Page 24 of Ironling
Fates, he has lovely, strong hands.
Turning away so he couldn’t see her face, Aislinn quickly wiped away the escaped tears.
Mortification crept up her neck, but the surprise of seeing him there seemed to have shocked her roiling emotions, allowing her to bury them back into the pit she kept inside her just for them.
It was a long while before she turned to face him again, long enough that she knew it was rude, but there was nothing for it. She wouldn’t allow him or anyone else to see her tears.
“Forgive me,” he said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She shook her head. “I should’ve paid more attention.” The last thing she needed was to turn an ankle. That wouldn’t spare her from her duties.
Out from the smithy trotted the mighty Wülf, tongue lolling. He headed straight for her, pushing his snout into her hand.
Aislinn petted him enthusiastically, welcoming the distraction.
“He’s very fond of you,” said the blacksmith. “He doesn’t usually take to others. Or even me, really.”
“Truly? But he’s such a friendly hound.” A deep scritch behind his ear with her nails had his back leg thumping on the cobblestones.
Hakon chuckled. “Only with you. I’m not sure he sees me as more than the one who fetches the meals.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” She bent to peer into the dog’s eyes, finding them a soulful brown. “You’re a noble beast, I’m sure.”
“Careful, my lady. You’ll spoil him.”
A smile strayed onto her lips, surprising her. All the ugliness she felt was still there, still bubbling inside her, but out in the fresh air, petting a dog, talking with the handsome blacksmith, it didn’t feel quite so…unbearable.
Shoring up her courage, she nodded at his hands. “What are you working on?”
“Ah.” Straightening, he held up the little bauble.
Captivated, Aislinn crossed the bailey, her curiosity piqued. He held the object out to her with his fingertips, and Aislinn took it as gently as she would spun glass.
“Careful,” he warned, “I need to smooth it.”
Holding it up to the light, she marveled, “It’s a rose.”
“Yes, my lady.” His gaze drifted dreamily, and his voice pitched even lower when he said, “Your project had me thinking of the mountain roses that grow on the southern slopes of Kaldebrak. In summer, the mountain is covered in their blooms.”
Enchanted, another wider smile pulled at her lips. “That sounds so lovely.” Handing the rose back to him, she said, “My mother’s garden has the only roses here, I’m afraid. But there are lovely tulips and daffodils in spring. And for a few weeks, the wisteria blooms. It’s beautiful.”
“I look forward to it, my lady.” He smiled up at her, his own soulful brown eyes catching the firelight from the forge.
Aislinn’s stomach swooped—not with weighty worries butairy lightness.
“You whittle as well,” she said to distract herself. “What can’t you do, master blacksmith?”
“Plenty, my lady,” he chuckled. “But I find it is good to practice different crafts.” He held up the small knife he used to carve away flakes of wood. “In truth, it helps me think.”
“Does it?” she asked, charmed.
“I’ve been thinking over your garden shears, planning it in my mind. This keeps my hands busy and my mind clear.”
“I do the same, with my designs. Drawing helps my mind focus.”
His smile returned, somehow even warmer than before. That dimple appeared, casting a captivating shadow across his cheek.
In the firelight, he might have otherwise struck an imposing figure, even sitting down. Those wide shoulders cast a wide shadow, and the darkness emphasized the slightly inhuman shape of his mouth. Yet, it also offered a velveteen softness to his skin, and the firelight caught in the dark swoop of his short hair and along the ridges of his knuckles.
