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Lance stopped as they returned to his private chambers at the back of the forge.

“I am not a man in love.”

Yet his mind went back to the night before, to the countess’s confident declaration that her daughter loved him. His friend had been relentless in his interrogation about that meeting, but Lance had refused to tell him anything. Nor would he do so now, out in the open.

As soon as they entered the private chambers behind the forge, Guy unbelted his sword and laid it on the sole table in the place Lance now called home. Though small, it was larger than his last home and not so much bigger than the one in which he was raised.

“Your behavior says otherwise,” Guy quibbled.

Lance sat on the bed, hands on his knees.

“You’re certain there is no mission to which you should be attending?”

Guy’s impertinent smile was his answer.

“Since securing Stanton’s support is essential, no. After last eve, I’ve a sense I shouldn’t leave the job solely to you.”

He shouldn’t ask questions to which he already knew the answer.

Both men fell silent.

For a man in love.

He had never been in love before. He’d bedded women, but only those with little expectation of a future with him. Widows, mostly.

Idalia was different.

He mourned every moment they were not together even though he knew he should be concentrating on the task at hand. And while he’d heard some encouraging news today—the earl had apparently paid a visit the previous month to a border lord who was vocal with his disdain for the king’s current practices—Lance’s thoughts were filled with Idalia.

And her mother. Would she truly welcome a blacksmith as her daughter’s husband? It seemed unlikely, despite her words.

“You are distracted.”

Lance did not deny it.

“While we sit here at Stanton, the king continues to wreak havoc on all of our lives. Even Stanton’s own village shows signs of peasants’ suffering courtesy of John’s outrageous taxes.”

Also true.

“Lance? For Christ’s sake, are you listening to me?”

Accustomed to his friend’s fiery temper, he ignored the tone and answered his question. “Aye. And am getting closer to the truth. When the time is right, I will ask for an audience.”

“Ask her.” Guy began pacing his small room. “A few poignant questions and you’ll have the information you need. Don’t be a fool, Lance.”

He was afraid it may be too late for that.

“Listen to me.” Guy stopped directly in front of him. “How do you think this ends?”

Lance clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

“Stanton will support our order,” Guy continued, “or he will not. Either way, we’ll end up leaving. As comfortable as this may be”—he swept his hands around to indicate the chambers—“it is not your home.”

Though Guy’s words rang true, Lance disliked hearing them aloud.

“An earl’s daughter deserves more than a blacksmith for a husband,” he said, his voice flat.

Guy’s lips tightened. “I said no such thing.”