“And what did my lord husband say to this?” Della wondered aloud.
“M’lady, it’s most like he doesn’t know of it,” Ebba admitted.
“Why?” Della’s stomach fluttered as she awaited the maid’s answer. “Has he left Strathfeld?”
“Nay. He has spent many nights away from the rest of us. No one knows where he sleeps.” Ebba looked away as she blushed. “Or with whom he sleeps.”
Della frowned at the blatant statement. “It is not your concern, Ebba. Mayhap you should get back to work before the cleaning spirit hears of your harsh gossiping tongue. I should hate to see her foul temper taken out on you.”
“Yea, m’lady.” Ebba curtsied. Her eyes darted around the hall only to close with relief when she saw no spirit.
The idea that Brant had more than likely found another to warm his bed hadn’t escaped her. Serilda was gone, but that didn’t mean one of the other servants wouldn’t want to be under the prized protection of the Ealdorman of Strathfeld—and if the ealdorman just happened to be an excellent lover and a virile specimen of masculine health, so much the better. Any serving maid would be foolish not to want to be his mistress.
Della made her way to the kitchen. She’d purposely missed the morning meal, not wanting to risk seeing Brant. His last warning had been clear.
“Isa, some bread if you would,” Della said as she entered the kitchen. “And do not serve me any of the maids who have blackened your cauldron. It’s unlikely they will sit well upon my belly.”
Isa chuckled. “You will not be the only one here who gets a bit o’ fun.”
“I have no idea what you are speaking of.” Della sighed in feigned innocence. “Did the spirit fling you about until your arse was bruised from the fallings?”
“Oh, yea, m’lady.” Isa winked as she handed her a crust of bread. “Just remember, I was once in charge of washing the dirty laundry. There are many a white nightgowns that get scrubbed in a sennight’s time.”
Della coughed. “Interesting, Isa, though hardly relevant, I am sure.”
“Oh, yea, it’s most interesting. The cleaning spirit, she’ll not e’en do her own wash.” Isa’s cackling laugh echoed off the hard walls of the kitchen.
“Isa, I can take no more of you this morn.” Della gave the cook a playful wink. How many people suspected that she was the spirit? “I shall walk about the grounds.”
“Be sure not to step on yer husband while you walk, m’lady,” Isa teased.
Della shook her head, no longer amused by the woman’s jesting.
* * * * *
By all the gods! What is that horrible stench?
Brant wrinkled his nose in disgust. The sun streaked heavily through the stable’s rafters to shine uninvited on his face. He turned his head to avoid the accusing glare of the afternoon rays, but as he moved away from the sun, the smell only grew more distinct. Opening his eyes, he stared straight into a warm, steaming pile of…
Dung!
Brant shot up, ignoring the now constant pain in the back of his skull. He coughed heavily, his movements having stirred up dust. Next to him, his horse fussed and pawed at the ground. The stallion’s neigh sounded quite mocking considering the circumstances. Brant eyed the fresh manure and then his stallion.
“Do you think to defy me as well?” Brant growled at the horse. He shook his fist in the animal’s insolent face. The stallion tilted his head back in protest. “Has my loving wife been to whisper her deceits into your ears as well?”
“M’lord?”
Brant jolted at the sound. He looked hastily behind his back only to see Rab near the stall opening. The boy crouched behind the wood frame, his round, green eyes moving from the horse to the ealdorman.
“Begone, Rab.” Brant didn’t want to be the cause of the child’s amusement.
“M’lord,” Rab said quietly before clearing his throat. “M’lady wished me to find you.”
“Which lady?” Brant growled in outrage. The sound rang in his head until it started to ache. Surely his wife would not send a little boy to spy on him.
“Lady Del…Blackwell.” The boy took a brave step forward. Brant’s scowl deepened by menacing degrees. Rab lifted his head proudly. “She wishes fer you to come and greet yer guests.”
“Guests? Do you speak of the musicians?”
Why was the boy still talking? Had he not told him to leave? Brant grabbed his head and pressed his palms into his temples to get it to stop pounding.
Rab frowned. “Nay, m’lord, the musicians left two nights ago. You banished them fer playing too many disheartening ballads.”