Page 36 of Picking Up the Gauntlet

“That’s enough for the night,” Jonathon told Gerold and Avery. “You two can go to bed now. Come in, Lady Raven.”

“Go to bed? Already?” asked Avery. Gerold yawned and wiped one eye.

“Don’t we need to clean up first?” asked Gerold.

“I’ll take care of it as well as shutting down the forge. We’ll start early in the morning, so get some shut-eye,” Jonathon told them, wanting to be alone with Raven.

“My lady,” said Avery, nodding, then glowering at Jonathon before turning and taking the boy with him to the adjoining room that was used for sleeping.

“Close the door behind you,” Jonathon called out to his brother, wanting privacy. Avery grumbled but did as he was told.

“You didn’t need to send them away,” said Raven, feeling a little uncomfortable to be alone with Jonathon.

“This doesn’t concern them and it is best if they’re not involved.”

Raven watched as Jonathon used the long tongs to spread out the hot coals on the forge, preparing to shut it down. He then picked up a bottle of water and sprinkled it over the flames, causing smoke to rise up in thin tendrils.

“What were you making?” asked Raven, curiously walking over to where he’d been hitting his hammer against an anvil. She reached out for a rod lying there.

“Don’t touch that! It might still be hot.” He reached out and took her hand and led her across the room. “We were making nails,” he mumbled, releasing her hand and digging for something in a drawer.

Raven coughed since it was still smoky in there, even though a hole in the roof vented the air. Her eyes traveled down Jonathon’s body as he bent over now, digging through a leather bag.

“I know it’s here somewhere.”

“What are you looking for?” she asked, walking closer to him. His skin glistened from sweat, but it only made him more enticing. Soot covered his bare forearms, the hairs looking black even though the hair on his head was brown and tied back, trailing down the nape of his neck. He wore breeches that hugged the muscles of his hips. The tunic under his long leather apron was open at the neck, showing off part of his chest. “It’s hot in here,” she said, feeling suddenly warmer than before as she drank in his manly physique.

“I can open the front door if you’d like.” He took a step toward it, but she reached out and touched his arm to stop him.

“Nay,” she said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to see me in here so late at night.”

“Aye,” he agreed, with a slight nod. “I suppose that would only cause trouble. Oh, there it is.” He walked over to a hook on the wall and removed a long piece of twine that seemed to have markings down it. He held it up, and walked back to her.

“What is that?” she asked.

“It’s my measuring string. To measure you for your armor.”

“Oh. I see.”

He stood there holding the string and looking at her, seeming not to know where to start.

“What do you need to measure first?”

“I-I suppose your arms,” he told her.

She stood straight and held her arms out to her sides. “Go ahead.”

“Nay, my lady. Not like that.”

“Then how?” She slowly lowered her arms.

“Well, first I need to know the length of both your upper arm and your forearm.” He gently reached out, lifting one of her arms forward instead of out to the side. He used the string to measure the distance, looking at the marks on it. Then he bent her arm upward from her elbow so her hand was against her chest, and measured it that way, too.

“All right. Now I need to know the size of your legs.” He looked down and stopped. She was wearing a gown and her legs were covered.

“Oh. I suppose I should have worn trews?”

“Aye, this would have been a good time to dress like a man.” He cleared his throat and got down on one knee. He reached out for the hem of her gown but pulled his hands back and shook his head. “Nay. I can’t do this.”