Page 28 of The Blacksmith

On this, he would not waver.

“You do understand the importance of this mission?”

“You expect me to answer that?”

He wasn’t angry, exactly. Lance could understand his friend’s position.

“You could make this easier than we ever expected,” Guy said.

Lance moved to open the door. “We eat in the hall.”

He left Guy behind, not waiting for the footsteps he heard moments later. “Are you staying the night?”

Catching up to him, Guy made a grunt of assent as they circled around the forge to the small two-room building that was Lance’s new home.

“I’m off to wash in the stream just outside the gate, but you’re welcome to wait here.”

Before his friend could press him on Idalia any further, he walked away, the echo of Guy’s curses following him.

Chapter 10

He wasn’t coming.

Idalia looked down at her hands, clasped together in front of her. Despite the unfashionableness of her gown, she liked not having to pull back low-hanging sleeves. Her sister Roysa shook her head every time Idalia wore it, or a similar gown.

Despite Roysa’s ability to make her feel small with naught but a look, Idalia missed her terribly. Roysa, like her mother, always knew what to say. How to act. Who to tend to first. She’d been raised as the eldest. And Tilly, the youngest.

Idalia was ever the middle child—the one who was sometimes forgotten—although she’d never much cared about that. As long as her family was safe and content, she was happy. She’d never wanted anything else, or even thought to want anything else.

Until now.

The steadfast nature of her emotions, a quality her father had always admired, seemed to have abandoned her of late. Or, more specifically, since Lance had come to Stanton.

Knowing it was wrong did not make her thoughts of him go away. Instead, she found herself conjuring his face all day. Sitting with her mother, who seemed a bit better today thankfully, Idalia had sworn to herself she would not think of him once. Her mother deserved more than a wayward daughter who did naught but daydream about a man she could never have.

But he’d refused to leave her thoughts.

Her mother, of course, had noticed her distraction. Idalia had insisted it was naught but the weight of acting as the lady of Stanton. Since she’d missed the last market day, they were low on both grain and wine, and it would fall to her to resolve the problem.

And yet, her disquiet came from an altogether different source.

Idalia was falling for the smith.

Which, of course, was not very practical. Nearly every day since Roysa’s wedding, she’d expected her father to make an announcement about a new betrothal. If not for her mother’s illness, Idalia did not doubt she’d already be married or nearly so.

And yet, here she was, waiting for Lance.

It was well past the time they’d met the night before. Which was really just as well—she should not be here anyway. No matter what she wished, this meeting could serve no real purpose. Perhaps he had come to the same conclusion.

With a final glance at the specks of orange and yellow light moving to and fro in the village, Idalia turned away.

And gasped.

“I did not even hear you approach.”

Her heart began to beat wildly, much like it had the night before, as she took in Lance’s casual attire. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, and the low-hanging top gave more than a glimpse of the sculpted chest beneath. And though it was covered now, she thought of the mark on his upper arm. And of the muscles beneath it.

“You were leaving.”