Although I’ve thought of this moment many times over the last few days, of what it might feel like to kiss him, I know it would be a fleeting pleasure. As he has said, he will be leaving, with or without Kipp. And yet, I want to do it anyway. I gulp the air, thick still with the remnants of the storm.
“I would kiss you, Aedre.”
I want that too. But I can’t find the words. Fine Garra I’ve proven to be. My vocation is to help others with love, only the desire I feel for this man has filled me with longing and fear.
Longing for a man who would do as right by me as he would the king he serves.
Fear at the knowledge that I would enjoy the kiss. That I would want more.
Where would such a foolhardy act leave me? With an eternal ache in my heart for what could have been had the king’s commander been any other man?
“You will leave any day,” I accuse.
“Aye.”
“How many women have you kissed in moments such as this?”
I imagine a trail of women, from Murwood down to the capital, wishing for just one more glance, one more touch, from Lord Vanni d’Abella.
“Not as many as you believe it to be.”
My questions seem to be enough of an answer for him. Vanni steps back, and the heat between us dissipates into a cold chill.
His chin rises. “Apologies, my lady.”
But he doesn’t move to leave—he’s waiting for me to walk away.
Should I tell him that my hesitation is because I fear a fleeting moment of pleasure will curse me with visions of him after he leaves? Even now, without such intimacies, I fear his face will be one I see for some time.
What could he say to that?
Nothing that would ease the sting of losing him.
And so, for the second time, I walk away. This time with a heavier heart than before. This afternoon was truly pleasurable.
“Good eve,” I mutter, grasping my skirts even more tightly as I hurry toward home. I don’t look back until I reach the gate which fences in our manor, the only home I remember. Once, we lived at the back of the forge. But as the years went on, my father and grandmother earned enough coin to build a small manor that better accommodates us all, and we moved here.
Turning, I strain to see him, but the fickle moon doesn’t cast enough light. Though I don’t see him, I do not need to. I’m as certain Vanni still waits there as I am my father and Amma will have many questions.
Well, I have questions for them as well. Though my father and grandmother disagree about my future, they’ve always held a united front in telling me powerful people have questionable motives.
Either Vanni is the rare exception or their warnings have been overzealous, making me wonder if any of my other long-held beliefs are mistaken.
Chapter Sixteen Vanni
I hear her laughter before I see her. Not the tinkling laughter of one of the women at court, but a deep sound. A sound one could cherish, if given the chance.
I nearly reconsider my visit when a voice calls my name.
Sitting beside the forge, looking out toward the sea, a woman who must be her grandmother crooks a finger for me to come close.
Smoke billows from the building as I move toward her.
Lady Edrys has the kind of eyes that see through a person. She says nothing as I stand before her, waiting for her assessment.
“You are the commander.”
Her voice is stronger than her body. Hunched slightly, her hands knotted on her lap, the Garra reminds me of the steward’s wife at Castle d’Almerita, wise in a way that none who’ve lived a shorter time can match.
“Aye, my lady. Lord Vanni d’Abella, if it pleases you.”
Bowing, I stand as she reaches out her hand.
I take it, not knowing what to expect. She turns my palm up and holds it for some time. When she finally releases it, I feel as if she knows more of me than I do of her.
“You worry for Aedre,” I guess, knowing she’s told her grandmother a little about the time we’ve spent together.
“Always.”
I try to reassure her. “I’d not dishonor your granddaughter, despite what you think of me.”
She seems surprised by that.
“And what do I think of you, Lord d’Abella?”
My answer is swift. “That I disagree with your practice. I don’t, though, and I would never seek to harm you or Aedre.”
“Hmmm.” She does not deny it.
“I’ve a purpose here, and ’tis not to persecute anyone.”
Another “hmm” follows.
“Forgive me for being forward, but Aedre seemed to believe I’d wish her harm when we first met.” Realizing I used her given name, I attempt to amend my words. “Lady Aedre. I mean no disrespect.”
“I thought I heard your voice.”
I turn . . . and immediately wish I hadn’t. Seeing Aedre this way, her blacksmith’s apron covering her, no gown today but a pair of men’s breeches and shirt beneath it . . .
Her hair is piled atop her head. Hammer in hand.
God, what a woman.
“Good day, my lady. I’m here to check on the progress of my sword.”
And to see you, for it seems I can’t stay away, even when you wish it so.
The sound of iron banging against iron and the smell of smoke reminds me of the forge at the castle. The people of Murwood End may not bow to either king nor queen, but they’ve many of the same customs as we do. This forge could easily belong in the south.
“’Tis nearly finished. Come, see.”
I nod to Lady Edrys, still uncertain of her thoughts about me.
“Does she always speak so little?” I whisper as we head into the forge.
“To strangers, aye.”
Of course I am a stranger, and in most villages, outsiders are met with mistrust and unease. But I don’t want to be a stranger to Aedre, or to those she holds dear.
“Ahh, Lord
