Page 24 of The Blacksmith

“Two years after I left Marwood, I received word she was ill. By the time I arrived home . . .”

Idalia thought of her own mother lying, even now, in her bed as she’d done for nearly a sennight. The pain hadn’t lifted this time.

“Now it is I who must apologize.” He turned to her. “I did not mean to make you worry about your own mother.”

“Nay,” she said, forcing her voice to be strong. “Mother will recover, of that I have no doubt.”

Telling herself the same, over and over and over again, made the visits to her mother’s sickbed more tolerable. It hurt to see the mother she’d always looked up to, who’d always been such a vibrant force of nature, brought so low.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He was looking at her, a question in his eyes, and something about that look urged her to unburden herself. Who better to speak to than a newcomer to Stanton?

“Around the time of the last harvest, mother began getting pains here.” She pointed to the side of her head. The moon afforded them ample light to see each other, although his face was cast in shadow. “They came and went, but each month, they seemed to be getting worse. The physician gave her skullcap, which alleviated them for a while. And then . . .”

She looked up toward the keep, her eyes finding the part of the keep where she knew her mother would be lying, asleep.

“The pain in her head moved downward, to her stomach. She is resisting eating this week, and the whites of her eyes are tinged with yellow.”

Idalia could not bear to think of them. Her eyes, Father Sica claimed, were evidence of the devil’s work. “In fact, these last few days they appear more yellow than white.”

There. She’d said it.

Lance ran a hand through his hair. “That does sound unusual.”

“If word spreads of mother’s condition,” she continued. “My father fears my sister and I will not make a good match if Father Sica’s thoughts on the matter are spread.”

Idalia looked toward Eller’s Green. “If there are bad spirits, certainly there must be good ones too?”

Lance moved to stand directly next to her. So close. She didn’t step away, but at least she forced herself not to do as she wished and move closer.

“Some would say you speak of the saints. Of God.”

“Some?”

He didn’t answer, but neither did she press him.

“We should not be here,” he said, his tone flat.

“Nay, we should not.”

Idalia looked down at his hand, where the key still hung from his hastily made circlet, then asked, “Does that mean we will not meet again?”

She wished to take the words back even as part of her was proud for asking the question. It had been uncommonly bold of her.

“Would you like to meet again?”

She did not hesitate. “Aye.”

“Then we shall. Tomorrow evening?”

Her heart soared. “Tomorrow evening.”

Lance bowed deeply. More deeply than her station warranted.

“Until then, my lady.”

She felt the loss immediately as he walked away. When Lance stopped just before entering the tower, she thought for a moment he’d changed his mind and would stay.