The Blacksmith's Woman

by R. R. Vane

  “Most likely,” Tom nodded.

  “Hmm.” Beth wasn’t entirely certain he had the truth of it. “But, as a smith, do you think one could be made?”

  He burst out laughing.

  “Why? Would you like me to make you one? So you can withhold the key from me whenever I want to lick your pretty quim?”

  Beth had already learnt not to blush when Tom spoke boldly of what they did during lovemaking. Instead, she’d found she liked this kind of talk.

  “Wait,” Tom went on, with dark eyes dancing full of mischief, “perhaps you want me to take the measurements for one right now!”

  Without giving her time to argue, he went down, parting her legs and making a show of inspecting her quim. Beth was already beginning to blush, but she soon forgot her embarrassment when Tom’s clever tongue found her already wet opening.

  “You wait!” she couldn’t resist saying breathlessly. “What does your tongue have to do with measurements, Master Smith?”

  Yet soon she could speak no more, as Tom’s practiced tongue began to work its craft, making her melt with rapture.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning Tom had business to attend to, at his Guild, and as soon as she took care of her more pressing chores, Beth decided to walk to the Market, because it was a beautiful day. It was the first day in weeks she’d felt like doing so, and she understood she was finally feeling more secure in her new life, which had proved far better than she’d thought. And she also understood her life in Tom’s household had helped her get over some of the grief over her family’s loss. Certainly, she still thought of the ones she’d lost, every day, yet her new life now allowed her to think upon fond memories of them, rather than only of the sadness of having lost them.

  “Where are you going?” Declan came to say, as she was readying to step into the lane.

  “I’ll take a walk to the Market,” she told the boy, now narrowing her eyes at him, because she’d gotten tired of his wicked tongue.

  “You shouldn’t. Master Tom said…”

  She raised her eyebrows at him.

  “Don’t tell me Tom Reed ordered you to keep me locked inside the house!”

  “Nay, but he said we need to keep an eye on you, lest that lord who fancies you should prowl around.”

  Beth sighed, because she knew Declan had the right of it, but she was sick and tired of living in fear of Sir Lambert.

  “I want to go walking by myself, and Sir Lambert be damned,” she said with a shrug, and started walking ahead without minding Declan who’d begun calling after her.

  The day was bright, and she pretended not to mind the curious, avid looks the people in the neighbourhood started casting her way. She knew some of these people from Mass and she assumed they all already gossiped that she was Tom Reed’s leman, although the story meant for everyone’s ears was that she was only his serving woman.

  The walk to the Market was pleasant, and she felt cheerful she was having a much-needed outing on her own, although she didn’t spend a long time there, knowing there were sundry things to do waiting for her at home. On her way back, as she suddenly looked up, her eyes fell on Sir Lambert’s hateful person in front of her.

  “What then, did you not think I have my people watching upon your goings?” he asked as he boldly approached her.

  Beth straightened her shoulders, knowing there were passers-by about, but remembering he was a nobleman and always thought he could do as he pleased. She started walking faster, without saying a word to him, but he followed.

  “Just tell me… Why would you rather be a commoner’s harlot? You could have had me instead. I would have showered you with gifts.”

  She knew it was best not to answer him. So she pretended she hadn’t heard him. Yet he caught up with her and barred her path. It was broad daylight and there were people passing by, yet she felt a jolt of panic going through her, recalling how he’d once attempted to force himself on her and she’d barely escaped. He took rough hold of her shoulder, and she slapped his hand away, but he grinned.

  “One day I’ll have you,” he hissed, but then looked around because he knew there were people already glancing at them askance.

  He might be a nobleman, but, still, it was broad daylight, and Beth went forcefully past him.

  “Why is it that you’re chasing me? Just because I’m one of the few women who told you nay?” she called in full disdain, before walking away from him.

  When she turned her head she knew he was still following, with a smug, sickening grin on his face. But soon she had occasion to see the grin wiped off his face, as an egg landed smack in the middle of his forehead. More eggs soon followed, simply raining on him, and by the look of sheer horror and disgust on Sir Lambert’s face, Beth perceived they were rotten eggs and she could not contain her mirth. Sir Lambert started shouting, cursing and clamouring for the guards, beginning to screech it was unthinkable a nobleman could be attacked in broad daylight. Yet, Sir Lambert’s assailants remained unseen, even when two guards belatedly came and half-heartedly began to look for them.

  Sir Lambert was still wiping rotten egg off his face, cursing foully, and Beth couldn’t help turning her head to call at him, in a voice of feigned sweetness, “Well met, my lord, setting eyes upon you has never seemed more pleasant!”

  Sir Lambert scoffed, but could not accuse her of open disrespect for a lord. The dark look he cast her told her he was not done pursuing her with a vengeance. Nevertheless that day hadn’t come yet, and Beth got home, with a shake of her head and a broad smile on her face. It was when she finally reached Tom’s home and got inside the courtyard that she thought to call for her unseen guardian angels.

  “Declan! Micah! William!”

  She called rather long and hard for them, and at last, the three boys made themselves seen wearing smirks of pride on their faces.

  “Pelting a nobleman with rotten eggs! That was reckless of you!” Beth chided.

  “What would you have us do?” Micah scoffed. “Master Tom told us to watch out for you!”

  “Aye,” Declan agreed. “And you’re the one who recklessly went prancing around. We just followed. It would have been your own fault if we’d gotten into trouble.”

  Beth sighed, now beginning to fear Tom would get angry with her for being so reckless. She’d nearly endangered the boys through her recklessness. Yet she couldn’t help but feel elated when she recalled Sir Lambert’s stunned look of outrage when the first egg had landed upon him.

  “Thank you for watching out for me, truly,” she said giving the boys a bright smile.

  William and Micah beamed, while Declan gave her a half-grin.

  “We stick out for our own, you know,” he finally said. “You’re one of Master Tom’s strays after all, aren’t you?”

  “Strays?” she asked, not understanding.

  “You were a thief in the square when he found you, weren’t you?” Micah said.

  “I–”

  Beth sighed, but then conceded.

  “I guess I was.”

  “Well, I was a beggar,” Declan said softly, looking away from her. “Master Tom found me in the gutter and took me with him, to make me his apprentice. And Micah ran away from his former master, and found shelter here. And William…”

  William shook his head, and just shrugged.

  “No one but Master Tom and William himself know William’s story. And neither one nor the other have ever spoken a word of it,” Declan said with a sigh.

  Beth looked at the boys, and felt like starting to laugh and cry at the same time. Their stories came as no wonder though. She’d already learned what kind of man Tom Reed was.

  “Don’t tell him about today… I will. It was my own fault,” she said with a sigh.

  “Suit yourself,” Declan tossed impudently, then he stuck his tongue out at Micah. “My aim is so much better than yours!”

  “Oh, it’s so not!” Micah bristled.

  “Wait, what about mine?” William ventur
ed.

  When Tom came home, she didn’t tarry to speak herself of what had occurred, because she felt quite guilty for having endangered the boys. If the guards or Sir Lambert had been able to spot them, they’d have certainly gotten the pillory or even a flogging in the Square. Tom listened to her with a frown on his face.

  “No harm was done, but things could have been different. And I’m to blame,” she said with her eyes downcast, not thinking it unfair at all if he would decide to spank her as harshly as he had that first day they’d met.

  For a while Tom said nothing, then he heaved a heartfelt sigh.

  “Not truly to blame, you can’t even go walking in broad daylight without that fiend chasing after you. He is to blame.”

  She stared at Tom in astonishment. It was not how she saw things, and she’d thought he’d be angry with her:

  “But I was reckless! I didn’t heed Declan’s warning. I knew the fiend was prowling about, and yet I…”

  “You’ve spent weeks nearly not venturing outside. And, truth be told, I can understand why you would wish to walk by yourself for once instead of hearing Declan’s prattle.”

  She widened her eyes at him. She had in truth expected him to shout at her and decide to punish her, yet instead he put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Now you know better. You’ve clearly learnt a lesson. It’s plain the fiend’s paid someone who watches your comings and goings.”

  He paused, shaking his head with a grim look upon his face.

  “I wish I could find a way to make him stop!”

  Beth was still staring at him, and suddenly what had gone during the day became too much to bear. She’d expected Tom to be angry with her, she’d waited for this anger, thinking it was only fair punishment for what she’d done. Yet Tom wasn’t angry with her. Although he should have been. She had been reckless. And she recalled the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’d had when Sir Lambert had touched her. And she recalled that night, in the deserted lane, when she’d had a narrow escape from him.

  Tom was now glancing at her with a concerned look on his face.

  “How fare you, dearling?” he suddenly asked, brushing his big, rough hand across her cheek. Beth understood in astonishment that her eyes had filled with tears, and she felt ashamed of herself, yet now she’d started crying, although she was never so easily given to tears. Tom held her, and she was grateful for the warmth of his embrace.

  “It is foolish of me to behave thus. I was not truly frightened, and he barely even touched me. It was not like…” she muttered after a while, reluctant to look in Tom’s eyes after she’d made a fool of herself over this.

  “Not like what?” Tom asked with a searching glance.

  Beth shrugged, loath to tell him of the night when she’d been barely able to fend off a drunken Sir Lambert set on ravishing her in a deserted lane. She’d been in luck he was drunk and not very steady on his feet, yet it had been a narrow escape and she’d known it.

  “Never you mind,” she said, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve.

  “But I do mind. He already tried to ravish you, didn’t he?” Tom said with a dark look in his eyes and bitter twist of his mouth.

  “Aye, but he didn’t succeed! Nor will he get to touch me again! I will take better care,” Beth vowed.

  She felt suddenly ill at ease that Tom was still holding her tight, and she disentangled herself from his embrace.

  “I’m off to do my chores. No use thinking upon that worthless fiend,” she proclaimed, trying to make light of it.

  Tom said nothing, but Beth saw that his eyes were still very dark and his face sombre. He went to mind his own work, yet he was tight-lipped and tense all day, and Beth was sorry to have caused him to worry over her.

  Chapter 8

  Tom had spent a sleepless night, but in the morning his head was clear and he’d already resolved what to do. At dawn, he rose and dressed with more care than usual, putting on his Sunday garb. He left before Beth could wake, because he’d promised to be always truthful to her, and he hadn’t wanted to lie to her when she asked where he was going. She would have tried to stop him if she’d known.

  He went in search of Sir Lambert, knowing the lord might not even want to glance upon him and thinking about finding a place where the fiend would be forced to face him. He knew from Tristram de Brunne, the lord who often came to look upon the swords he was making, that every day the lords and knights convened on the practice field by the Palace.

  Tom hoped to find not only Sir Lambert, but also Tristram de Brunne there. Most fancy lords were cruel, yet whenever Tom talked to Lord Tristram de Brunne, it seemed to him this lord was different. Tristram de Brunne was the best swordsman at King Henry’s court, and loved swords above all else. This was how Tom and he had met, as Lord De Brunne had commissioned a sword from him, and had liked it very much. From then on, Lord Tristram had started coming to see Tom and inquire about the swords Tom was fashioning. At times, they even tried the swords together, and Tom was grateful for the sword practice with a knight who was more skilled than he was. And he was proud to say he could hold his own pretty well against a knight, even if it was plain Lord Tristram had more skill with a sword than an untrained blacksmith could possess.

  The guards barred his way just as he’d expected, because no one but lords and knights and their soldiers were allowed to step on the practice field by the Palace.

  “I am Tom Reed, the smith. I’ve come to speak to Lord De Brunne about a sword,” Tom said, pointing to the sword he had fastened at his hip.

  At last, one of the soldiers in the guard went to let Lord De Brunne know that a smith sought to speak to him. It seemed luck had smiled upon Tom, because perhaps a quarter of an hour later, Tristram de Brunne came to meet Tom himself with a rather puzzled look upon his handsome face:

  “A sword, Tom? Did we speak of it and I forgot?”

  Tom shook his head.

  “My lord, it is not this. I thought perchance you may help. I need to speak to Sir Lambert and I think he may be on the practice field where lords and knights convene.”

  Tristram de Brunne looked grim at the mention of Sir Lambert’s name.

  “He is indeed,” he said in a clipped voice. “Why would you wish to speak to him?”

  “We’ve an unsettled matter between us. And I thought that perchance, if other lords and knights were present, he would be forced to listen to what I have to say,” Tom spoke, not wishing to hide anything from De Brunne.

  Lord Tristram gave him a searching glance, and his countenance seemed to brighten.

  “Well, then, if it is an unsettled matter, I’d better help you settle it.”

  He beckoned the guards to let Tom through, and they headed to that place, which Tom had never set eyes upon, but where everyone knew lords and knights and their soldiers tried their best weapons and liked to practice. Tom soon spotted Sir Lambert, standing aside in a small group of lords and knights who seemed to be doing nothing but chatting and watching the others work hard on the practice field.

  “Bertran!” Lord Tristram called, and soon a lord about Tom’s own height and build, came to join them in his helmet and hauberk.

  “This is my friend, Bertran FitzRolf. And this is Tom Reed – the gifted smith I have been telling you about. The one who makes wondrous swords,” Sir Tristram said, and Sir Bertran nodded in Tom’s direction.

  Tom greeted the lord with an incline of his head, and then Sir Tristram pointed to where Sir Lambert was.

  “Shall we go to speak to Sir Lambert then?” he called to Tom.

  “Why would you wish to ever speak to someone such as that one?” Sir Bertran suddenly said to his friend, and his voice was filled with disdain.

  “Tom has something to settle with him. And I want to hear this,” Tristram de Brunne countered.

  Sir Bertran glanced from Tom to his friend, then at last he nodded, and they headed to where Sir Lambert was. Sir Lambert looked uneasy when at last
he glanced upon Tom. He tried to pretend Tom wasn’t even there and he strived to make him appear beneath his notice, yet Tristram de Brunne called to him in a cheerful voice.

  “You know Tom Reed, the smith, don’t you, Sir Lambert?”

  “Nay, I don’t believe we are acquainted. I don’t make it my habit to consort with peasants,” Sir Lambert countered and the lords surrounding him tittered.

  Tom cared little for their opinion of him, and stared Sir Lambert straight in the face, yet Sir Lambert wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Strange though,” Sir Tristram said in the same cheerful, melodious voice. “That sword you carry upon your hip which everyone admires. Isn’t that your own craftsmanship, Master Reed?” he added, turning to Tom.

  “It certainly is, my lord,” Tom said, still staring straight at Sir Lambert.

  It was the sword Tom had first made for Sir Lambert, before he’d known of his character. And it was upon liking this first sword that Sir Lambert had commissioned a second, the second sword he’d never gotten to wear.

  Sir Lambert looked rather green in the face, but he attempted to laugh the whole thing away.

  “Oh, I forgot. One smith looks so much like the other.”

  The lords around him tittered again, but neither Lord De Brunne, nor his big, broad-shouldered friend seemed to share in these lords’ mirth.

  “My lord, I came to speak to you upon a grievous matter,” Tom said, using Norman.

  Several of the lords around Sir Lambert raised their eyebrows to hear a commoner speak flawless Norman. And they fell silent, eager to listen.

  “There is a woman in my household,” Tom started.

  “Oh, isn’t it always about a woman.” Sir Lambert laughed, causing the others to share his merriment.

  Yet again, neither Sir Tristram nor Sir Bertran joined in the mirth.

  “You should let the man speak and say what he has to say,” Bertran suddenly said in a level, yet steely voice, and Tom saw at once that the lords around Sir Lambert had fallen silent.

  Tom knew he needed to seize his chance.