Chapter 9
“More air,” Jonathon told the boy. “I need more air to fan the flames.”
Gerold pulled the rope to work the bellows, causing the fire of the forge to surge up and become brighter.
With his gloved hand, Jonathon held a long pair of tongs.
Clasped in the tongs was a metal rod. As soon as the rod was glowing, he moved it over to the anvil, using a hammer to make it square on all four sides, and to shape it into a point at the end.
He cut the end off to make a nail. Then he put the end through a hole in the bench, letting part of it stick out, using the tongs to hold it steady.
As he banged the end with a hammer, it flattened out to make the head of the nail.
Pulling it out with the tongs, he then dropped it into a barrel with the rest of the nails that he and his brother had made that day.
“Hello? Jonathon?” came a voice from the door. He turned to see Raven peeking inside. It was nighttime and dark. Most everyone had already gone to bed.
“That’s enough for the night,” Jonathon told Gerold and Avery. “You two can go to bed now. Come in, Lady Raven.”
“Go to bed? Already?” asked Avery. Gerold yawned and wiped one eye.
“Don’t we need to clean up first?” asked Gerold.
“I’ll take care of it as well as shutting down the forge. We’ll start early in the morning, so get some shut-eye,” Jonathon told them, wanting to be alone with Raven.
“My lady,” said Avery, nodding, then glowering at Jonathon before turning and taking the boy with him to the adjoining room that was used for sleeping.
“Close the door behind you,” Jonathon called out to his brother, wanting privacy. Avery grumbled but did as he was told.
“You didn’t need to send them away,” said Raven, feeling a little uncomfortable to be alone with Jonathon.
“This doesn’t concern them and it is best if they’re not involved.”
Raven watched as Jonathon used the long tongs to spread out the hot coals on the forge, preparing to shut it down. He then picked up a bottle of water and sprinkled it over the flames, causing smoke to rise up in thin tendrils.
“What were you making?” asked Raven, curiously walking over to where he’d been hitting his hammer against an anvil. She reached out for a rod lying there.
“Don’t touch that! It might still be hot.” He reached out and took her hand and led her across the room. “We were making nails,” he mumbled, releasing her hand and digging for something in a drawer.
Raven coughed since it was still smoky in there, even though a hole in the roof vented the air. Her eyes traveled down Jonathon’s body as he bent over now, digging through a leather bag.
“I know it’s here somewhere.”
“What are you looking for?” she asked, walking closer to him.
His skin glistened from sweat, but it only made him more enticing.
Soot covered his bare forearms, the hairs looking black even though the hair on his head was brown and tied back, trailing down the nape of his neck.
He wore breeches that hugged the muscles of his hips.
The tunic under his long leather apron was open at the neck, showing off part of his chest. “It’s hot in here,” she said, feeling suddenly warmer than before as she drank in his manly physique.
“I can open the front door if you’d like.” He took a step toward it, but she reached out and touched his arm to stop him.
“Nay,” she said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to see me in here so late at night.”
“Aye,” he agreed, with a slight nod. “I suppose that would only cause trouble. Oh, there it is.” He walked over to a hook on the wall and removed a long piece of twine that seemed to have markings down it. He held it up, and walked back to her.
“What is that?” she asked.
“It’s my measuring string. To measure you for your armor.”
“Oh. I see.”
He stood there holding the string and looking at her, seeming not to know where to start.
“What do you need to measure first?”
“I-I suppose your arms,” he told her.
She stood straight and held her arms out to her sides. “Go ahead.”
“Nay, my lady. Not like that.”
“Then how?” She slowly lowered her arms.
“Well, first I need to know the length of both your upper arm and your forearm.” He gently reached out, lifting one of her arms forward instead of out to the side.
He used the string to measure the distance, looking at the marks on it.
Then he bent her arm upward from her elbow so her hand was against her chest, and measured it that way, too.
“All right. Now I need to know the size of your legs.” He looked down and stopped. She was wearing a gown and her legs were covered.
“Oh. I suppose I should have worn trews?”
“Aye, this would have been a good time to dress like a man.” He cleared his throat and got down on one knee. He reached out for the hem of her gown but pulled his hands back and shook his head. “Nay. I can’t do this.”
“Would this help?” She hoisted up the gown, showing the bottoms of her legs. She wore hose that extended halfway up her legs and were tied around the bottom of her knees with garters to keep them from falling.
He gently measured her legs to the knees, and then looked up at her. She saw something in his eyes she couldn’t describe. To her, it seemed like a mixture of lust and terror.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I’ll need to put my hands under your gown to measure the length of your upper legs. All the way up to your waist and... and groin.”
“I see,” she said in a breathy whisper. “I didn’t realize you had to do that.”
He shook his head again. “This can wait until tomorrow. Come back dressed in trews and we’ll continue then.”
“Nay!” She raised her voice as he started to get up, her hand on his shoulder stopping him. “Please, continue. I don’t want to waste any more time. This is important.”
“If you insist, my lady.” He nervously cleared his throat again. A click sounded like the door to the bedchamber opening. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Good night,” he called out, and the door to the adjoining room slowly closed with a thud. Again.
“I’m ready,” she said, still holding up her gown to her knees.
“I’ll be quick about it,” he told her, looking up with bright blue eyes.
“Take your time.” She felt her breath hitch when his fingers touched her knee with the measuring string.
Then ever so slowly, with his other hand he slid the rest of the string up the bare skin of her thigh, rounding the outside curve of her hip.
A warmth coursed through her. His hand was on her bare skin and very close to her most private parts.
“Almost done,” he said, his voice sounding husky again. “I’m going to measure the-the inside of your upper leg now.
“Of course,” she said, watching him with his hands under her skirt. She felt him pressing the string against the inside of her leg, slowly sliding it against her bare skin higher... and higher... and higher.
Her undergarment consisted of only a thin chemise. She wore no braies, as most women didn’t unless they had their menses. The top part of her legs were bare, as well as all her womanly parts. The feel of his hand sliding up her leg toward her groin sent a tingle of desire rushing through her.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he whispered, clearing his throat once again. He seemed more nervous about this than she felt. “I’ll need you to spread... I mean, open... I mean, can you move your legs apart slightly?”
“Certainly.” She took a wider stance, feeling his fingers pressing the string up where her leg ended and her most private part started.
The back of his hand actually brushed against her womanly folds.
When it did, she felt herself contract, and a strong vibration go through her.
This intimate action made her feel so alive.
So wanton, and hot and lusty. “Oooooh,” she moaned softly, not able to tamp her desire.
It must have alarmed him, because he quickly removed his hand from under her gown and bolted to an upright position.
“Let me... let me just record the numbers.” He headed back to a table to write down the measurements. She noticed him running his hand through his hair and adjusting the waist of his tied apron before he turned back around.
“Are you finished?” she asked, hoping not.
“I assure you, I have only just begun.” He came back holding his string, standing right in front of her, so close that she swore she felt heat emanating off his body. Or was it hers? “I need to measure your upper body now.”
“I understand.” Her tongue shot out to lick her dry lips. She could hear the spitting of the coals on the forge, not wanting to be extinguished. It felt as if she had a fire within her and she was trying to contain it before it raged up out of control. “Go on, then.”
“Hold up your arms slightly. I need to measure your chest.”
She did as he instructed. He took the string and put it around the back of her, bringing it forward over her breasts, holding the string together in front. She could feel the pressure of the measuring string right through her clothes, pressing against her nipples.
His fingers had brushed slightly against her breasts this time. The action excited her and made her breathe heavily, which only made her chest expand and contract, causing the string to get tighter and then looser.
“My lady, perhaps you need to hold your breath?” Jonathon seemed suddenly different. His eyes were fastened to her chest. If she wasn’t mistaken, his hands were shaking. “If you really insist on wearing armor, you’ll have to bind your breasts, you realize.”
“Bind my breasts?” she asked, thinking it ridiculous since she was well endowed. Never had she ever imagined having to do something like that. “Will it hurt?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes meeting hers now. “I’ve never had... breasts.” They stared into each other’s eyes.