Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(117)
Isa chuckled as she patted Della on the arm. “If you have to be asking that, you best bring it up with yer husband. It’s my guess he would be the one to tell you about the how of it.”
Della’s hand shook and she dropped the crust of bread, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. Isa sighed as she leaned over to pick it up. Della wordlessly made her way to the kitchen door. Isa whistled a tune softly behind her, but Della kept walking, needing to be alone.
* * * * *
Brant spurred his horse onward as King Guthrum motioned for the ealdorman to join him at the front of the traveling party. Along the sides of the trail was nothing but forest. Brant knew the outriders would be nearby, hidden well within the trees. They had ridden hard since dawn through Mercia toward the northern border of Wessex to meet King Alfred on hallowed ground, where it was believed no blood would be shed by either side for fear of angering the Christian God. Brant thought the idea foolish since Guthrum didn’t believe in that God.
“Your majesty,” Brant allowed as he slowed his stallion to an easy trot beside the king. Guthrum held up his hand, motioning the guards on either side to fall back.
“Lord Blackwell.” The king kept his gaze trained forward as he spoke. “It is a strange journey, is it not?”
“Strange?” Brant stiffened and looked around. Always the loyal knight, his hand went to the hilt of his sword to rest. No birds flew in the sky, the insects of the forest hummed lively. Nothing seemed amiss. He relaxed his guard as he turned to the king. “I detect naught in the forest.”
“Your men, do they doubt our mission?” The king busied himself, straightening the frippery on his horse’s mane. The ribbons of purple velvet matched the king’s cloak. Brant looked at his own horse, decorated in only the barest leather straps. He didn’t feel the need to dress the animal in finery.
“Nay. They are all loyal, as am I.” Brant managed a polite smile. The king’s words were true though. His heart hadn’t been in the mission. It was left back at Strathfeld in Della’s infallible keeping, although she didn’t know it.
“Then why are the men in such disheartened spirits? I have never seen such downtrodden knights, even in the face of tremendous battle.” The king stopped his horse and motioned to one of his guards. “Here. We camp here. I would not stay too close to the border.”
The soldier nodded and passed the orders down the line of men. Two riders were dispatched on either side to tell the outriders the plan. The sky had just begun to turn a purplish red and the cool autumn breeze picked up. It whipped Brant’s hair into his eyes. He tucked the strands behind his ears, not bothering to give an answer.
“Lord Blackwell, methinks it is because their leader is dispirited,” King Guthrum continued as if they hadn’t stopped talking. He was content to sit astride his horse as he watched his orders being carried out. Several of the men headed toward the trees to set up a small camp.
Brant still didn’t answer for he could not deny it. It was true. He had been a little sharp with the men. He missed Della. Thoughts of his wife only caused his mood to fade into extreme sadness. She didn’t care for him and at every turn she made sure to let him know. But she did desire him, and in that he took a little hope. Mayhap in time she would grow to love him.
Brant remembered the soft line of her sleeping face as the combination of morning and firelight caressed the softness of her flushed, naked flesh. She’d slept on her stomach, her back completely exposed to him, and he’d stared at her in wonder as he quietly dressed. He’d wanted to wake her before he left, but thought it best not to, since she had been so sick as of late. Her illness worried him. Thinking of it only made him ache to turn around, but he would never forsake his duty for his own personal whims.
“So, it is as methought,” the king declared with a knowing grin. Brant was not sure if Guthrum’s eyes held pity or joy. “The legendary Brant the Flame is in love—and with his wife, no less.”
Chapter Twenty One
Della gradually became accustomed to the idea of her pregnancy. Now that she accepted what was awry with her body, she didn’t seem to be as ill, or mayhap it was she didn’t care because she knew the cause. The last several days without Brant had cooled her anger toward him, and she had to admit Gunther’s words helped a great deal in lessening her animosity. They left her longing to see him and deathly afraid of what he would say when she did. At times she wondered if he would come back at all. Mayhap he would leave her like she had often urged him to do.
At night, the image of his body haunted her. She woke up in the early dawn hours dripping with sweat, her heart pounding in apprehension. She worried for him. King Guthrum would not have ordered him away unless there was to be danger. During the day, she wondered if her child would have the same red streak in his hair, or the same mischievous glint to his eyes. Or mayhap it would be a girl who looked like her. She smiled to think of it and again ran her hand possessively over her stomach. Already she felt a hardening bump where her child would grow. Nothing else mattered, not so long as Brant was delivered safely back to her. Once he was, she would make sure he never left again. And, no matter how hard it was for her, she was determined to tell him how she really felt.