Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(116)

“Nay, and he would have told me if he had, of that you can be assured.”

“But that does not excuse the others. Who was he with in the stables?”

“Nay, there are no others, not since he wed with you, m’lady.” Gunther met her eyes.

“You speak the truth.” Della saw his honesty. A smile came unbidden to her face. Relief, so sweet, washed over her and for a moment she could again forget her anger. Taking Gunther’s hand in hers, she whispered, “But he let me believe. The servants said…”

“Servants oft gossip about things they know naught about. Of m’lord’s reasons I know naught. Brant is a proud man and proud men do not explain themselves.” Gunther patted her hand, before lifting it from his own and placing it away from him. “Mayhap he likes a jealous wife.”

“Please, Gunther, you must excuse me. I-I…” She paled and her words trailed off. Darting to her feet, she moved hastily down the platform stairs, almost knocking a maid’s tray to the ground as she made her way through the door to the kitchen. She mumbled a quick apology to the stunned servant before continuing on.

Falling to her knees on the kitchen floor, she vomited into the first empty pot she came to. Several of the maids tried to watch her in curiosity, but Isa shooed them from the kitchen. The cook silently rolled her dough, waiting for Della to stand.

“M’lady.” Isa glanced up from her rolling to give the noblewoman a matronly smile. “Be there aught wrong with the meal?”

“Isa, do we have a crust of bread? My stomach cannot handle the meat tonight.” Della tried to smile. When Isa frowned, she amended, “The meal is wonderful. My stomach is weak. Methinks I’m ill.”

“Hmm.” Isa grabbed a fresh loaf and tore off a piece. As she handed the dry morsel over, she asked, “Have you told his lordship, m’lady?”

“What?” Della was confused as she took the bread. Tearing off a piece, she stuck it in her mouth and chewed slowly, not too eager to swallow.

“About the babe.” Isa continued her rolling. Then forming a loaf with deftly precise hands, she placed it aside on the table.

“Whose babe?” Della took another bite of bread. “I did not see a babe. Was it one of the cotters?”

“M’lady, are you not with child?” Isa asked in pointed amusement. She nodded toward Della’s stomach. Isa formed another loaf and placed it with the other. “You have the sickness.”

“Oh, Isa, nay. It’s only a weak stomach, though I do wish it would go away.” Della reached down and touched her narrow waist. “I am afraid I have lost weight. When you are with child, you gain it.”

“Who told you that nonsense?” Isa laughed so that her plump body shook with the force of it. She reached down under her cutting table for a bucket of water. Lifting it, she said, “Fer it is nonsense.”

“My eyes tell me women gain weight and, well, Serilda told me it was a stomach sickness.” Della watched Isa wipe the dough crumbs into a pile and sighed. She fingered the bread, but didn’t take another bite.

“That one!” Isa shook her head in disapproval. “You did right in throwing her from the manor. I know not what she would have to gain by lying to you about a babe, but she did lie.”

“She had naught to gain. That is how I know I am not with child.” The idea of carrying a babe rolled over her curiously. She didn’t know what to feel. If what Isa said was true, would Brant leave for good? Would he feel the extent of his ‘duty’ had been accomplished? Della swayed and leaned against the table.

“Nay, m’lady, I would wager my kitchen on it. You carry his lordship’s babe in yer belly.” Isa smiled kindly. Ignoring her bucket of water, she moved around the table as she dusted off her hands. In a rare moment of seriousness, she touched Della tenderly on the shoulder. “It’s no stomach illness, child.”

“How can you tell? Do I look different?” Della inquired through her shock. She gazed intently down at her waist and smoothed the blue tunic she wore over her flat stomach. Spreading her fingers wide, she pressed them into her midsection. She felt the same.

“Nay, but soon you will.” The cook gave her a delighted smile. “You have not had yer woman’s time since before yer marriage and you are sick in the morn and at night. Am I right?”

“Yea, and sometimes in the oddest hours of the day.”

“And the sickness, it comes as suddenly as it leaves?” Isa persisted logically. “And you are overtired?”

“Yea,” Della whispered as the reality of what Isa was saying started to make sense. Her hand fluttered nervously over her stomach. Swallowing over the dryness in her throat, she asked softly, “But how? It is not possible.”