Page 52 of The Blacksmith

“What did she”—Idalia swallowed—“tell you?”

“That she told you of her first marriage,” he said, without preamble.

Oh.

Idalia resisted asking if her mother had said anything else, but since he did not seem to be flying into a rage, she guessed he didn’t know all.

“I was surprised,” she hedged, unsure of what else to say.

“That’s to be expected.”

Idalia waited.

“She also warned me.”

Her heart pounded uncomfortably in her chest.

“Warned you?”

Her father’s eyes had always fascinated her. Their shade was somewhere between brown and green and blue. If she were to ask three people the color, they would each give a different answer.

She watched them narrow.

“You are not the lady of Stanton.”

Idalia’s breath caught. Did he think she’d been acting above her station in the castle?

“I mean to say, with Roysa gone and your mother—” he frowned—“ill, we have . . . I have relied on you, perhaps more so than I should.”

Idalia let out a breath, grateful to have misunderstood. “I do not mind, Father,” she said truthfully. “Stanton Castle is my home, and it brings me great joy to care for it. To care for its people.”

When he didn’t respond, Idalia wondered if she’d said something wrong.

“It is my duty to protect you, your mother and sister, and all of Stanton.”

“Of course. I did not mean—”

“I fear I am not making myself clear.”

She hated to agree with him on that point, but she didn’t quite understand what he meant to say.

“There is nothing more important to me,” he said, as if that clarified his words.

Unfortunately, it did not.

“I don’t understand.”

“There are things . . . things we cannot control, happening in our country right now.”

Oh. He spoke of the king.

Although he’d never outright said so, she knew her father disagreed with many of King John’s policies. She waited patiently, expecting him to say more, but he did not. Perhaps she should feel grateful for what little he had revealed. This was as much as her father ever spoke to her of anything other than matters of the household.

“I understand, Father.”

And she thought she did. Though he was reticent on the matter, others talked openly about what was happening in their country. About the taxes and war with France. One that none wanted except for their king.

“Very good,” he said, visibly more relaxed than he’d been before. “Then I’ll leave you to”—he looked around the hall—“the evening,” he finished. “Or what is left of it.”