Page 35 of The Blacksmith

“You have an odd look about you,” Tilly said.

She looked away immediately, her eyes landing on her sister.

“I don’t.”

“Aye, you do.”

She would not bicker with her sister in front of their guests and retainers. Especially since Tilly was likely correct. In the past few days, everything had felt odd.

Before, she’d been content to move about her daily routine.

But that was before Lance.

Before his kisses.

Before the longing looks he was giving her, which seemed to say he regretted their decision as much as she did.

Stop. Looking.

“I spoke to the physician this morning,” she said to both her father and sister, hoping to distract Tilly, and herself, from the reason Idalia could hardly form a coherent thought.

“The physician is glad she’s eating but worries her condition does not seem to be improving.”

“His worries are not helping her heal,” her father said, his tone edged with frustration. “’Tis good I sent for another physician from London.”

“Nay, they are not. I am glad of it as well.”

“And there are whispers again.” It was Tilly who’d spoken, and Idalia and her father both turned to her in surprise.

“I slipped into the bakery before supper and heard him speaking of . . .” Her sister stopped and made a face. Idalia could guess the reason.

“Father Sica?”

“Aye. Apparently he told Cook, who told a kitchen maid—”

“Tilly,” her father warned.

He hated that her sister involved herself in gossip. But no matter how often Tilly was told to refrain from such matters, she continued to do just the opposite. Her mother and father had gotten into many disagreements about her sister’s “wayward” behavior, but none of it seemed to affect her.

Tilly was . . . unique. And Idalia loved her for it.

“I will speak to him.” Her father raised his mug to the captain of the men-at arms, the gesture telling them both, in no uncertain terms, he was finished speaking on the matter.

Which left her to . . .

No. Don’t look.

She looked.

Lance was speaking to the other men at his table, who seemed to be slowly accepting the new smith. Which reminded her to speak to the hayward. He had influence with the others and could be persuaded to give the smith a chance to find his footing at Stanton.

He may not need her help, but Idalia could not resist the urge to help him. Being alone in a new place could not be easy, especially when the old smith had essentially been part of their family.

Lance met her eyes and held them, his expression serious.

He smiled so little. Why?

Unbidden, she thought of his lips on hers, slanting for complete access, which she’d so willingly given him. It was as if some other woman had stood upon those ramparts with him. Certainly Idalia would not have allowed such liberties.