Page 20 of The Blacksmith

“We are certainly lucky to have you at Stanton. Roland was much loved here—”

“Leana . . .” Lady Idalia cleared her throat.

“Apologies, Master Lance. It seems my manners have fled somewhere this morning.”

He didn’t understand the look she gave her lady, but something told him the maid was most certainly up to something.

“Oh dear, I nearly forgot. I was to assist my father this morn. One of the kitchen maids took ill. My apologies,” she said, turning to flee up the hill.

She was gone in a moment, her blonde braid bouncing in her haste to leave.

Lance stared after her.

“Your maid is . . .”

Lady Idalia crossed her arms, also staring at the empty spot where Leana had been a moment ago.

“Incorrigible.”

Her fond tone belied the word she’d chosen. Obviously she cared very much for the woman who’d just been swallowed up by Stanton’s great courtyard.

“I am sorry for the interruption. You are engaged in your work.”

“Nay,” he said.

Much, much too quickly.

It was true, he had another ten knives to make. But he didn’t want her to leave just yet.

“Daryon and Miles have gone for supplies.”

It was unlike him to struggle for words, but it was also unlike him to knowingly court disaster. He knew no good could come from speaking with Stanton’s daughter. From looking at her. From longing for her.

Not when he wasn’t willing to use her for information.

The night before, he’d decided he’d shun any additional conversation with Idalia, but that decision had been made when not in her presence. With her standing here, just steps away, he found he was simply not ready to part with her just yet.

Since the natural landscape separated the forge from Stanton’s other buildings, most of which were scattered throughout the courtyard above them, it was easy to spot the lone figure watching them from above. When Lady Idalia saw him, she turned, sighing heavily.

“Father Sica,” she explained. The man finally moved on, although Lance wondered how long he’d been standing there.

“I do not care much for the priest.” Immediately clasping a hand over her mouth, she amended, “He is a man of God, of course. And so deeply revered by me and all of Stanton.”

Her cheeks had turned an eye-pleasing pink.

To quell her mortification, he admitted, “I do not care for him either.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve met him, then?”

“Nay, but I’ve taken mass.”

She looked down. “I missed mass this morn.”

“Something that is not typical for you,” he guessed.

“No.”

Lance wasn’t expecting what he saw when she looked back at him.