* * *
Idalia and her sister rode side by side away from the castle.
When Tilly was younger, she’d never left Idalia’s side. Now Idalia wished she’d not complained about having an ever-present shadow. Those sweet moments had become rarer and rarer as her sister grew into a young woman.
It was market day—always a lively affair—and Idalia had never been more grateful for the distraction. The market in Stanton’s village was distinguished by the covered stalls her father had commissioned for the vendors. These were especially attractive to cloth sellers who often wrestled with the elements, as did other merchants.
“A fine day for market,” Tilly said, as if she could hear Idalia’s thoughts.
“Aye. I was just thinking of the improvements Father made over the years.”
“And no doubt you have ideas on how to further improve upon them.”
Idalia smiled despite her heavy heart. If Tilly noticed she was not quite herself, her sister did not comment on it. Instead, they spoke of the market and speculated about Roysa’s well-being. Her letters came less often, and she’d not been back home to visit yet.
Two things they did not discuss.
Mother. Or the blacksmith.
Not that Tilly knew anything about her relationship with Lance. Of course, “relationship” was the wrong word for it. He’d not sought her out since missing their last meeting.
If her mother’s speech scared him from her so easily, then he was not the man for her.
Or so she’d been telling herself these past few days.
“No garlic today,” she said, breaking their unspoken agreement not to speak of Mother’s condition.
“The new physician should have been here by now,” her sister said. Indeed. Idalia reminded herself to speak about it with Father when they returned.
Rounding a bend in the road, they could hear the market square even though they could not yet see it. Voices rose up above the treetops. The clanging metal reminded her of the forge.
Nay. I will not think of him.
An impossible feat given the very man she was supposed to forget called out her name from behind her as she and Tilly arrived at the market.
“My lady.”
He rode up alongside her, which was apparently Tilly’s cue to leave. If Idalia hadn’t known better, she would have suspected the little minx had planned it. Spurring her mount forward, Idalia called back a quick farewell.
Although Idalia wasn’t actually alone with Lance, given the throngs of people all around him, she very keenly felt his presence.
“Master Lance.”
She continued in her approach toward the stables, refusing to look at him. While he fell in line with her, Lance did not speak until they’d dismounted and handed over their mounts.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” she said at last.
The smith worked as hard, if not harder, than their previous smith. A fact many seemed to have noticed. Of late she’d heard his name on the lips of more than one man and woman about Stanton, and while she was glad of it for his sake, she found it difficult to listen to talk of him.
It reminded her of that day.
Of what he did to her, and the way her body had responded to him.
Pretending she did not care seemed to work much better without him standing by her side.
“I’ve heard much about market day and was curious.”
He walked with her past stalls of fresh fruit and cloth. Idalia should have stopped by now—she had quite a bit of shopping to do for Cook and Dawson—but neither her feet nor mouth seemed to be functioning well at the moment.
“Stanton has one of only three market charters in all of Northumbria,” she said without thinking.
“And has utilized it well. Covered stalls?”
“My father’s idea. He hoped it would attract unique vendors, which would encourage people from other villages to travel here for market day.”
She nodded and smiled to each of the vendors they passed, pretending not to notice curious looks Lance was receiving. Idalia made her way to a table filled with cheeses of all kinds, but to her surprise, Lance stayed at her side. After a quick negotiation and agreement to have her purchase sent to Stanton’s kitchens, they continued on their way.
“You did that well.” Lance was looking back at the merchant. “I don’t think I could have gotten his price so low.”
“Being the earl’s daughter has its advantages.”
There was much she wanted to say, but none of it would be proper, especially not here, where anyone might hear them. Instead, Idalia pretended it was perfectly normal to have kissed her, on more than one occasion.
And then there was the small matter of the night he’d lifted her skirts with his hand and brought her the most unimaginable pleasure with his fingers inside her.
God’s teeth. Idalia, stop!
“There is a market town in France known for its exquisite cloth. The lord there built a structure,” he pointed to one of the stalls, “like this one, but much larger. More than ten merchants fit inside.”
“Ten?”
“Aye. It stands in the square’s center, and neither snow nor rain can disturb the merchants and those who deal with them.”
Idalia stopped, attempting to imagine such a thing.
“You’ve seen this?”
Lance stopped with her, and by God, he licked his lips. Nay, just the top lip. And just enough for her to see his tongue and be reminded of what it felt like on hers. She remembered the first time she’d seen him do that.
I am hopeless.
“I have.”
They stood in the middle of the road. Idalia knew she should move on, without him, but she had difficulty looking away.
“You could explain it to my father?”
He hesitated.
It was a simple question, but Lance did not answer for some time.
“Aye,” he said finally. “I could.”
“Good.”
When she began to walk again, he reached out to stop her. Then, likely realizing they stood in the middle of a crowded market, he pulled his hand back as if burned.
“Apologies, my lady.”
Idalia lowered her voice. “For touching me just now?” She lifted her chin. “Or for something else?”
“For all of it. And more.”
Idalia had no idea what he meant. She only knew she must get away from him. Lance made it difficult for her to use the wits she knew she possessed.
She took a step away from him, but he stopped her with his words this time.
“Will you meet me tonight?”
She froze.
Nay. The answer is nay.
Instead, she turned and found herself asking, “Will you show up this time?”
Though he looked apologetic, he did not utter any words of apology. Instead, he nodded.
“I will.”
Still, she planned to walk away. She might have done it too, if not for what he said next.
“Please?”
She should say no. Idalia knew enough to guard her heart against a man her father would never accept. One who clearly wanted nothing more than stolen moments of passion.
And yet, this man had a way of making her forget all that she should do.
“Aye. I will meet you.”
This time, he let her leave.
Fool.
Idalia wasn’t sure if she referred to the blacksmith . . . or herself.
18
Lance cursed himself as he climbed the stairs to the top of the Small Tower. He should be avoiding Idalia, for her sake. He knew he’d been right to encourage an invitation to talk to the earl about the market stalls. It would provide him the opportunity he needed to confirm Stanton’s position on the king.
No doubt, Stanton was unhappy with the king. At least, his men were unhappy with him. Which was likely a reflection of their lord’s views. But he hated to embroil Idalia in his machinations. She was unaware of his real motive
s and nothing good could come of meeting her in secret. He knew only that he’d hurt her and wanted an opportunity to explain. Not that he could give her a full explanation, of course, but she deserved something.
And yet, while he hadn’t asked to see her for the sake of the order, Lance knew it was time for him to ask a few pointed questions of the lady of Stanton.
He owed it to the order.
So why did all thoughts of them flee his mind the moment he opened that door?
She was as lovely as she’d been earlier, walking beside him at the market. But even though she wore the same gown, her hair still falling around her shoulders, somehow Lady Idalia appeared more regal now. Chin held high, she was every bit the earl’s daughter, a competent young woman who cared for everyone around her.
His mother would have adored her. Though she seemed to have little notion of her own value, Idalia was absolutely perfect in every other way.
“You have no compare,” he blurted out. Not the words he’d meant to say, but they were true nonetheless—and she needed to hear them.
“You must not have met many ladies in your time.”
“Why do you say such things?”
She walked toward him as warily as he’d expect after what he had done.
“If you knew my sister—”
“A lovely woman, I am sure. But still, I say it again, you have no compare.” He put as much meaning into the words as he could, but she still did not appear convinced.
“And yet, you failed to come, failed to meet me.”
“That had nothing to do with you.”
The bitter laugh that escaped her lips was not Idalia. He hated that he was the cause of her pain.
“Listen to me.” He took her hands despite his vow not to touch her. Looking into her eyes, he implored her to understand. “Nothing would please me more than to make you mine.”
And it was true.
“But I am simply a smith.”
“A master smith.”
“But a blacksmith nonetheless. Your mother may have . . . unique views on the matter. But your father would not agree with them, I am sure of it.”
Idalia did not argue that point.
“I didn’t come to you that night because”—he swallowed—“I was scared.”
“I would not imagine a man like you to be afraid of anything.”
Lance was immediately brought back to his childhood home, where he’d lain in bed pretending to sleep. Listening for the telltale shouts that signaled his father had drunk too much ale.
“I have been afraid of plenty.”
Lance circled her palms with his thumbs, willing her to believe his actions were not a reflection on her. Willing her to see herself as he saw her. As perfect.
He knew he shouldn’t tell her how he felt. It wouldn’t do anything other than frustrate both of them, and yet the words flowed from his lips. “Most especially I’m afraid to have fallen in love with a woman who cannot be mine.”
“What did you say?”
“It does not matter. This . . . this cannot be.”
Her lips parted in surprise more than desire, but Lance’s body reacted nonetheless.
“Lance—”
“This cannot be,” he repeated, as much to himself as to her. But Idalia did not appear to be listening any longer. She closed the distance between them, and he prayed for strength.
“Kiss me,” she said, tipping her head up to him.
“Idalia, there’s much you do not understand.”
“Kiss me.”
He wanted to do that and so much more.
Although he knew he couldn’t have her, maybe he could at least have this. One kiss.
Their mouths melded together as if they were designed for it. As if he’d been molded for this one person whose sweet scent filled his soul with a greater longing than anything he’d felt in his life—and she for him.
Lance froze when her hand moved from his shoulder down the front of his chest, and lower. She did not stop. Lower still until . . .
He tore his mouth from hers.
“Nay, Idalia.”
She pulled her hand away, misunderstanding.
“Please understand. There’s nothing I would love more . . .”
“I just . . . you gave me such pleasure. I thought . . .” Her shoulders sagged. “I thought perhaps I could do the same.”
His jaw dropped.
“You. Cannot.” He forced himself to swallow. “I would welcome it more than you know, but—”
When she realized why he’d stopped her, her hand began to move once more.
Lance had always considered himself a strong man. Or at least he had since the day he’d hit his father. Now he knew otherwise.
He was as weak as a newborn babe.
When her hand rested fully on top of him, he swore an oath in answer to her silent question. She didn’t know how to proceed. And he should not be the one to show her.
But damned if he didn’t untie the strings that would give her access, guiding her hand and wrapping it around his hardened cock.
As she stroked him, following his hand as a guide, Idalia looked into his eyes and smiled. This was the smile of a woman who’d just learned she wielded a secret power. For if she asked for the world right now, Lance would give it gladly.
“’Tis both smooth and hard.”
He removed his hand from hers and gripped her shoulders.
“I never imagined . . .”
“Idalia.” He tossed his head back and closed his eyes.
“Does it feel as good as your fingers did inside me?”
She had no idea.
He had to stop her now. Grabbing her hand, he spun her around and pinned her to the wall behind them. Knowing they were hidden from view, he took her mouth in a passionate kiss, claiming her in the only way he could.
Even though he pressed against her, Lance knew she must feel very little through the layers of her gown, but he didn’t dare lift it. The urge to be inside her was too great. He could make her come again, but it seemed an empty gesture. She deserved more than a quick release.
She deserved everything.
“I would be inside you,” he whispered in her ear before nipping it with his teeth. “I would bury myself so deep, we would be as one.”
He kissed behind her ear, emboldened by each exhale, her heavy breathing matching his own.
“I would make love to you, sweet Idalia, and show you what a valuable treasure you are.”
She gripped the fabric of his shirt.
“If you were mine, I would love you with my mouth,” he continued.
He pulled back, realizing she didn’t understand. Perversely, he wanted her to. Wanted her to spend each night imagining all the things they might do to each other if they were free to do as they wished. It was how he’d spent his nights since coming to Stanton.
“Aye, I would taste you there.” He glanced down to the apex of her legs, his meaning unmistakable this time.
“Surely not.”
She was surprised, but intrigued. If only he could show her.
What in God’s teeth are you doing? She’s not for the likes of you, you fool.
“I shouldn’t have said such a thing.”
“Why?” She stepped back, and Lance had never been so grateful. Near her, he could not think. Could not reason. When he was with Idalia, the world fell away.
“You know why. I am a smith. You are an earl’s daughter.”
“Whose mother condoned . . . whatever this is. Tell me, Lance. What is this, between us?”
If only he knew. He only understood he couldn’t stay away from her.
“Your words earlier, they mean nothing?”
“Your father—”
“Does not know you. Not as I do.”
“You know little of me,” he said, thinking of the order. The secrets he held might change her mind about him. They might make her regret what she’d said and shared. He thought again of his friends, and of everything the
y stood to lose should the Earl of Stanton refuse to support their cause.
He needed to speak with the man, to know his mind.
“I know you’ve been hurt,” she said, her eyes shining. “I know you treat your apprentices as if they were your sons. Their mother can speak of little else but you. And I know when I’m with you, I feel . . .”
“Stop.”
He’d asked her to stop, but when she did, Lance desperately wanted to know what she’d intended to say. He nearly asked her to finish.
But duty bound him, and so he did what he must.
“Introduce me to your father.”
She misunderstood, of course. Took it as a sign of encouragement for them, when it was just the opposite.
The smile she gave Lance made him feel as if he’d fallen into the forge’s fire. His chest burned with the truth. Not for the first time, he thought to tell her all. Perhaps she would understand? Perhaps her father might even surprise them both with his acceptance of the match?
Aye, a smith and a traitor to the king.
The man would likely have him tossed in the dungeon before he would accept him as a suitor for his daughter.
And if he supports our cause?
There was a better chance of that than the earl supporting a claim to his daughter. And now he’d given her false hope.
Was there a worse man alive than he?
19
“He is glorious.”
Although Idalia had meant to keep her entanglement with Lance to herself for the time being, her resolution hadn’t lasted long. Love loosened a person’s tongue, it turned out, for she’d already told her maid everything.
“I love him,” she confessed, then hastened to add, “I know, ’tis a silly thing to say about a man I met mere weeks ago, but Leana, if you could only speak at length to him. Well,” she considered, “that may not convince you right away. He actually appears quite dour at times.”
“You do remember I’ve already met him.” Leana finished tying the laces on her side.
Idalia lowered her arm and smoothed out her surcoat.
“But you did not get to know him.”
“I’m happy for you, Idalia, truly, but are you certain”—Leana cleared her throat—“your father will approve?”
The Blacksmith: Order of the Broken Blade Page 11