Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(111)

“Dawn?” Brant asked with a sense of dread. Again his eyes moved to the stairwell.

“Yea, we will leave on the first light of morrow.” Guthrum coughed and raised his goblet to his lips. After drinking, he said, “Go get you to a bath and take leave of your new wife properly. I shall understand if I see you no more this day.”





* * * * *


Della stared blindly at the ceiling of her quiet bedchamber. The lonely strands of an abandoned spider web fluttered in the slight draft coming from the narrow window. A fire burned in the fireplace giving the room a soft, orange glow. Curling into a ball on the bed, she rolled on her side. She’d taken her hair down and now pushed the long length out of her eyes.

When she closed her eyes, she thought of Brant. Then, as if bidden by her longing, she heard his heavy steps on the stairwell long before he reached the door. The noise stopped and she sensed him outside the chamber. When he didn’t open the door, she turned her head on her pillow to stare at the wooden entryway.

Come in, she beckoned silently. Della pushed herself up, never taking her eyes from the door. Her heart beat wildly as she waited in breathless anticipation. She could not force herself to call out to him.

Della waited for a long moment. Still he didn’t come in. She knew it was her husband, knew the familiar sound of his footfall as he’d approached, and felt him as sure as she felt the mattress beneath her. As quietly as possible, she moved to the edge of the bed, gingerly placed her feet on the floor, and soundlessly walked over the hard stone.

Resting her forehead against the smooth oak barrier, she willed him to come to her. With her eyes closed, she could imagine him standing on the other side, disheveled from his nights of drinking and yet most handsome. Finally gaining courage, she reached for the latch. Her hand shook in nervous excitement. Would they fight? Would he still be mad? As she pulled, she felt him push gently from the other side.

Della’s insides melted with expectation and her gaze instantly sought his blue one. She froze, not seeing the gaunt expression lining his tired features, not noticing the awful smell coming from his unwashed clothes. Her eyes could only see the man she loved—the man she’d missed desperately.

Brant hesitated outside the door. His eyes dipped over her form before finding their way back to her gaze. They both stood with their hands on opposite sides of the door latch, staring at the other. Both expected anger or ridicule from the other and didn’t find it.

Coming to her senses, Della took a quick step back, moving so as to not block his entry into their chamber. It had been a long time since they’d shared the same space without fighting. She swallowed, unable to speak. He invaded her with his forceful presence.

Sweeping his gaze over the chamber, his attention paused near the fireplace on the bath she’d ordered drawn for him. When he again looked at her, he watched her intently. Brant took a single step in, holding his free hand out to her as the other fell from the door. “M’lady, you dropped this in the hall.”

She stood before him as he held out a crushed piece of straw. It was the same piece she’d taken from his beard. He angled it to her like a tentative offering of peace.

“Thank you, m’lord.” Della didn’t dare take the straw and risk touching him. If she touched even his smallest finger, she would be swept away into his magnetic embrace. Only she didn’t know if she would be accepted there and didn’t wish make a fool of herself yet again. “Please, come in.”

Brant nodded, coming inside he closed the door behind him. The straw fluttered to the ground as he moved past her. His shoes crushed softly into the fur rug, muffling his movements. Without comment, he shrugged off his overtunic.

“Did Rab not find you?” Della asked, curious. She had wondered.

“Yea, he did.” Brant slipped his undertunic from over his head and turned his back to her as he dropped the dirty clothing on top of the discarded overtunic to make a pile.

Della shivered, staring at the strong lines of his naked back. “I would never have sent him after you, only there was no time. I could not look for you myself and I was not sure who you were with.”

Brant stiffened. Della bit her lip and suppressed a moan. Her fingers shook and she grabbed a fistful of gown at her waist to hide it. She hadn’t meant to reveal so much. Watching him apprehensively, she waited for his reply.

“Would you have really cared, Della?” His tone matter-of-fact, he didn’t turn to look at her. He pushed his breeches off. They too landed on the floor in the pile. With his hands on his naked hips, he stretched his back, standing frozen in glorious perfection as if not caring that she watched. Her blood stirred and her breathing deepened. She wanted to touch him, to explore the long lost folds of his tight muscles.