Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(102)

“Della. That is not what I meant.” Brant withdrew his hand and let out a long, frustrated sigh. By Thor’s Hammer, wench, you are most aggravating!

“Fine, then leave me be.” She pulled at the coverlet behind her back. After several hard jerks, Brant was forced to stand and let her have it. “Go to Serilda. I’m done talking to you.”

“Della,” Brant started, uncertain. He shook his head and again ran his fingers through his wet hair. He was pleased to discover that the itching was gone from his scalp. Serilda’s potion had worked magnificently, even if she had lied about the administering. “Never mind, I’m done arguing with you.”

His wife didn’t answer him as he finished getting dressed and she didn’t look at him as he sat on the bed to pull on his shoes. It was as if she didn’t care that he was there and he imagined she wished he wasn’t.

Fingering the gold thread on the brown tunic she’d made, he traced over the intricate design. He didn’t understand his wife. Did she still blame him for the raids? Did she still blame him for her mother’s death? It made no sense, her unreasonable anger. But it was there and it was very real. He no longer had the strength to fight it.

“I will not force marital duties on you, Della. I never have, never will. Serilda is not my mistress.” Brant leaned closer to her prone body. Her side rose in even breaths as she refused to look at him. A light quiver worked over her. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

There, I have said it, Ice Princess. Now you know. I have no desire to take breath without you. Methinks I am in love with you. Nay, I am fairly sure I know it. I love you, wife.

“I love you,” he whispered. He hadn’t meant to, but now it was said and he didn’t try to take it back. Brant waited for an answer to his shaky admission. He’d known the moment he’d seen her at the gate that morning. He loved her. He wanted to say more, but her silence forbade another word to whisper past his lips. She didn’t answer, which to Brant could only mean she didn’t care.

Silently he stood and turned from her. His heart fell against the walls of his chest in heavy thuds, the weight of his blood tingling painfully in his limbs. He felt a beginning choke form in his throat, but didn’t let the moisture fall from his eyes. Soldiers didn’t weep and he was one of the best.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked slowly from the room. Not once did he look back to see if she noticed and inside his heart went dead.





* * * * *


Della awoke to hunger pains twitching in her stomach. Slowly, she pushed herself up on the bed and she looked around the dimly lit chamber. She was alone. The fire had been allowed to burn out, which meant no one had been to check on her. Had no one noticed she was gone? How long had she slept? From the heaviness of her eyelids she would have easily guessed two days.

Lifting her arms, she stretched her sleep-tightened muscles. The nausea was gone and she felt well enough to get out of bed. As she swung her foot over, she frowned. The chamber pot hadn’t been changed. Yawning, she looked out the narrow window and noticed it was indeed dark outside. She’d slept the day away and it both amazed and frightened her. How had she gotten so tired?

It took only a few moments to straighten her clothing before she was ready to leave the chamber. Her stomach growled. She was starving.

“Cedric?” Della called as she opened the door to the chamber. Her voice sounded odd from sleep. “I’m ready to go down.”

There was no answer. She looked around the darkened hall. Her dutiful guard was not at his post. Had Brant called the man off?

“Lord Blackwell?” she whispered, but received no response. Shutting the door behind her, she walked down the stairwell. Then, like a slap to the face, she remembered catching Brant with the midwife. Della cursed as she realized that even now he was more than likely with his mistress. As she made her way to the hall, her mind focused on the sounds below. She heard a clamor of tumultuous laughter followed by fists pounding on wood.

Cheerful voices projected from of the main hall, growing louder with each step she took. It had been a long time since the hall had been so loud. It reminded her of the time of her father and she wondered in momentary confusion if she’d dreamed her marriage to Brant the Barbarian. The thought soon left her as she neared the main hall. The playful scream of a maid rang to the boisterous encouragement of the soldiers. Music filled the castle, something she vaguely remembered being at her wedding, but the celebration hadn’t been as lively as it now sounded to be.

Della quickened her steps, curious to see who was now visiting to demand such attention. Could it be the king? Why was I not told we had such an important guest? I should think I needed to be there. Brant the Fiery Thorn will not take kindly to me not making appearance at his table.