Page 43 of The Blacksmith

Idalia groaned inside, though she did not dare to make such a sound out loud.

“Mother, please.”

“I was married. Before your father.”

Her hands stilled, the wet cloth hanging from them. Idalia searched her mother’s face for any indication she was jesting, but those yellow-tinted eyes stared back at her, unwavering.

“You were married to another man?”

“It was many, many years ago. But aye, I married a man with whom I’d fallen in love. He was a warrior. The son of a Scottish reiver.”

This could not be true.

“You were married to a . . . reiver? A Scot?”

Marina moved away as Idalia’s mother spoke.

“We married in secret. My father did not approve.” Her mother, already pale, appeared even more so now. She’d not met either of her grandparents, both of whom had died before she was born, but she’d heard of them, of course. Her grandfather had been a powerful border lord, an English baron whose title had passed on to Idalia’s uncle.

But never had she heard a hint of this other man, this other husband. Did her father know? Her sisters? Nay, they would have said something.

“This was surely a scandal?”

Her mother’s weak smile made it impossible for her to be angry at her for keeping such a secret.

“Very much so. When he died less than a year later in a raid . . .”

Her mother closed her eyes, and Idalia edged closer to her. She hated seeing her in pain, physical or the kind that came from the memory of lost love.

“I dare say my father was not pleased. And I never forgave him for his treatment of the man.” She opened her eyes. “Much as he never forgave me for what I’d done.”

“Does Father know?”

“He does. Our betrothal had already been pledged when he learned of it. My father said I was lucky such a man was still willing to marry me. No longer a virgin.” She winked. Her mother actually winked.

Idalia’s heart soared at the simple gesture. This was the charming, strong-willed woman she remembered.

“I came to love him, your father. As you well know. But in the beginning, I felt nothing but anger and resentment. It was a trying time for us all.”

“You never told us.” The bitter words slipped out.

“And I never planned to,” her mother admitted. She looked tired now, her eyelids growing heavy again. Their conversation was coming to an end.

“Why do you tell me now?”

Lying back down, her mother closed her eyes. “Bring him to me,” she muttered, bringing an end to their rather odd conversation.

The cloth now cold in her hands, Idalia watched her mother drift off to sleep. She turned to find Marina sitting near the fire, bowl in her lap.

The older woman did not look even a tiny bit repentant.

Idalia narrowed her eyes, attempting to give Marina the same withering look her mother could summon when displeased. But it must have failed because the impertinent maid chuckled. She actually laughed at her. Idalia may be doing her mother’s job, but she was not her equal.

At least, not yet.

Then she thought of her mother’s request.

Lance was not going to be pleased.