Brant grimaced through the fog of his memory. Vaguely he recalled doing just that. The songs had reminded him of Della. He once again waved at the boy in agitation. “Yea, I am awake, Rab. Begone! Tell your mistress to bother me no more.”
“M’lord?” The boy bounced back and forth on his feet.
“Yea, go relieve yourself then, Rab.”
“M’lord, shall I tell you the rest of the message?”
“Pray tell.” Brant waved his hand in the air before dusting the straw from his clothing. “If it will get you gone any faster.”
“M’lady, that is Lady Blackwell, wishes fer me to tell you to get cleaned up and proper smelling before you come to the great hall. And these are her words, m’lord, not mine. She bid me to tell you not to dare disgrace yerself just ‘cause yer too proud and pigheaded not to listen to her this once—”
Brant punched his fist through the side of the stall. The stallion lifted his head in protest. Rab flinched, jumping back. Brant grimly examined the hole he made.
“M’lord,” Rab continued, his voice faint. “She bid me to tell only you and not to repeat the command to anyone else.”
“Command?” Brant repeated, his tone harsh. He was pleased to have an outlet for his wrath.
“Nay, not command,” Rab corrected. “Request. That is what she said m’lord—request. Humbly request.”
“Nay, do not protect her. I know m’lady better than that.” Brant took a deep breath. Della had sent a boy to wake him? And she dared to enter the hall after he ordered her not to? For that she would pay.
“M’lord, wait. I have not told you who is in the hall.” Rab chased after him.
Brant ignored the child. Intent on finding his wife, he stormed angrily toward the castle. The sun shone bright over the yard. Servants and peasants watched him, stunned. A few recoiled in horror at his stern expression and beastly appearance. Brant didn’t care. Most of them had been avoiding him and his foul temper anyway. He preferred it that way, choosing to spend his solitude away from their prying eyes and gossiping tongues.
Stopping as he entered the hall, his eyes took a moment to focus in the dimmer light. His nostrils were assaulted with the smell of lye. With a grimace, he noticed the floors had been cleaned. What had his meddling wife done? Why did she disobey him so openly at every turn?
He disregarded the pleasure the clean hall gave him, intent on the pretense of hating her. Rudely making his way to the high table to face his wife, he stopped below her. It took a moment for her to notice him, but by that time Brant recognized their guest.
“Your majesty.” Brant bowed. His anger faded as he witnessed the distress on his wife’s face. No doubt he embarrassed her. That was punishment enough for now. Brant genuinely smiled for the first time in a long time.
“Lord Blackwell.” King Guthrum stood and reached his hand out. “Your lovely wife has been entertaining us. Delightful creature.”
Brant nodded, not knowing what to say. His wife did indeed appear lovely. Her hair was plaited neatly at her nape and, though her skin looked overly pale, it was flawless. She wore his favorite burgundy dress with the gold cord. Looking at it, he couldn’t tell that it had been stained and torn. Her flushed cheeks turned a darker red at his perusal, or was it the king’s pretty compliment? It didn’t matter. She looked like an angel compared to the drunken hell he had been living in.
An Angel of Ice. Brant snorted.
The king cleared his throat. “Brant, it has been too long. Your lady wife told me you were currently bathing.”
Brant let an easy expression settle over his face as he shook his head to clear the image of Della’s naked body from it.
“Yea, your majesty. I did say that. Methought he was, but it would seem I was mistaken. M’lord?” Della turned to her husband and gave him a look of desperation. “Was it so terrible, the break in the wall?”
Brant just nodded, having no idea of what she was speaking. What was wrong with the wall? He raised an amused brow at her. She reminded him of the time Lord Lester and Sir Vladamir visited. She’d tried to save him from the embarrassment of not being able to read. How had he forgotten that kindness in his anger toward her? How had he forgotten her many kind acts?
“I was telling the king that you were awakened early this morning to fix a wall that tragically fell last night—behind the chapel.” Della narrowed her eyes. The amber gaze begged him to pay attention.
“Yea. It’s done.” Brant smiled at her relieved sigh.
“Wonderful,” Della proclaimed in relief as she looked at the king. “So you see your majesty, it’s not necessary to send your stonemason to assist us. My lord husband has all of Strathfeld well under his control.”