Page 17 of The Blacksmith

Leana did not answer, for she knew it to be true. Dealing with Stanton’s tenants, from keeping their homes in good repair to sorting out complaints, just was not the seneschal’s specialty. He was efficient and quite intelligent, but his brusque manner did not lend itself to certain tasks.

“My mother would say that to ignore the signs of the body—”

“Is to ignore the life it possesses,” she finished. “Aye, I’ve heard her say as much many times.”

“And yet . . .”

“And yet, there is no one else,” she said, meeting Leana’s eyes over her shoulder.

That wasn’t precisely true. She did enjoy the tasks she undertook on behalf of her mother, but there were so very many of them. Besides, as Leana finished lacing her gown, it struck her that there was another reason for her late morn.

Lance.

She’d forgotten the dream until now.

Instead of following him down the winding stairs of the Small Tower last eve, she’d grabbed his arm to stop him once again. He’d turned, looked at her as if asking permission, and kissed her.

Moving to the bed in a stupor, Idalia sat and lifted her feet as Leana slipped on her leather shoes. Her mind lingered on that imagined kiss. It struck her that she’d experienced more joy in the thought of kissing the blacksmith than she had in the actual event of kissing the man she’d been briefly betrothed to marry.

The son of a baron, Sir Christopher had visited Stanton more than once, their betrothal contract signed not long after Roysa’s. On his last visit to Stanton, he’d pulled her into a private alcove on the ground floor of the keep and kissed her.

She’d later described the kiss to Leana as “pleasant.” After all, her intended was handsome, the kind of man she should have been thrilled to wed.

When their betrothal was broken less than a sennight later, when their fathers had an argument that could not be resolved, Idalia’s lack of feeling on the matter worried both of her sisters. Perhaps this was the reason.

“My lady?”

She hadn’t noticed Leana watching her. Heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks. Though she looked at her questioningly, Idalia knew she could not tell the maid her thoughts.

Or could she?

Idalia considered Leana a dear friend and trusted her as much as she did her sisters. They shared both a thirst for knowledge that motivated them to learn about the world outside of Stanton—and a commitment to making Stanton Castle a comfortable home for all who lived there. Both women, as borderers, knew how quickly everything could be lost. Although Idalia’s own father never spoke to her of such things, thinking them inappropriate to discuss with a woman, let alone his daughter, she knew as much as he did about Stanton’s affairs. Luckily, neither her mother nor Dawson were so tight-lipped about their precarious situation.

Idalia shuddered.

And looked at her maid. Her friend. The only confidant she had left, really, with Roysa gone and her mother so ill. This was not a topic for Tilly’s ears.

Sitting back down, Idalia clasped her fingers together on her lap.

“You can never tell anyone of this.”

Leana’s eyes widened.

“Promise me.”

“You know I’d not speak out of turn.”

Should she really say it aloud?

“The new blacksmith.” Idalia waited, hoping her friend would discern her meaning and she would not have to continue.

But Leana simply looked at her.

“You saw him, in the hall on the Gule of August?”

Leana shook her head. “I was in the kitchens with father and missed the presentation of the gifts.”

Though Leana was not a kitchen maid, she often helped her father as needed.