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“Did you never think to tell me? To ask me of my father’s position, of Stanton’s position?”

“I tried not to involve you, Idalia. I didn’t want to use my relationship with you to further my mission. I never planned to fall in love with you.”

Her head dropped, shoulders sagged.

“You are just like him.”

With that, she opened the door.

“Like who? Idalia, stay. Please. I would talk about this with you.”

When she looked up, Lance was sorry he’d stopped her. He would never forget the look on her face at that moment. Her eyes flat. Lips pinched. So unlike Idalia.

“The man whose approval you seek. Go.” She swept her free hand toward the door. “Meet with him. You’ll likely find the support you seek, for he despises our king as much as, maybe more than, you do. If you had but asked, I would have told you that long ago.”

“Idalia . . .”

She didn’t even look at him again. She merely opened the door and walked out.

He thought to stop her, but what could he say? I’m sorry? The words seemed hollow even to his own ears.

I love you? If he was right—and judging by Idalia’s parting words, he’d been correct in his assessment of the earl’s position—could he really risk Lord Stanton’s ire by asking for Idalia’s hand in marriage?

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.

Chapter 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 Lavallis 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.