Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(109)

Since when do you acknowledge my control, lady wife? Brant smirked.

Della moved from her seat to make room for Brant beside the king. She directed her dazzling smile at him and his heart clenched in his chest. He knew her concern was only an act, but nonetheless it poured over him like droplets of refreshing rain.

“Majesty, what brings you here? I wasn’t expecting you for at least another fortnight.” Brant took his seat at the table. His sore back twinged in protest, the muscles having been aggravated by the many nights in the stables. Ignoring the pains and aches of his body, he saw Della motion to a maid to bring him a trencher.

Brant couldn’t help but wonder at the change in the hall. By the looks of his home, no one would suspect that the lord and lady of the manor were estranged, and just the night before, the hall had been littered with rotting food and drunken, fornicating knights. Or that the ealdorman had been bingeing himself into a stupor alone in the stables.

“Sir Vladamir reported the death of Lord Strathfeld. I came to pay my respects to his daughter and to congratulate you both on the success of your union    .” Guthrum took a sip of his mead, obviously proud of his part in deciding the match.

Brant gave a soft laugh as he thought of Lord Lester sputtering in the moat.

“Yea, I heard of that as well.” Guthrum suppressed a grin and Brant wasn’t surprised the man read his expression so easily. “You were quite right to throw that obstinate man out on his arse. Though, in the future, please be more hospitable to my ambassadors.”

“Yea, your majesty.” Brant took a drink to hide his smile in his goblet, trying his best to look properly chastised.

A maid brought forward a trencher filled with cold meat, cheese, and slices of bread. She set it before them. Guthrum leaned forward to take a piece of cheese, chewing it thoughtfully. Brant ignored the food. His stomach protested its very smell.



Della was amazed at the familiar way her husband addressed the king. Occasionally, she pretended to sip her drink as the men quietly discussed matters of politics. Surely she hadn’t known Brant was a man of such import, to be trusted so readily by royalty.

When Rab had informed her of their guests, she’d panicked. The king’s banner could be seen long before they could make out the king within the traveling party. For royalty, it was a small entourage that accompanied King Guthrum into the keep. Nevertheless, Della suspected that more of his men camped in the forest just beyond the sight of the castle. No one had seen Lord Blackwell and the king insisted he be produced. Distraught, she’d said the first thing she could think of—that he was overseeing repairs—then she’d sent Rab to find Brant.

“Della, would you see a bedchamber readied for his majesty and cots for his men?” Brant looked as if he had been hesitant to make the request. She could not blame him. They had done nothing but fight as of late. She’d been sitting quietly for so long that it took her a moment to realize he addressed her.

“M’lord, I have already taken the liberty.” Della smiled, lost in her own thoughts. She turned back to her mead, content to watch the liquid swirl in her cup.

“M’lady, mayhap you should check on the preparations,” Brant insisted.

“Nay, I trust Ebba to see to them.” Della smiled again with a vague nod.

Brant cleared his throat. “Della?”

“Yea, m’lord?” She turned to look more fully at him. He was filthy and smelled of the stables. By the straw in his hair, she guessed that is where he’d slept the night before. She unconsciously lifted her hand to remove a piece of straw from his beard. The whiskers were overlong and needed to be clipped. Nervous, she fingered the straw between her thumb and forefinger, rolling and crushing it.

Brant looked at her in surprise, one brow arching like she’d often seen him do. It amazed her how familiar he really was.

Next, his lip will curl slightly in the right corner, she thought, dazed by his attractiveness. A blush heated her cheeks when it did.

“I see the match is well made!” King Guthrum slapped Brant hard on the back, knocking them out of the trance.

Brant’s half smile turned to a laugh. He glanced over to acknowledge the king and then turned back to her.

“M’lady, would you see to my bath?” Brant asked, polite.

“But I already have,” she answered, not really paying heed to Brant’s words.

“M’lady, are you feeling ill? Shall you go lie down?” Kindness shone in his gaze.

“Nay…” Suddenly, she realized that not only her husband, but the king, was giving her an expectant look. The men wished to talk privately. “Yea, m’lord. Perchance I am ill and must lie down, but right after I see to your bath and the king’s chambers.”