Page 22 of The Blacksmith

Indeed, she was. Marina had said she’d refused to eat today, a more common occurrence of late.

“Oh, but I was to tell you she took a bit of bread and cheese earlier.”

“When? Marina told me she hadn’t eaten.”

“Just before supper. You were in the kitchens when she found father to tell him so.” Tilly lowered her voice. “So that is good, is it not?”

“Aye,” she reassured her.

Tilly glanced over Idalia’s shoulder and leaned closer, lowering to a whisper. “Father Sica was here when she told us. He and Father argued about it.”

“As they seem to do more each day.”

The priest was becoming more and more insistent that he be allowed to “treat” her mother. So far, he had been denied. No one else believed her ailment was a punishment from God or that she may be possessed by the devil.

“He cannot be allowed to see her,” she said.

“Mmmm.” Tilly was already thinking of something else. Idalia could always tell when her mind wandered.

“What are you thinking?” Idalia lifted the goblet of wine in front of her and brought the sweet liquid to her lips.

“I worry for you at times.”

She looked away, not wanting to meet Tilly’s eyes just then, and realized she was being watched by their guest. Straightening, she nodded to him and asked, “Is the meal to your liking, my lord?”

Not wishing to talk any longer about her mother—or to think about the meeting she’d arranged for after dinner—Idalia conversed with their guest and her father until the two finally rose, signaling the end of the meal.

Heart pounding, she carried about her normal activities, inquiring after the other guests in the hall—various retainers and tradesmen—and visited her mother as she did each night. She then retired to freshen up, using the rose water Leana always left out for her. She was just about to leave when it occurred to her exactly what she was doing.

Preparing for her assignation.

With the blacksmith.

That she was meeting him, alone, should have been reason enough to give Idalia pause. Lance was not a man to trifle with. Although he was kind and honorable, there was a darkness in him. Besides which, even the most rational part of her knew nothing could come of their friendship.

The thought of how her father would respond to the notion of a match between his daughter and the blacksmith nearly made her laugh aloud. He’d slam his mug on the table. And once he overcame his sheer disbelief at her audacity, he’d utter every swear word he’d ever learned.

So why am I meeting him? Father Sica already saw you together.

Unlatching the door, pleased that few moved through the courtyard at this time, Idalia left the wooden door unlocked behind her and made her way to the exact same spot where she and Lance had spoken the night before.

She stopped abruptly when she saw he was already waiting for her at the top of the Small Tower.

He turned and Idalia barely stopped herself from gasping at the sight of him.

He looked no different than earlier in the day, though cleaner of course. But something in his expression . . .

Lance knew what she did. That this attraction between them had no place in either of their lives. And yet, here they both were.

“How did you get up here?” She’d left the door unlocked, assuming he would have to follow her up.

Lance held out a small iron circlet with a lone key hanging from it.

“I am a blacksmith” was his only answer.

“And a good one if you were able to replicate the key so easily.”

He rarely smiled, which was likely for the best—the effect was devastating. It was a smile meant to tease, not necessarily to taunt.