a piece of my heart curled in on itself. Still, I’d told her I’d be honest, and wouldn’t run. So, I lifted a hand to her hair. “This is a place we can be alone without worrying about others,” I murmured. “We can talk, and rest, and… You don’t have to—that is, I wouldn’t ever press. If you need time… or you want to simply sit together, or sleep—”

“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you,” she blurted, then frowned and clenched her hands at her sides. “But I want to be wanted. For me. Not what I can do, or what I have. Not for wealth, or a name.” She dropped her eyes to her toes, and her cheeks colored.

“God, Grace,” I breathed, cupping her face and tipping up her chin again. “Who you are, what you have, it’s so much more than I deserve. That’s half my fear. That one day you’ll see that and abandon me.”

She frowned again, but fiercely. My heart rose as she hissed in defense of me. “You do not see yourself clearly.”

I huffed as if it were a joke, but my heart swelled. “I would say the same,” I said gruffly, then combed a strand of her hair behind her ear as she stared at me, her lips slightly parted. I wanted so badly to swoop and take those lips again. But this moment was critical. She had to be sure. I couldn’t press. I couldn’t bear it if later she looked back and felt like I’d taken advantage.

So, it was a shock when, a moment later, a small, trembling hand appeared at my throat.

I caught her wrist without thought—cursing myself the moment she tensed. But I’d frozen too.

We stared at each other, a question in her eyes, and no doubt, pleading terror in mine. Taking a deep breath, I rubbed her wrist with my thumb, then swallowed and I made myself let go.

When she was sure I wouldn’t stop her, she pushed the lapels of the high necked, formal jacket wide. Then she trailed fingers down the double-lines of buttons that kept our traditional jackets, which fell almost to the knee, tightly closed against the chest.

Pop. Pop. Pop. She pulled them loose, unsnapping the domes, until the jacket hung open completely, revealing the shirt underneath.

Nerves and need bubbled in my veins when she reached for the cravat at my throat, the one I’d hopelessly tangled.

I caught myself about to tell her how to untie it—but she was noble, of course she knew.