He, a blacksmith.
At best, Stanton would laugh him out of his hall. At worst, he would refuse to back the order as retaliation for the foolish insult.
You are just like him.
Lance wished he didn’t understand her meaning so clearly, but the memory of their first meeting was clear in his mind.
Stanton no doubt loved his daughter, but he certainly did not respect her opinion on anything more important than which dish to serve at supper.
You are just like him.
She was wrong, but it hardly mattered. Idalia hated him.
And he’d earned her hate.
23
“You came here under the pretense of being a blacksmith.”
Well aware that the man seated across from him had the power to throw him in the dungeon, Lance shook his head. “I am a blacksmith. But aye, my purpose here was to secure this meeting.”
He’d just told the Earl of Stanton everything, and here he was, thinking of Idalia. Of the hurt he’d caused her.
“Tell me more of this order.”
Lance thought back to the horrific occurrence that had banded them into a brotherhood. Conrad’s blade. The sickening splash of water. None could have guessed more than ten years later their friendship would have brought them here.
“Guy Lavallais of Cradney Wrens fights as a mercenary.”
“And is hailed as the greatest swordsman in England.”
“Aye, because it is true.”
Lance could not discern the earl’s expression, so he continued.
“Terric Kennaugh of Bradon Moor, chief of Clan Kennaugh—”
“And lord of Dromsley here in England.”
Lance was not surprised the earl knew of him. Terric’s father had acquired Dromsley as a part of his English mother’s dowry. It was his by rights, but a counterclaim had been issued by none other than King John’s half-brother, the Earl of Salisbury.
“I have no doubt as to why Kennaugh would join a rebellion against the king.”
Lance winced. To hear it said aloud by someone outside of the order . . .
“You said there were four?”
He hesitated on the last name, not knowing how the earl would react to learning the son of his old enemy was involved in the enterprise. “The Earl of Licheford.”
To his surprise, Stanton did not flinch.
“I’m told the son is more even-tempered than his father?”
“Indeed,” he said truthfully. Conrad’s father had possessed a legendary temper—one that had caused more conflicts than his fissure with this man.
“What does this order hope to achieve, precisely?”
A fair question.
“To restrain the king’s power and force him to negotiate with his barons.”
Stanton laughed at that.
“You are a fool to think such a thing is possible.”
Inwardly, Lance crumbled under the earl’s words. Outwardly, he lifted his chin and pressed on. “We are fools to allow him to continue on his current course unchecked. With the recent loss in France, there’s never been a time of more discontent, even among some of the Southern barons. And John knows it. Why do you think he has secured French mercenaries who are even now on their way to England?”
“A bold move, I will admit.”
So he would not join them.
Lance began to think ahead. Their path would not be an easy one without Stanton. But they would forge on regardless.
“You have my support.”
No four words could have surprised him more.
“You called us fools just a moment ago.”
“And you are. I among you. Such a mission is likely doomed, and could very well cost us everything.”
Idalia. Her mother, so recently healed. And her sisters . . .
Lance cared little for his own life, but the thought of putting them in danger? Of course, he’d known all along what Stanton’s support might meant for Idalia.
But a part of him hadn’t believed Stanton would actually join them.
“You are surprised.”
“In truth, I am. Your family . . .”
“Will be safe enough if the tide turns. Stanton’s estates are vast and include property north of the border.”
“You would relinquish Stanton?”
“I may have no choice, as well you know.”
Stanton understood the stakes, of course. And still he would join them. Lance almost could not believe what he was hearing.
“If not now, then never,” Stanton said, his voice unwavering. Obviously the earl had given this much thought. He’d likely already considered rebellion long before Lance had approached him.
“Come back tomorrow at the same time. We will talk then.”
Dismissed, Lance stood.
“You will find Stanton a new smith as well.”
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Good day.”
“Good day, my lord.”
Lance left the earl, aware this was likely his last night at Stanton. He would speak to the boys and then . . . nay, Idalia would never see him.
But could he really leave without saying goodbye?
You are just like him.
Lance respected the earl, but he did not respect the way he treated his daughter. Attempting to talk to Idalia again would be a fool’s errand. He had the earl’s support and could not risk losing it.
Not even for her love.
24
“You missed Guy by less than a fortnight.”
Terric stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his feet and arms simultaneously. It was the Scot’s signature position, one Lance had seen many times over the years.
It meant his friend was thinking.
Which was just as well as Lance had been doing little else since leaving Stanton. It had taken just three days for him to travel to Dromsley Castle. Now that Terric was chief, he spent more time in Scotland than he did here in his English holding.
At least, he had before.
Now, with their mission solidified, Terric’s second, his younger brother, would remain at Bradon Moor.
He was one of only a few who knew of their plan.
“What does he hope to accomplish?”
Terric sat up straight. “To defeat your quivering bastard of a king and see Louis on the throne.”
Lance rolled his eyes.
“He is your king too. And no one is proposing to put the French king’s son on the throne of England.”
“I am.”
Lance ignored that. “You’ve no need to make your hatred of John known to me. But we did not form the order to overthrow the king.”
Terric waved a dismissive hand. “But to temper his failed leadership and despotic rule. Aye.”
Lance waited for Terric’s mood to level out. He’d not lied to Stanton about Conrad’s temperament. He was as measured as his father had been quick to anger. But Terric had a hot temper, easily sparked, and nothing made him angrier than the King of England and his men.
“You never told me of the earl’s daughter,” Terric said suddenly.
Lance ground his teeth, cursing Guy silently under his breath. He’d hoped his friend would keep that information to himself, although he wasn’t exactly surprised to learn it wasn’t so.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“According to Guy, there’s much to tell. He said you were in love with the lass.”
“Guy is an arse.”
“He would likely agree,” Terric said, raising his brow. “But that doesn’t make his claim false.”
“We should discuss our plans. With Stanton’s support—”
“Lance.”
There were times he was grateful for these men he called brothers, but other times he longed for the solitude that came with being a smith.
A position he no longer enjoyed now that he’d left both Bohun and Stanton. It had been agreed, months ago, that he would return here once he’d secured Stanton’s s
upport. He knew not what came next, but worrying about the future was futile since they may or may not still have their heads when this was over.
“Terric.”
The chief frowned. “I am not Guy. You can speak to me of this.”
The Scot did not intend to disparage their friend. He understood Terric’s meaning. While Guy would never find himself at the mercy of love, or so he thought, Terric had already done so once before. He understood as well as anyone the pain of its loss.
“As I said—”
“You said there’s nothing to tell. You’re off your head if you think I believe that.”
For such a large man, Terric could be surprisingly . . . gentle. But Lance really did not want to discuss Idalia.
Despite knowing his efforts would be futile, he’d tried to see her before he had left. Unsurprisingly, she’d refused him. Though he’d gained Stanton’s support for their cause, he had lost something even more valuable.
“She is . . . remarkable,” he found himself saying. “When I arrived, her mother was very ill. Thankfully, a physician arrived from London just before I left. It seems the skullcap she’d been taking for her headaches was the cause of her condition. But in her absence, Idalia took her mother’s place, since her older sister had married not long before,” he explained.
“But you don’t wish to speak of her. Lady Idalia?”
“Nay.”
Terric cleared his throat.
“What is there to say? We spent some time together and . . .”
It was excruciating to talk about her, even in such general terms. Although he’d opened himself to Idalia, Lance was not a man accustomed to speaking about his feelings. Before meeting her, the only person he’d professed to love was his mother.
“We fell in love,” he said, forcing the words out. Surely Terric would know better than to press.
“Hmmm.”
Lance concentrated on the tapestry behind his friend’s head. The lord’s chamber was overly large but nearly always cold. Multiple tapestries attempted, futilely, to keep out the chill.
“If Guy sat here, having declared such a thing, I would tell him to continue as if he’d not met the lass. But you are not Guy.”
“Thank the saints,” he said, forcing a smile.
Terric did not return it. “I am sorry your station prevents you from being with a woman such as Lady Idalia,” he said, his tone earnest.
Lance said nothing.
“’Tis unjust, but ’tis the way of things.”
“Her mother gave her blessing,” Lance blurted out.
As expected, that fact managed to surprise Terric.
“She learned of our . . . indiscretion and, for her own reasons, was not against the match.”
“How odd.”
“But the earl . . .” His voice trailed off.
Terric nodded, his expression understanding. “’Tis surprising he did not toss you from Stanton when he learned of it.”
“He didn’t.”
“Pardon?” His friend leaned forward as if perhaps he’d misheard.
“He did not learn of it. I could not chance telling him. And, to my knowledge, neither Idalia nor her mother did either.”
Lance attempted to appear casual, but the Scot’s expression made his chest ache. The longing he’d suppressed these last days rushed over him in a suffocating wave.
“You must tell him,” Terric said.
“No.”
“Lance—”
“I will not risk this mission. For anything.”
It was only this thought that had allowed him to do what was needed and leave her.
Terric ran both hands through his hair. “Guy said he’d never seen you so . . . at ease before as you were at Stanton.”
Lance stood. “So?”
“You do not deny it?”
“Deny that Idalia made me feel whole? Nay, I will not. But we’ve more important matters to discuss.”
“More important? Do you truly believe a man who risks losing his title and property, possibly his life, will change allegiances because a blacksmith dares to confess loving his daughter?” Terric stood with him, his voice rising. “You’re an intelligent man. I know it well. Think about it for a moment.”
All of the anger and frustration and thwarted love bubbled inside him, forming a toxic brew. “Think about it?” he shouted, something he rarely did. “I’ve done nothing else since meeting her. But I will not endanger our mission. And I’m surprised you’d have me do so.”
He turned to leave.
“It’s not our mission you endanger,” Terric said.
The softness of his tone was more jarring than if he’d shouted back at him.
A chill ran through Lance’s shoulders and into his arms. He sucked in his breath and let it out, not trusting himself to respond.
So he left.
Something he was quite good at doing. Except this time, he had a real life, one that he loved. One that was gone, for good.
25
Idalia wandered through the crowded stands in search of her sister. After asking a few merchants if they’d seen Lady Tilly, she finally decided to let her sister find her instead.
“Is this where you propose to place the covered stands?”
The voice, a sweet sound to her ears, came from behind.
“Aye, Mother.” She spun around. “Do you think the idea has merit?”
“Very much so.”
The lady of Stanton paused to run her hand along a slip of silk. The merchant came over at once, eyes full of eagerness, and they launched into conversation about his wares. The fabrics in his stall were beautiful, but it was a nearby table that caught Idalia’s eye.
“These are lovely,” she said to the man who stood behind it. The man Idalia had been determined to avoid all week.
Stanton’s new smith.
Idalia was not sure how Lance had done it, but apparently he’d promised her father he would find them a new smith. And he had.
She’d welcomed the man to the castle, of course, but had not once visited the forge. And although she had sought solace at the Small Tower for years, she found she could no longer go there. Even looking down toward Eller’s Green assaulted her with unwanted memories. When the need to be alone overcame her, Idalia instead climbed the ramparts to the west, enduring the guardsman’s uneasy glances. There was no tower to hide behind, but at least the wall-walk afforded her new views.
Ones that did not remind her of Lance.
“Many thanks, my lady,” said the new smith.
The man was only a slight bit older than her father, but his hair was completely white. When he’d asked her mother for permission to sell some of his wares at the market, she’d granted it gladly.
Though he was a blacksmith, the man had knowledge of whitesmithing. The jewelry that sat before her was quite beautiful, in fact.
“I apologize for not coming to you sooner.” She had no real reason to give him.
“No apologies are necessary, my lady.”
Though Idalia involved herself less in the daily affairs of Stanton than she had when her mother was ill, it was true that Idalia continued to take on far too much. According to Tilly, at least. Just that morning her sister had begged her to allow Mother to purchase for Stanton. “Go to market day unfettered, just for you,” she had said.
If only she could be as carefree as that.
“If I could commission one of these”—she picked up a bracelet—“from you?”
“It would be my honor, my lady.”
“The old smith was nearly as skilled,” her mother said from behind her. “He made this, in fact.”
Idalia did not realize her mother wore Lance’s bracelet under her long sleeve. Taking it off, she showed the new smith.
“Fine handiwork indeed,” he said, handing it back to her. “But that is to be expected. Master Lance apprenticed for one of the greatest smiths of our time.”
“You knew his father?” Idalia asked before thin
king better of it.
“Indeed. A great smith.”
But not a good man, she added silently.
He attempted to hand the bracelet back to her mother, but she’d already hurried off to greet an old friend. Putting it on her wrist, she allowed herself to wander through the stands, although she acquired some much-needed spices for the kitchens instead of browsing for her own enjoyment.
Later, when it was time to leave, she finally found her sister.
“Where have you been?”
Tilly shoved a handful of ribbons at her. The silk strands of color caressed her hands as she stared at them.
“Look at this shade of blue. Have you ever seen anything so lovely?”
Shaking her head, Idalia walked toward the stables.
“I have not. Have you seen Mother?”
“Idalia, look.”
There was nothing there but ribbons. She glanced at her sister in confusion.
“At?”
“You answered before you even looked at it. Will you be like this much longer? ’Tis frustrating.”
“Be like what, my dear?” their mother said, joining them.
“Moving through life as if she is not a part of it.”
Idalia rolled her eyes.
“You will give Mother a headache with your riddles,” she scolded.
Thankfully, her mother had experienced no further head pain since she’d stopped taking the skullcap. Just as the physician had predicted, Mother’s ailments had abated within days. Though she still appeared frail, her coloring had improved. And most importantly, she felt wonderful. As if she’d woken from a horrible nightmare.
Ironically, though her father had refused to do so before, Father Sica’s apparent disbelief that her mother was healed without his intervention was his undoing. He sent the priest away with enough coin to placate him after the harsh words Idalia had long hoped would precede his departure.
“’Tis not so much a riddle but a fact. Since Lance left, you have not been yourself.”
Tilly, it seemed, knew more than expected. Idalia avoided her mother’s eyes. Her mother had tried to speak with her about Lance, but she refused to discuss what had happened with him.
The Blacksmith: Order of the Broken Blade Page 14