Page 65 of The Blacksmith

“Aye. But I know little of Prince John . . .” She took a bite of the bread. “Other than that he’s our king, of course.”

Lance sighed.

“Aye, he is.”

Willing her to say more, to give any indication she might be in agreement with their cause, Lance held his breath.

“My father, as you saw, does not allow for me to have an opinion on such matters.”

A notion shared by most men in his position. But Lance wanted her to have an opinion. More desperately than he wanted anything in the world.

“But you have one anyway?”

Idalia opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it.

“Nay. I do not.”

Which meant he could not risk sharing the order’s secrets.

And if she’d said aye? That she hated King John and wished he could be brought to heel? What then? Would you have told her?

Lance was afraid of his answer.

Chapter 21

Lance’s hand ran up her leg, ever so slowly.

His touch trailed a path of fire across her skin. Closing her eyes, Idalia concentrated on the roughness of his blacksmith’s hand grazing her, even though his touch was soft. Warm. And suddenly, he was there.

Urging her thighs to open wider, his fingers then taunted her entrance. Any moment . . . ah, yes. It felt just like that first time, but Idalia wanted more. Much more.

“More,” she murmured.

What a glorious, wicked feeling.

“More.”

Her eyes flew open. That word hadn’t been spoken by her but by her maid, Leana. Nay, she hadn’t said “more” but “morn.”

“Good morn, my sleepy lady,” Leana said softly.

It was dark, certainly not morning yet. She’d been dreaming, fantasizing about what she wished had happened last eve.

“Leana?” she asked into the dark. “Whatever are you about?”

“He’s here . . .”

Given the direction of her thoughts, Idalia could only think of one person that could be about. She sat up so quickly, Leana took a step back from the bed.

“Lance?”

Leana’s nose scrunched up, making Idalia realize her mistake. Not Lance. Of course not.

“Who’s here?”

It was too early in the morn for riddles.

“The physician.”