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Harreld had gone directly to his smithy after breaking his fast. He had no doubt that the letter would find its way to Ginna's hands. As he stoked the hearth and prepared his tools, he gave thought to this new trouble.
Would Ginna come to him, or not? If she saw the same thing as he, she might stay away from him, which would be hard to bear but would allow for her father's will to come into play. What if she did not see how things stood, but chose to be stubborn, not heeding her father's will? Then she would come to him and say ... what? He had no idea. But to be sure she would want to stay betrothed.
The hearth stoked, he prepared the hammers and swords and mallets and soup ladles to be repaired or honed. What if she tried to say to him that all was well? He could not bear it.
The first sword was ready. He took his hammer, laid the sword on the anvil, and began to ply his trade. A shadow appeared in the door. She came in. His heart lurched. She was everything to him, yet he could not keep her.
"Harreld," she said, "may I disturb you for a while? There is something we need to talk about."
A fair question. How could he speak to her? A knot formed in his throat. He blinked hard and scowled, wiping the sweat already formed on his brow and the moisture in his eyes with it.
"Now is not the time," he said gruffly. "Have you no work in the kitchen? Leave me to my chores, Gi-" his throat caught on her name. "Leave me!" He hammered hard and fast, giving her no chance to gainsay him.
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