Page 19 of The Blacksmith

“It will not be long before taxes are raised again,” the man had said to his friend—a common complaint.

However, the unpopularity of King John’s taxes was not necessarily an indication their lord would welcome a mutiny against the man. Still, Lance had listened to their conversation with interest.

“For a war we cannot win,” said the first man.

“Cannot win? It’s already been lost.”

A justified argument. The Battle of Bouvines had been a disaster. As had each of his previous attempts to wage war with France.

English kings had long neglected the concerns of the border lords, but this king may have overstepped.

Taxes had never been higher. The methods of collecting them, never more ruthless. And the money was all being drained not for the betterment of the kingdom but for seemingly endless wars with France. With the latest loss across the seas, Conrad felt the time for action was upon them.

But to revolt against a king, more than their four-men order would be needed.

“Master Lance.”

He’d been so deep in thought, Lance had somehow missed the flash of color at his door.

“Good morn, my lady.” Daryon bowed handsomely to Lady Idalia and the woman at her side, whom he’d not yet met.

“You can join your brother,” he told Daryon, who had stayed to work the bellows, the extra rush of air needed to keep the forge sufficiently hot. Miles had gone to the collier to fetch a supply of charcoal.

Wiping his hands on a cloth used for that purpose, Lance nodded to the women, indicating he would join them outside. As always, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sun. He’d become accustomed to the darkness of the forge, but still . . .

It seemed just a bit brighter today, although he was admittedly not looking into the sky. Lance’s gaze was firmly on the vision standing just opposite him. The collar and sleeves of Idalia’s yellow kirtle were lined in gold fabric. With low-hanging sleeves and a high neckline, the gown showed little skin, leaving the rest to his imagination.

One that had been too active of late.

“I’m pleased to introduce my lady’s maid, Leana Adley.”

“Adley,” he repeated, tearing his gaze away from her to address the maid. She was lovely, and the fact that her beauty moved him not at all told him again how much he admired the lady of Stanton.

“Aye, same as the cook. My father,” she said.

“Well met, Mistress Leana.”

“I regret not having been in the hall for the presentation of gifts at the Gule of August feast. My lady told me of the beautiful bracelet you gifted her mother.”

She was well-spoken for a cook’s daughter. She’d no doubt lived among nobles her whole life. As Idalia’s maid?

“It was my honor to create the piece for her.”

He returned his attention to Lady Idalia. “I trust you are well this morn, my lady?”

“Very well.”

That smile could chase away his demons, of which he had many.

“As often as my lady visited Roland, I’ve not come down here often,” Leana said, peering into the forge. “You are young for a master blacksmith.”

“Leana!”

He reassured Lady Idalia he wasn’t offended. “I apprenticed under my father,” he told the maid, “and spent the last few years as the master smith to Lord Bohun.”

“Bohun,” she repeated, rubbing her chin. “A border lord?”

“Aye.”