Page 18 of The Blacksmith

“You’ve not seen him, then?”

Confused, Leana shook her head. “Nay. But what does he . . . ?” Her mouth formed an O.

Neither of the women had much experience with men. Leana had been promised to a boy from the village, but he’d been killed in a border raid more than three years earlier. Her father was eager to find her another match, much as Idalia’s father sought to find her a husband now that Roysa was married.

Neither woman cared to marry a man they did not love, although they both knew—Idalia, in particular—it was a battle they were destined to lose. Eventually, as the daughter of an earl, she would be wed to whomever her father chose.

“He is handsome, then?”

She thought of the figure he’d cut the night before as they stood side by side on the wall-walk.

“Very handsome.”

“Lord Steffinshire’s son was handsome too,” Leana said, “but I do not remember such a blush on your face.”

Another of her suitors. Leana was right, the baron’s son had indeed been handsome—but he was no Lance Wayland of Marwood.

“I want to see him!” Leana squealed. She fairly ran to the opposite side of Idalia’s chamber and grabbed the used water bowl and cloth. “I will meet you in the courtyard.”

“Wait!”

Her maid was nearly out of the room before she was able to stop her.

“We cannot just go to the forge now because you want to meet him.”

Leana’s look said just the opposite.

“I have much to do this morn . . .”

“All of which will be waiting for you when we return.”

Her heart sped up at the possibility of seeing him again, which was all the more reason to say no.

“We’ve no reason to go there,” she hedged.

“Do we need one?” Leana asked, arching her brow. “We’ll tell him the truth: I was sorry to have missed his offering and asked to be introduced to him. What did he give your father?”

“An iron bracelet. For mother.”

Although Leana didn’t comment, she didn’t need to—the friends knew each other well enough for the words to go unsaid. The gesture had been thoughtful. Kind. And also perceptive.

Still.

“I cannot—” she began.

“Then I will go to him myself.”

With that, the maid walked out, leaving Idalia scrambling to catch up with her. For she knew Leana well and had little desire to imagine what reason she might give the blacksmith for her visit. Though she doubted Leana would reveal her interest, Idalia would not chance such a thing.

Whether she liked it or not, it seemed the first order of the day would be to call on Lance. And if she were being honest with herself, she liked that idea very much.

Chapter 7

“That’s enough,” Lance said to Daryon. The boy stopped blasting the bellows as Lance thrust the metal into the bright orange fire. He worked without thinking, hammering the metal over and over again until it cooled.

This was the last time it would be heated. The knives had been commissioned by Stanton’s marshal, and thus far he’d made more than twenty of them. Placing the finished knife off to the side to cool, Lance took off his gloves and told the boys to get a drink.

It was essential in this heat to remember to do so, a lesson his father had taught him early and repeated often. Pushing away the thought, he considered instead a conversation from earlier in the morning. Lance had taken mass, even though it was not usually his custom, hoping it would help foster more of a connection with the people of Stanton. He’d sat beside one of Stanton’s men-at-arms, and the man’s conversation with the knight beside him had been of interest.