“Idalia, I’ve so much to tell you,” he said as he stepped inside.
She closed the door behind him.
“I would prefer you did not.”
His chest constricted.
“You hate me. Understandably.”
“Hate you? Nay, I could never hate you.” Her laughter, so genuine and spontaneous, surprised him. “But you misunderstand me. I’d rather you not tell me how you feel . . .”
She bit the side of her lip, a gesture that shot straight down to his cock, but Lance didn’t allow himself to interpret the gesture—and the leading remark—as he’d like.
“I’d prefer it if you showed me.”
He sucked in a breath. “Idalia,” he ground out. “I did not come here with the intent to seduce you.”
True enough, but she was making it difficult not to do so. When she looked at him that way . . .
“Pity.”
Idalia turned and walked toward the hearth, stooping to put another piece of wood in the flames.
He stood at the door, mouth open, more surprised than when her father had agreed to allow him to court her.
Who was this woman?
Certainly not the one who had so tentatively touched her lips to his that first time.
And yet . . . Lance had known from the start there was a passion in her. Idalia just needed someone to trust. To allow her to relax, taking care of her as she did everyone else.
He was that someone.
He may not have come to seduce her, but by God that was exactly what he would do.
28
Was she still angry?
Aye, but Lance would not be leaving Stanton Castle again without her.
Idalia sensed him standing behind her, but it wasn’t until she felt the braid being lifted off her back that she realized how close. A moment later, her hair fell against her back, the blue ribbon that had tied it together slipping onto the ground.
Pushing aside the very tresses he’d just released, Lance leaned closer. So close, she could feel his breath on her neck from behind.
“Show you?” he whispered. “Aye, I would gladly show you.” The kindling she’d added to the fire released a loud, resonant crackle as his lips finally touched her neck.
“I would gladly show you,” he whispered as he continued to trail featherlight kisses down her neck, her ear, “how sorry I am for not telling you sooner.”
His mouth lowered to the soft spot just behind her ear as his hands reached around to cup her breasts. Needing to see him, Idalia turned in his embrace. He kissed her so passionately, she could not catch her breath. Nor did she wish to. She poured all her emotion into that kiss—every tear she’d cried, every morning she’d awoken bereft from longing—and knew he was doing the same.
They came together desperately, but soon their kiss was much more. With just the thin chemise between them, Idalia could feel everything.
Lance reached down to the hem of her chemise, lifting it off in one swift motion. She wore nothing under it, and for a moment, he stepped back and stared at her. There was ample light in the chamber from the fire and wall torches for her to see the awe and reverence in his face.
“You look at me as if you’ve never seen a woman as such before.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Nay, I don’t want to know.”
“No woman matters but you.”
Lance tore off his shirt, revealing those arms she’d admired so many times before in the forge.
Reaching out, she indulged herself, sliding her hand from the marking on his bicep upward.
“I’m glad you left your surcoat behind.”
When he pulled her close once again, their bare skin touched, his chest hard against hers. And then he was kissing her again, his hands roaming from her back to her backside.
And that’s when she realized it.
This man, this big, handsome man would be her husband. He would be hers, and she would be his. Tonight and forever after.
“Your skin is so . . . ,” she murmured when his lips left her to explore, “warm.”
He smiled down at her and then swooped her up off her feet—“Oh!”—carrying her like a babe to the bed. His immense strength was belied by the gentleness with which he laid her down. The tenderness with which he regarded her.
Undressing himself, Lance never took his eyes from hers.
When his manhood sprang free, her eyes widened.
Idalia knew how this was supposed to work, but suddenly she could not imagine it.
She didn’t say so, but somehow he understood.
“Don’t worry,” he said, kneeling between her legs. Both hands rested on her breasts. “When it’s time, you’ll understand how ’tis possible.”
Lance began to move both thumbs, rubbing small circles at first. And then he pinched her, hard enough that Idalia arched her back.
“In fact, you will want nothing more”—his fingers traced a path around the top of each breast and down to her waist—“than to feel me inside you.”
His talented fingers lingered on her hips, though she willed them to pleasure her as they’d done before.
“Nay, my sweet sun.” He reached under her knees. “My hands will stay right here, content to let my mouth play its part.”
She understood his words just as Lance lowered his head between her legs.
So he’d not spoken false. This was truly happening.
The feeling was so unusual that she tried to close her legs.
“Nay,” he said, opening them again, his warm breath tickling her.
Once again, Lance lowered his head. His tongue and mouth were even more talented than his fingers, it turned out, and this time, she nearly screamed in encouragement.
“If you ever stop,” she said as he continued, “I will tell the king himself of your plans.”
He swirled and teased, and Idalia could not seem to stop talking.
“Of course, I’d never do such a—oh my!”
Idalia let go of the poor, abused coverlet and attempted to hold on to Lance instead. Her fingers gripped both of his shoulders, and when he moaned, she arced up off the bed.
“That feeling,” she said, gripping more tightly. “’Tis there, so close.”
Despite her threat, he stopped.
Before she even had an opportunity to chastise him, Lance had shifted his position. He now lay on top of her, his body propped on his elbows.
“That feeling . . .” He stared at her so intently, she almost forgot to look down.
Almost.
“That feeling is a release of pleasure. As your husband . . .” He smiled. A beautiful, rare, smile. “I vow it will happen often.”
When he guided himself toward her, Idalia gripped his wrists. She knew what would come next, courtesy of Roysa, but hearing of it was very different than the actual act.
“Think of how you felt a moment ago, with my lips on you.”
Idalia looked at those lips now. The very recent memory came back quickly.
“It will hurt for a moment.” He entered her then, and she forgot about his lips. Looking down at where they were joined, her eyes widened.
It didn’t hurt at all. It felt odd. Intimate. But there was no pain.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“I love you, Idalia.”
With that, he kissed her. Hard.
The sensation of him inside her, his bare chest against her, his kiss . . .
And then he thrust in more deeply and Idalia broke off the kiss.
“That did hurt!”
His eyes were full of concern. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his hand against her cheek. “I am sorry. But it will not pain you for long.”
Indeed, it did not.
She clenched against him and nearly laughed at the expression on his face. Lance looked as if he were in pain. But she was no fool. Idalia knew he restrained himself—something he need not do any longer.
“The pain. ’Tis subsi
ding.”
She smiled at his obvious relief.
“’Tis pleasant enough,” she said.
Although it wasn’t exactly what she’d expected, she savored the closeness to him.
His knowing look put a bigger smile on her face. “There’s more?” she guessed.
Lance began to move. “Aye. There’s more.”
Slowly at first, the muscles in his arms straining as he kept himself lifted above her, Lance pulled himself out.
And then he pushed back in a bit more quickly, his grin unlike any she’d seen before.
“Oh!” she gasped. “That’s more than pleasant.”
In response, Lance reached between them, somehow holding himself up with one arm, and Idalia was lost.
She met his movements, pressing herself into his fingers. Into him.
With each thrust, she felt his desperation. His love. She’d lost more than her maidenhood this night.
She’d lost the self-doubt that had made her feel she didn’t deserve to be cherished in the way she cherished other people.
“We will never be apart again,” she said, Lance never taking his eyes from her.
“Never,” he agreed.
“I am so close to . . . something.”
“Coming. You can say it.”
He circled his hips, his thumb pressing against her.
“You can say anything to me, Idalia.”
He thrust hard then, and she was lost. When he moved his hand back to the bed, Idalia reveled in the sensation of being trapped between his two massive arms.
Every muscle clenched together. Her legs, her buttocks. So tight, even her eyes squeezed shut. She made a sound that was hard to believe came from her lips.
And there it was.
Idalia opened her eyes, wanting to see him, and stared at his face. Mouth open, head back, he found his pleasure too.
In her.
It was the most glorious, most powerful feeling in the world. She would hold him to his promise to ensure it happened often.
Collapsing on her, Lance kissed her lips and then her neck.
She wrapped her arms around him, or tried to at least, as the final pulses of pleasure ebbed away.
“I never want to move,” she said.
In response, he did move, just slightly. Idalia sighed.
“More than pleasant?” He lifted his head.
“Much more.”
She looked into his eyes then, knowing there was still much that troubled him. But at this moment, her blacksmith was content.
“I love you,” she said, aware she’d not said the words aloud before.
She was about to say more when an insistent knock on the door startled them both.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Lance said, pulling away, “before I die.”
Idalia wanted to reassure him otherwise, but as she scrambled to dress, she feared his assessment might be quite accurate.
29
He’d had a good life. Finding Idalia, falling in love . . . it was more than he’d ever hoped for. As he reached for the iron handle of Lord Stanton’s solar, a fine piece of craftsmanship, Lance resigned himself to the fact that this may very well be it for him.
Not that he blamed the earl.
If he had a daughter and a man who was not her husband snuck into her bedchamber and took her virginity, he’d likely kill the fool too.
The poor maid. Leana had been mortified to fetch him in Idalia’s bedchamber, knowing where he would be found.
The earl had bade her fetch him, saying he wished to speak to him immediately.
“Good eve, my lord,” he said, admiring how well lit the chamber was compared to the dark corridors. There were at least ten wall torches bracketed around the ceiling of the circular room.
“I am in here often,” he said by way of explanation for the lighting. He gestured for Lance to take a seat. “Even at night.”
“You wished to see me?”
He didn’t look like a man who was about to end his life, but Lance knew better than to trust appearances.
“I apologize for the hour. But we have much to discuss.”
“Indeed.”
So he had not brought him here to kill him? Or to toss him in Stanton’s dungeons?
Perhaps he didn’t know after all.
“You will be wed to my daughter, then?”
They’d not actually discussed the wedding, but after this night, it was a certain outcome.
“Aye, my lord.”
“There is the matter of her dowry.”
“I do not expect her to have one, my lord. I bring little enough to this union, as you are aware.”
Stanton sat back in his chair, pointing to the pitcher in front of him.
“Wine?”
He nodded.
As Stanton handed him a goblet, he continued. “You offer her protection. And love.” The earl shifted, clearly uncomfortable with that last sentiment. “But she has been raised with a certain level of . . . comfort.”
Stanton took a sip of his wine, so Lance did the same. “Her dowry will include Tuleen Castle.”
“Just on the other side of Stanton’s village?”
He’d seen it on the way here, a handsome structure.
“Aye. As well as the income from the market.”
Lance nearly dropped his wine. That was no small gift, and both men knew it well.
“Idalia has some ideas for expansion. Of course, with events unfolding as they are . . .”
The earl offered much more than he could have imagined, certainly more than he would ever need. He cared only for Idalia. And for keeping his head after this rebellion. Those were the only two things that mattered.
Lance should likely not say what he was thinking, especially in light of the earl’s generosity. And yet, Idalia had made herself quite clear, and the earl would discover his daughter’s intention soon enough anyway.
“She aims to come with me, my lord.”
His words had precisely the effect Lance had expected. Thankfully, the seneschal chose that moment to open the door.
“Pardon, my lord. Would you care for more wine?”
Stanton did not answer. The seneschal took that as a sign to leave, but Lance stopped him.
“If I may ask a favor, sir?”
Dawson nodded.
“Will you send for the Lady Idalia please?”
Dawson glanced at the earl, who nodded tightly, and then back at him.
“Very good.” With a small bow, he left.
And Lance was left alone, once again, with the Earl of Stanton.
And his anger.
“She will not.”
Before he’d met Conrad and Terric, Lance would have been terrified to address an earl in so bold a manner. But his friends had taught him to see beyond titles and holdings. Conrad and Terric were lords, aye, but they were also simply men.
The same ones who jested and drank with him. Who talked of pretty women and practiced their swordplay with him and Guy.
Stanton was an earl, aye. But he was also a man.
“Your daughter is one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met. Strong and independent, she is extraordinary, as you know.”
“Which is why she will not be thrown into the middle of a rebellion against the king.”
“I would have her stay at Stanton, or Tuleen, as well. But she has indicated her intention to do otherwise. And I must respect that.”
Stanton slammed down his goblet.
“You must respect me. And I say she will not go with you.”
Lance could not change this man’s thinking any more than he could change his own father. They believed differently about Idalia’s role, a woman’s role—and the earl’s beliefs were likely as deeply rooted as his own.
But he could try, at least, to make him understand his thinking.
“You said Idalia has ideas for the market. Are those more valid than the ideas she has on where to go? How to live?”
“You push yo
ur luck, smith.”
He did indeed.
Then again, he’d been doing so from the first moment he stepped foot in Stanton Castle, and it hadn’t failed him yet.
“I am the same man to whom you pledged your support. And your daughter’s hand in marriage. Trust that your judgement is sound, and I will not disappoint you.”
Lance silently thanked Guy for his lessons on logic and argument. Without them, he’d have already been tossed from the chamber.
As Stanton continued to glare at him, he took a sip of the fine red wine.
Lance was sure the earl would rebuke him again, but when the door slammed open behind him, both men turned to stare.
Idalia had arrived.
* * *
“Please do not be angry with him,” she said to her father, his dark expression as fierce as she’d feared it would be. She’d been on her way down to the solar when Dawson caught up with her.
She was prepared to continue when Lance caught her eye. He shook his head ever so slightly. At first she thought he wanted to silence her—a thought that summoned a spurt of anger—but she quickly remembered Lance was not her father. He was attempting to tell her something.
She trusted him, so she stopped talking and waited for her father to respond.
“He tells me you plan to accompany him?”
Her father dared her to refute the words, but she would not.
Did he know Lance had been in her bedchamber?
“We’ve not discussed it in great detail just yet.”
Or even a wedding. They’d been otherwise occupied.
“You will not go with him.”
Her shoulders slumped at his tone. His words, as always, were final.
Idalia looked at Lance as she moved toward him. Forgetting to be embarrassed after what had passed between them, she thought instead of all he’d endured at the hands of his father. It was true hers could be difficult, but he had never once raised a hand against anyone in their family. Never would. But his treatment had hurt her in other ways, and the time had come to stand her ground.
Instead of bowing her head, as she’d normally do, she raised her chin. “I will go with him,” she said, speaking as if she were the earl instead of merely his daughter. “You’ve given your blessing to him, a man you hardly know. Now give it to me, your daughter, whom you know is capable.”
The Blacksmith: Order of the Broken Blade Page 16
