Page 5 of The Blacksmith

“My father said you approached him at the Tournament of the North?”

He caught up with her then, and they slowed as they reached the forge.

“Indeed, my lady.”

“Was Lord Bohun very disappointed you left?”

His former master and now ally was actually quite pleased as Lance had told him of his purpose at Stanton, but that fact was one of many Lady Idalia could not know about.

“Aye, my lady, but the opportunity to serve as a castle smith was one I could not ignore.” At least part of his statement was true. “I hope to forge more swords and armor than keys and nails here.”

She peered inside the shop. “You’ve two fine young apprentices who are quite adept, so you should definitely find yourself supplementing the armorer here.”

That surprised him. “Stanton has its own armorer, then?”

“Nay.” She shook her head. “We are supplied by Kenshire’s. The old smith, Roland, had little experience forging weapons. I am surprised you are experienced with both.”

“My . . .” He nearly said father. “My original master apprenticed in an armory but moved to Marwood as a journeyman.”

“And so we are lucky to have you here at Stanton.”

When she moved toward him, he could smell a hint of citrus. “I would forewarn you, though. Roland was much loved by the people here. Some may find it . . . difficult to see him replaced. Even by such a fine man as yourself.”

Fine? Lance had been described many ways before. Reticent. Unforgiving. But never “fine.” He liked the word, especially from her lips.

“I will strive to please my lady and the people of Stanton.”

He’d meant nothing by it, but as soon as the words left his mouth, Lance held his breath. He could not afford any missteps here, even a subtle flirtation such as that.

Fortunately, Lady Idalia did not seem to question his choice of words. Pleasing her would be equally enjoyable and disastrous.

For them both.

Idalia made her way back to the keep but stopped just before entering. Preparations for the meal would be nearly complete, and she needed a moment to herself.

Waiting until Father Sica moved out of her path, the priest’s expression grim as usual, she hurried to the abandoned Small Tower and used one of only two keys that opened the door. Pulling it closed behind her, Idalia hurried up the tightly wound, circular stairs to the top.

This tower was originally meant to be one of four lookouts located at each of the four corners of the inner curtain wall. But before the construction could be completed, her great-grandfather was given a new commission from the king, one that came with a large enough sum to allow him to build a second, and much taller, wall around the first. The towers had instead been placed around the new outer wall, leaving Small Tower an unused anomaly.

Idalia had been coming here since she was a child. All knew of her very poor hiding spot, but only Dawson had another key. And it had been some time since he’d climbed these steep steps. The pain in his knees prevented him from doing so. Once, her mother had wondered aloud if a new, younger seneschal might replace him. Her father had not taken kindly to the suggestion and none had mentioned it since.

But she’d not come here to dwell on her mother’s illness. Reaching the top of the tower, Idalia leaned against the cold stone wall and closed her eyes, imagining him.

She’d spoken to Lance but once. Still, she could envision his face clearly.

Although he didn’t have a beard, he’d not shaven for some days, the whiskers on his face as black as the tousled waves that came down to the tips of his ears and covered his entire forehead.

Built like a knight, nay, a blacksmith, he was difficult to miss and she’d certainly not done so. She’d stopped walking the moment she’d caught sight of him.

He’d done the same.

He’d looked at her as if she were beautiful, but she knew the truth, just like everyone around Stanton did. She was naught but a plainer version of her very beautiful older sister. As her younger sister, too young to know any better, had once said, she was “pretty enough.”

Well, he was much more than ordinary.

I really should get back to the keep.

Just one more moment, she negotiated with herself.