Page 81 of The Blacksmith

“Good den, my lady.”

“I’m not sure that it is, Sir Lance.”

She could breathe. In and out. It should be a simple matter.

“I’m hoping to change your mind about that,” he said, his eyes peering into hers.

When he took a step toward her, Idalia stood firm. He’d hurt her, horribly. And a few honeyed words would not make things right.

“You are angry, rightly so. But know this. If it takes an evening, a fortnight, a sennight, or a year . . . it matters not. I aim to make you my wife. You told your father you loved me still, which gives me the hope I need, though don’t deserve.”

So he had heard her.

Those were some sweet words, indeed. But even so . . .

“I told him that,” she began, still grappling with everything that had changed in the last minutes. “Because it is true. But marry you? Lance, you lied to me from the moment we met.”

His jaw flexed, and Idalia hated herself for the thoughts that ran through her head. The source of her anguish stood before her, but all she could think of was touching him and being touched by him.

“No less than I lied to myself. I never thought to marry, but meeting you, loving you . . . Idalia”—he took another step toward her and stopped—“you give of everyone and ask for nothing for yourself. Let me be the one to give you something back. Let me love you as I should have done from the start.”

She reached into her sleeve, twisting the bracelet around and around.

“How can I trust you?”

Lance shook his head. “It is not for you to trust me but for me to earn back that trust. I’m sorry that I tossed it aside so carelessly.”

“A part of me,” she admitted, “can understand why you did so. But if you’d just told me . . .” She shook her head. “A knightly order. A rebellion against the king. ’Tis nothing I’ve not heard before.”

His eyes widened.

“I’m jesting.” She smiled. “Your mission is an honorable one, though no less dangerous for its ambitions.”

Lance smiled back, which was the precise moment Idalia knew she was lying to herself. He would win her over. He’d already done so.

“I offer little, as your father knows already. A blacksmith by trade, an absent husband—”

“Absent?”

“Our mission is far from over. With your father’s support, we have some of the coin we need, and a few of the other Northern lords have already pledged their support, but to bring a king to heel is no small feat.”

“And you would propose to do this . . . without me?”

“I’d never put you in danger by taking you with me.”

She looked away from him, her shoulders sinking in defeat. It was just as she’d thought—even now, after everything, he would not confide in her.

Idalia only looked up when Lance stood immediately before her. Close enough to touch.

“You said I was just like him”—he lifted her chin—“but I am not. If you would come with me, then I would gladly have you by my side. As long as you understand the danger. But it is your choice. It will always be your choice, Idalia, because your thoughts have as much weight as my own.”

“You would take me with you?”

“Of course.”

“And seek my counsel?”

“Always.”