CHAPTER 9
Keenan
He’d known it was too early for news. They’d only started the search the night before, and Keenan’s instructions weren’t very helpful. The guards were probably still looking for the clearing where he and Liesl had been separated.
When Keenan reached the window again, he forced himself to sit on the bench under it. The nurse had scolded him when she changed his bandages after breakfast. He was supposed to be resting. Not wandering the castle grounds. Not pacing the hallways.
Resting.
He’d only managed the inactivity of the carriage ride because he’d had Liesl to talk to and passing scenery to watch.
He jumped up and strode to the next window. How was he supposed to sit still when he didn’t know if she was all right?
“The true perpetual motion machine: a young man without his lady.”
Startled by the unexpected voice, Keenan spun around. Princess Sakura stood just around the corner of an intersecting corridor, her hands folded neatly in front of her and her back perfectly straight.
“More like a smith without his forge,” he corrected. “I don’t have a lady.”
“And yet you’re here because of one,” she said with a raised eyebrow.
“This is true, Your Highness,” he acknowledged, giving a belated bow. “But she isn’t mine.”
“Then why so worried?”
“Why do you want to know?” He didn’t have a counter to lean on, so he settled for resting his hands on his hips. “I thought you couldn’t stand me.”
The princess lifted her chin a little higher. “You are correct.”
He waited, but she didn’t expound.
“I see.” He gave a firm nod. “You’re a busybody. Exactly as expected for a princess.” He didn’t believe a word of it; Princess Arabella was sweet and gentle, and Princess Anne was too quiet to satisfy his accusation.
Her lips pressed together. But instead of blurting out an angry reply, she took two mincing steps toward him. “I do like to know what goes on in my castle. I was raised to be queen, you know.” Her black eyes pierced him, cool as a cat’s. “Being a busybody is in the job description.”
“And perpetual motion machines?” he asked, taking his own step forward as he smirked at her. “Is that something queens study? I didn’t expect a princess to know a term like that.”
She opened her mouth, eyes flashing, but then she paused and took a deep breath instead. When she looked back at him, she had regained her poise. “And I wouldn’t expect a common weapon-smith to know it.”
She may have meant it as a jab, but Keenan shrugged. “I don’t, really. Master Elias subscribes to—”
He stopped, the grief leaping up and punching him in the chest. He had forgotten for a few moments that Master Elias wasn’t hunched over a workbench back in Hartford. Wasn’t tinkering with one of Keenan’s designs or pouring over the newest techniques for Keenan to try.
He cleared his throat. “Subscribed to a periodical that details new inventions and theories. They sometimes discuss blacksmithing techniques, but he liked to read all of it. And he used to tell me about some of them.”
Her eyes may have softened, but he wouldn’t swear to it. “I see. And the girl?”
His sorrow over Master Elias collided with his guilt for his mother. “You don’t get to know everything, Your Highness,” he snapped, spinning on his heel and marching down the hall. “Being royalty doesn’t give you that right.”
~
Curse nosy princesses and their pretty black eyes. And curse shepherdesses who couldn’t stay safely at home and let cat-toting noblemen handle their own problems.
Swirling his cloak around his shoulders, Keenan shoved through the exterior door, still fuming. The chilly air cooled his heated cheeks, but it failed to calm his frustration.
All he wanted was to craft weapons. But somehow, he had ended up in a foreign kingdom with a princess who despised him and a young woman whose safety was on his conscience.
He needed to pound out his frustrations on a piece of metal, but if he wanted to help Liesl once he found her, he needed to heal.
And that would happen faster if he – ugh – rested.
Stumping across the yard, Keenan bypassed the stables and the greenhouse, heading for a small building he had discovered that morning.
No smoke rose from its chimney, and its door was probably still locked.
But it called to him all the same. Whispered promises of familiarity and comfort pulled him to it as surely as a mouse to the scent of cheese.
No massive dining halls, no gaudy suites.
Just simple tools and cold steel and worn tables.
He leaned against the window, staring at the cold hearth. Memories of rhythmic clangs filled his ears, settling him even without feeling the weight of a hammer in his hand or the reverberation buzzing through his arm.
If only this lonely castle had a blacksmith at work. He longed to feel the heat of a blazing forge, somehow different from the tame fire in his richly decorated suite.
“Would you like to see the inside?”
The voice startled him out of his reverie. Turning, he found a lanky guard with short black hair and eager eyes standing behind him. “Do you have a key?” Keenan asked slowly. Was this a test?
The guard, who couldn’t be more than seventeen, reached into a cloak pocket and pulled out a small leather case. “No, but I’ve been dying to try this on something other than my practice locks.”
“Are you allowed to pick locks for strangers?” Keenan’s brow furrowed as the guard knelt in front of the door and selected two thin pieces of metal. “How do you know I won’t steal something?”
The boy paused, then looked up at him. “Did you climb the wall?”
“No.”
“Then you’re supposed to be here. I’m sure it’s fine.
” Waving a dismissive hand, the boy returned to the lock.
He worked at it for a few seconds, his tongue poking out one side of his mouth, then paused again and glanced up at Keenan.
“But I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell my captain about this.
I’m not sure he approves of lock picking in general. ”
“I think I see your captain’s point of view,” Keenan replied, eyeing the boy. “I’m Keenan, by the way.”
The guard squinted at the lock, smiling with satisfaction when it clicked. “Kagemori.” Standing, he opened the door and held out a hand to Keenan. “But everyone calls me Mori.”
Keenan cautiously shook his hand, still waiting for someone to jump out and arrest him or something. “Well met, Mori. You’re sure it’s all right if I go in?”
Mori gestured to the door. “I unlocked it for you, didn’t I?”
Nodding slowly, Keenan stepped into the forge. A mild tang of soot, hot oils, and metal clung to the place, but it was more comfortable than the feather bed he’d slept on last night. A breeze curled through the open door, jostling a few hanging tools so they clinked together like wind chimes.
A smile stretched his face as he crossed to the hearth. First things first: time to add a little life to the place.