Page 18 of Ironling
Clearing his throat to stall, he finally said, “Tek’tek.”
Her head of golden hair tipped to the side in curiosity. To his astonishment, she drew closer to him, holding out her hand. “May I?”
Whole face burning in a ruddy blush, Hakon swiped his thumb over the ball of wax to clean it best he could before he placed it in her soft palm. Fates, she had fine fingers—long-boned, soft, the nails perfect little crescents.
Angling her hand into the firelight, she smiled when she realized, “Beeswax.”
A relieved breath rushed out of his tight lungs. “Yes, my lady.”
“You use them to protect your ears?”
“My hearing, yes. Forging can get very loud.” He mimicked the motion of hammering metal on an anvil.
Handing the wax back, her smile widened. “That is a smart practice, master blacksmith.”
“An old practice,” he told her. “My grandfather used it and so do I.”
“Your grandfather was wise. Perhaps you’ll be able to convince Fearghas to follow your example. Maybe then he’ll keep what hearing he has left.” She smiled good-naturedly, as if she was fond of the surly older blacksmith, and Hakon hesitantly returned the gesture.
It was true, even with protection, smiths tended to go deaf from all the loud noises of the forge. A cold, sickly dread always crept up Hakon’s neck to think of losing any more of his hearing.
His grandmother too had had difficulty hearing in one of her ears. Hakon supposed, like his eyes, it was something that proved he was one of them.
“Do you usually work so late into the night, Master Green-Fist, or is Fearghas setting you that much to do?”
Fates, his ears would never return to normal at the rate they heated.
Clearing his throat, Hakon’s answer was diplomatic. “A bit of both, my lady. Although—” he winced to think it “—if I’m disturbing you with the noise…”
“No, no! Don’t think of it. I only wondered—the night is quieter and cooler and it seems—what I meant…” He thought it must be a trick of the light, but her cheeks flushed with color. Taking a moment to collect herself, Lady Aislinn said, “All I meant to say was that I like working at night, too.” She noddedtoward the open windows of the smithy, at one of the upper-level windows of the castle. “I was working myself and saw the fires still burning from my window.”
Those blunt teeth caught the plush curve of her lower lip between them, catching Hakon’s attention just as surely. Something fluttered in the pit of his stomach, and he watched dazedly as she took another few steps into the smithy to stand before him.
Wülf followed her stride for stride, pushing his head into her hand again.
“I was hoping…well, you may not have the time for it, of course. I’ll understand if there’s too much to do. But, if you’d be willing, I have a special project I’d like your help on.”
Pleasure, sharp and aching, lodged between his ribs.
“Anything, my lady.”
A smile, brighter than the sun and just as warm, broke across her face. She tempered it quickly, but Hakon already saw it seared across his mind’s eye, like a green burst across his eyelids after staring at the sun.
The sight stunned him long enough that she was already opening the book she’d brought with her and showing him a page before he got his wits about him.
It took him a moment to realize—she was showing him a notebook, full of drawings and notes. The page she held up to him was a sketch of what looked like a wicked pair of gardening shears, the blades curved like a scythe.
“I was hoping you might make me these,” she said, pulling the book back to rest on her shoulder so she could point out different aspects of the drawing. She told him in great detail what she’d imagined, from the spring coil to the angle of the shear blades to how she couldn’t decide if wood or leather would be better for the handle.
Hakon stood on, a little dumbfounded, a lot impressed.
Her plan was sound—and better, it was certainly something he could create for the pretty heiress.
He realized a little too late that she’d stopped talking. Pulling his gaze up from those fine fingers as they traced the page, it landed on her mouth. Her plush, pink, unmoving mouth.
Lifting his eyes finally to hers, he found her looking away again, another blush staining her cheeks and a consternated frown marring her brow. He immediately disliked it, wishing he could take his thumb and soothe it away.
“Forgive me, I…I get excited talking about my projects.”
