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“Nay. I am simply Idalia.”
“And I am nothing more than a smith.”
She wanted to argue with him. But he was, indeed, a blacksmith. A man she could never be with for more than a few stolen moments. He left her with a sad smile and the knowledge that her passion had been awakened, and dampened, all in one night.
Chapter 11
“Iam not your damn apprentice,” Guy said, but as he did so he tossed Lance a pair of pliers.
Catching them, Lance winked at his actual apprentices, both of whom giggled at his friend’s joke. Guy had spent the day with them in the forge. Yesterday, he’d done the same. The distraction had helped Lance stay away from Idalia, although it had done nothing to stop him from thinking about her. He doubted if anything could.
“Go ahead,” he told the boys. Darkness had already fallen, and it was time for them to go home.
Guy watched the brothers leave. “Good boys, those two. Like we once were.”
Lance didn’t flinch, although he knew at once what Guy spoke of. He was convinced Guy simply liked to argue. Why else would he have brought up the incident again, all these years later?
“But would you call our actions ‘good’?”
“Yes.” Lance started cleaning the shop as he spoke. Not willing to be dragged into one of Guy’s mental meanderings—the man could talk for hours without reaching a resolution—he changed the topic. “How long do you plan to stay at Stanton?”
He’d been here for two days, and while Lance was genuinely glad to see his friend, Guy’s presence had not helped him make connections with the people here. Everything about Guy was . . . grand. His looks. His gestures. The mercenary had made it his life’s work to attract attention—something that usually helped him find a new master willing to pay for his services.
Which was exactly why Lance had attempted to keep him contained in the forge. Lance’s goal wasn’t to attract attention here at Stanton—he needed to blend in, to become one of them. It was the only way anyone would dare lower their guard around him. The only way they might admit to entertaining a hint of opposition against the king. Only then could he gauge if Idalia’s father might be receptive to them.
Idalia’s father.
When had the Earl of Stanton become Idalia’s father?
Two nights ago when you kissed her, that’s when.
“You’re thinking of the girl again.”
“Hardly a girl,” he said, tossing his apron onto the stool.
“If you allowed me into the hall again, I might observe her better myself and form an opinion.”
He rolled his eyes. “Exactly the reason we don’t venture there.”
Guy crossed his arms. “You want to be rid of me, do you not?”
“Aye.” He didn’t bother hiding what his friend already knew.
“And I want to appease my curiosity before I go. The only woman to ever catch the eye of Lancelin Wayland of Marwood. She must be a beauty indeed.”
“You’ll not meet her.” He’d kept his friend within sight at all times to ensure it.
Guy sat next to the dying flames, the forge’s fire nearly extinguished for the night.
“You forget our purpose,” Lance muttered.
“I forget our purpose? You have an intimate encounter with a woman who can give you direct access to the very man whose support we need, and I forget my purpose?”
He should never have told him, but Guy could be persuasive, and apparently Lance did not hide his feelings well. An oddity, that—he’d always thought he was an expert at that particular talent. When he’d come back from meeting Idalia two nights ago, Lance had not intended to share anything with his friend.
But he’d confessed all in the end, and had been paying the price since.
“We’ve been through this . . .”
