Page 29 of The Blacksmith

No emotion. No judgement. Just a simple statement.

“Aye. I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind.”

Idalia had never, ever wanted to be touched by someone this badly before. They stood within touching distance, and she could not help but imagine his hand reaching out, making contact with her skin. She licked her lips, realized she’d done so, and tried, unsuccessfully, to catch her breath.

“I have a visitor.”

He didn’t move, and neither did she.

“Oh?”

“A friend.”

“A friend,” she repeated, waiting for more. Then, remembering he was a man of few words, she prompted him further. “What is your friend’s name?”

“Guy.” He blinked. “Guy Lavallis.”

“Is he a smith also?”

The way he was looking at her made Idalia shift her weight from one foot to the other. She wanted to crawl out of her own skin. Impatient for . . . something.

Nay, for him. To know his touch. Lance kept his thoughts and emotions to himself—she’d quickly realized that much—but she wanted to know them. To know him. She wanted to get closer to him.

“He is a mercenary.”

“Oh.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Idalia had never met a mercenary before. Stanton had no use of them, but certainly she’d heard of such men.

“For?”

“For whomever pays him the most coin.”

Idalia swallowed, berating herself for asking. “I see.”

“We met at the Tournament of the North many years ago, when we were both boys.”

She had questions, but Lance did not seem inclined to offer many answers.

“Are you always so . . . ?” She struggled to find the right word.

“Reticent?” he provided with a glimmer of amusement.

“Aye.” She supposed it would do.

“Most often, yes.”

“You don’t have any siblings, do you?”

“How did you guess?”

She smiled, imagining Roysa standing there with them now. “You would not have been allowed to say so few words with sisters around.”

He actually smiled. “I could have brothers.”

“But you do not.”

“Nay, I do not.”