Page 70 of The Blacksmith

“I need to know.” She straightened, and Lance knew it was time to tell her all. He accepted it, and yet he wanted to delay the inevitable just a little. If only because he knew his news would dampen the excitement she felt. “Idalia, you are right. We do need to talk, but I have to get back to the boys. Tonight—”

A rapping at the door interrupted her. Idalia and Lance exchanged a look, and she tucked herself out of view of the door. He waited a moment and then opened it.

Miles stood in the doorway. “Pardon, Master Lance,” he said, “but the seneschal came looking for you. Says the earl has agreed to meet you this morn. He returned to the keep . . .” He paused, as if considering his next words, then said, “I saw you walk behind the forge, but I didn’t tell him where you were.”

Because he’d seen Idalia enter the chambers too.

Lance remained calm despite knowing Idalia had heard everything. He’d asked for another meeting that morn. He felt confident from all he’d learned that the earl would be sympathetic to the order’s cause. The time had come to approach him.

“’Tis fine, Miles. Thank you for coming to me.”

The boy turned to leave.

“How are the bevels?” he asked.

“Better than yours,” the apprentice jested with a grin, walking back to the shop.

Lance would have smiled at the boy’s glibness if not for the message he’d brought.

“A meeting with my father?” Idalia asked as soon as he closed the door. She stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

There was no help for it now. She deserved to know everything. Telling her before speaking to the earl was dangerous. Foolish. But Lance owed her this. He could not deny her the truth any longer.

“You planned to speak to him about us?”

“Nay.”

Her smile fell—and Lance felt a jolt in his stomach. He hated that he’d stolen her joy, hated, too, that he’d changed things between them.

“I don’t understand.”

“I plan to ask him to support our order.”

Idalia’s eyes narrowed.

“A knightly order,” he clarified.

“A knightly . . . but, one must be a knight to . . .” Her eyes widened. “Lance?”

“I am a knight. But I’m a blacksmith too,” he rushed to add. “One who has seen the people of our country suffer at the hands of a man who cares little for those he rules. A man who brings, even now, French mercenaries to our shores to enforce his will on his people.”

“You speak of our king?”

“Aye.”

Her back straightened, her expression closed down. “You speak treason.”

“I do. But you must understand—”

Her tone was flat, measured. “You came to Stanton to garner my father’s support for a rebellion against our king.”

“Aye.”

She said nothing.

When she moved past him toward the door, he didn’t stop her. With one hand on the iron handle, Idalia turned to him, as angry as she’d been joyful when she’d run down to the forge.

Lance hated himself in this moment nearly as much as he had upon learning of his mother’s death.