Page 77 of Reign

The silence felt long and uncomfortable, and I feared what would play out if Mr. Bednot got tired of waiting and came in.

“If he finds us all in here, won’t he accuse us of using the bedchamber as a convenstead for witchery?” Bash whispered.

I looked to Margaret for the answer—because that’s what the other women did.

“Uh—” Jane groaned, buying us all time.

Finally, Margaret gave her a nod.

“Yes… Yes, I’m all alone,” she said in a theatrical tone that sounded unconvincing.

“I have someone here who wants to see you,” Mr. Bednot replied.

The door handle rattled as Jane threw her whole body into the frame—her auburn hair shrouding her panicked face as she acted as a barricade.

“You cannot come in—I—I… Give me one moment,” she said.

Emma didn’t wait for Margaret’s guidance this time, claiming the narrow space beneath the bedstead as her hideout.

With a frantic glance around the room, I spotted a rickety closet leaning against the crumbling plaster. Without a thought, I took Bash by the arm, dragging him with me.

Hastily, I opened the wooden doors—the hinges creaked loudly, as if they were screaming that we were in here. We both clambered into the tight space, nestling ourselves between the musty cloaks and mothballs.

Though I was lucky to be able to stand straight, Bash had no choice but to duck, looking down at me as the back of his head grazed the rail above. All askew, the closet doors didn’t align, and a sliver of light seeped inside. Through the slight crack, I peered into the candlelit chamber.

My entire body was pressed into Bash’s, and that made me nervous for two reasons. First, that he’d notice my thudding heart and instantly know I was infatuated with him. And second, that he’d feel my breasts and realize I was a woman. I wove my arms upward, slipped them between us, and rested my palms against his chest—creating a barrier to keep him from feeling mine.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, trying to find space that wasn’t there.

Bash chuckled lightly—his hands hovered beside my hips. “When I came to this brothel, I thought if I was going to get this close to anyone, it would be one of the working women,” he joked in a hushed tone.

I let out a breathy laugh, thankful that he was the kind of person who could make even the most awkward situations comfortable—I always felt at ease around him.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I said, teasingly.

But in truth, the idea of anyone else being this close to him sent my stomach churning, like I’d drunk spoiled milk.

His strong chest warmed my fingertips, tempting me to squeeze his muscles, but with divine strength I resisted. Though I couldn’t stop myself from stealing a glance, enjoying how my hands looked placed upon him—holding him as if he were mine—pretending that he was standing beneath my palms for any other reason than the fact that he had no choice.

The creak of the chamber door snatched my attention, and I peered out the crack to watch the scene unfold.

“Good eve,” Jane said.

From this angle, I could only see the back of her head—the amber strands glowing as if they were on fire in the candlelight.

The ting of metal pricked my ears. It was a familiar noise from the smithy, then the battlefield—but I was surprised to hear what sounded like clinking armor in the backrooms of the brothel.

“Usually when a knight requests my favor, he doesn’t come wearing chain mail,” Jane remarked—something flirtatious in her tone.

He moved farther into the chamber, now visible to my prying eye. The man was tall with a dark, long beard to match his mane of black hair.

Without a word, he heaved his heavy hauberk overhead, and Jane took that as a cue to undo the lace securing her kirtle.

I pulled away from the crack, glancing up at Bash, my mouth parted in shock, worried what we were about to witness. He met my eye with a coy smile already tugging at his lips.

“I’m not part of the war effort,” the man said, his voice muffled. “I work for a lord.”

Jane let out a deep, sensual sigh. “That must be hard work,” she cooed.