Page 10 of The Blacksmith

“I would not be so bold,” she said, her cheeks warming at the realization she’d nearly touched him.

“I believe you would.”

Her head snapped up at that.

“Go on,” he prompted again, still holding his arm out to her.

Although she knew she should do otherwise—she should leave and never come back—she reached a tentative finger up to trace the delicate design. She’d expected it to be raised but instead it felt like . . . skin. Hard, warm. And for some reason, she traced the design in its entirety, as if memorizing the details.

“’Tis beautiful.”

She pulled her hand away.

“Aye.”

Lance was looking directly at her as he said it. That look gripped her, sending the oddest sensation through her entire body, right down to her core.

Desire.

Idalia put some distance between them, stepping back.

“What does it mean?”

He opened his mouth, as if to tell her, when a familiar voice called to her from outside.

“Idalia? There you are. Dawson is asking for you. And Cook needs a word.”

Her chest rose and fell as she looked between Lance and her sister.

“This is our new smith, Master Lance. I’m pleased to introduce my sister, Lady Tilly,” she said.

“Well met,” her sister said, nodding toward the door. Her gaze only briefly lingered on Lance, as if she did not realize he was the most compelling man who’d ever set foot in Stanton. “You’re needed at the keep.”

Always.

Smiling at the smith, Idalia wondered at his grim expression as she followed her sister out into the sun. Away from the darkness of the blacksmith’s shop. Away from the blacksmith himself.

A dangerous man, to be sure, in more ways than one.

Chapter 4

He’d not seen her since their interaction in the forge three days earlier.

Lance stood in the back of the great hall, waiting for his turn to present the item in his hands to the earl. This would be his first contact with the man their order so desperately needed. Without his support, their mission was sure to falter.

As the other skilled workers presented their handiwork to the earl, Lance kept his eyes on the dais. They sat in a row. The earl, Lady Idalia, her younger sister, and then an empty seat, presumably the one typically occupied by Lady Emmeline.

He’d not learned much about the countess, other than that she was ill, and had been for some time. Some even said she was dying.

As Idalia had predicted, the people of Stanton were not eager to welcome the replacement for their beloved former smith. The situation was complicated by the fact that Conrad had urged him to make haste.

His friend’s directive had been clear.

Go to Stanton Castle. Speak to its people, discern the earl’s leanings. If it was as they suspected, his name having been whispered among John’s dissenters, garner his support for their cause.

“The new smith is presenting to Lord Stanton.”

Although he couldn’t see who’d spoken, Lance heard the approval behind the remark. The boys had told him how important this feast was to the people of Stanton. According to Miles, the harvest was so poor one year, many had died of starvation. Though he had been just a babe at the time, his mother had told the boys of the horrors that had brought Stanton, and its people, to its knees. The next year, after a harvest that had helped the land and people recover, they’d celebrated the Gule of August for the first time. It had felt like the miracle Stanton needed—and so, a sacred new tradition had started.