“Ah, sit up.” Brant pulled her arms, quickly undressing her. Once naked, she lay back down and his hands instantly found the length of her body. She was just as eager to explore him, touching him in every way she could—legs to legs, hands to arms and chest, lips to lips. He moved his hand down and parted the slick folds between her thighs. He stroked her, encircling her clit, sinking a finger into her depths. “You are so soft.”
Della’s legs parted wide, silently begging him for more. Brant grinned, though the look was pained. With a controlled thrust, he gradually entered her. Della moaned as the muscles of her sex accepted him, stretching and hugging him tight. In awe over his gentle strokes, she ran her fingers over his chest. Brant rose up on his arms, his hot eyes watching her as he moved. Della shivered. Her body craved completion and he brought it to her with deliberate caresses. She stiffened, letting the pleasure wash over her as she finally met with perfect release. His groan soon joined hers as he jerked violently. And, as they came down, trembling and spent, there was no room for words.
Chapter Twenty
Brant left before dawn with the king, without saying a word to her, not even to tell her he was going. They’d made love twice with agonizing tenderness and had slept in each other’s arms. Or so she’d thought. She’d been sleeping when he left, waking alone as the sun peeked over the horizon. Somehow, she knew he was gone before even opening her eyes. Hitting her pillow in frustration, the softness stifled the sound of her heartache.
Then, finding strength, she dressed and made her way belowstairs. Doing so only confirmed her fear and Della spent the morning hours strolling gloomily about the castle grounds.
The sun shone bright over her head as she kicked her feet in the drying morning dew. Looking to the sky, she stood motionless in the bailey yard. Puffy clouds lined the blue heavens. She felt sorry for herself, was so confused by what had happened, but the clouds held none of the answers she sought.
“M’lady.”
Della jolted at the sound of Edwyn’s voice. Shaking her thoughts back to reality, she watched the old seneschal jog across the bailey, waiting patiently for him to join her.
“Gunther approaches,” he said.
The cold winds of fall were beginning to blow across the land, turning everything a golden brown. Della made herself halfheartedly smile at her old friend, shivering in the cool breeze. But inside a gentle sadness swam within her and not even she could hide the emotion with her icy demeanor. Edwyn looked at her, his expression holding pity. She didn’t want to see it, not from the man who’d raised her.
“Did you let him in?” Della asked. “He comes from Blackwell.”
“Nay, m’lady. Lord Blackwell bid me not to make the decision.” Edwyn didn’t try to hide his amusement. “It’s yers to order whether or not we let Gunther inside.”
“Oh, yea,” Della rolled her eyes. “Let him in, then!”
“Yea, m’lady,” Edwyn bowed gallantly. “It will be as you wish it.”
Della shook her head and could not help but chuckle. Some of her husband’s policies were getting a little out of hand. A few of the maids had asked her permission before cleaning the dreaded garderobes and Isa, in her usual taunting manner, asked if she should cook the chicken before she served it, or if she should just set it out raw and still clucking.
Actually, the more she thought of Brant, the more hurt she felt, and with the hurt came her irritation. He hadn’t bothered to tell her the night before that he was leaving with the king. If he had, she wouldn’t have succumbed to him so readily. She would have demanded the conversation she’d thought they would have that morning. The partial truce they’d made had to mean something. Was he lonely? Did he think he could have her whenever he wanted?
With each thought, her irritation grew into anger.
I will not stand to be treated like this. I will show Brant the Flame who is in charge of Strathfeld. It’s time I stop playing the meek and mild housemaiden and live up to my name, Della the Cold!
She let the irritation overtake her as she strode over the yard to tend her garden. Gunther rode his horse over the lowered bridge, spotting her as she stormed past. The man-at-arms looked at her in surprise. Della ignored him and, as she found the sanctuary of her herb garden, she turned her rage to the hapless weeds.
* * * * *
“I know well why my mood is black, but why do you stare at yer plate as though it were about to attack you.” Gunther leaned toward Della to whisper in her ear. He was still mad at having missed the king and the action the traveling party would undoubtedly see.