“Stuart, you must help me,” Della beseeched him. For a moment, hope welled within her. Had she imagined the crazed Stuart? The one who had pronounced she was to love him and be his wife? This man standing before her could not have said those things. “Cedric is responsible for the raids. He killed all those people. You must—”
“Cedric informed me you knew the truth of it,” Stuart interrupted with an understanding nod. When she tried to speak again, he hushed her like a child and she closed her mouth. “We did not expect that you would have gone to the site with the men. You had never ridden out before. You were never meant to see those things, only hear of it from Roldan. If I had known you would go, I would have found a way to detain you. I am sorry, Della. I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”
“You knew?” Della refused to acknowledge his declaration of love. She had often told him the same when they were young, but not the way he said the word love. It was like a sleazy caress against her skin. His eyes were not the eyes of a friend. He was gazing at her as a lover would, like he knew her most intimate secrets. She wondered if his eyes had always been so daring. “Stuart, how could you? They were innocent people. They meant no harm to anyone, least of all you.”
“Nay. They were peasants. Merely expendable peasants.” Stuart glowered when she didn’t return his sentiment. He moved as if to touch her, his fingers reaching for her sore cheek with a confused frown. Della flinched as he neared, jerking slightly. He lowered his hand and studied his dirty fingernails.
“But they were women and children,” Della insisted, mindless of the warning echoes in her brain telling her to be silent. “They were innocent.”
“I never imagined you would go out there, but it worked out nicely. It persuaded you to cast Lord Blackwell from your bed swiftly enough.” Though his tone was regretful, he chuckled at his own private joke. His voice was no longer soft and kind, as he continued, “Peasants breed like rodents. A few will not be missed from my land. They will always be there to serve us, the strong. Do not worry so, Della. You will be looked after. Those who died served me more in their deaths than they ever could in life.”
“Stuart,” Della began again, gentler than before. Cedric had said the same thing and it was clear the traitorous knight had been fed the lies of her cousin. For a moment there was silence and Della thought she heard the soft pattering of rain against the thatched cottage roof. “They are not your peasants to command. They were people—Strathfeld’s people. They were not meant to serve you.”
Stuart frowned. “I am the true master of Strathfeld, Della.”
“This is insanity. I told you already. The marriage will stand. The king himself was at the castle to bless the union . It was Guthrum’s wish that Strathfeld and Blackwell Manor be joined and so they have. There is nothing to be done for it. You must go and find your own life. You must bring me home at once. Take me back to my castle.”
“Soon, cousin, but first you must rid him from your heart. I hoped by bringing you away from him, it would be enough to release you from his pagan spell.” He sat on the chair that had so recently held Cedric, pondering her through thought-veiled eyes. “I can see that it will take more time. Mayhap when you see his severed head before you, you will be free of him.”
“Nay!” Della lurched forward. As her weight settled on her legs, the limbs did not hold. She fell back on the bed. It was as if a thousand sewing needles pricked her skin at the same time. Rubbing them in confusion, she glared at her cousin.
“Strange sensation, is it not?” Stuart laughed, unmoved by her emotion. “Serilda is indeed a talented woman. A bit of powder pierced into the legs at just the right spots and the muscles will be too tired to support you.”
“Witchcraft,” Della swore, terrified.
Stuart frowned, but did not answer. He bit at his lip, sucking air through his teeth to make a strange hissing noise before continuing with his insanity. “I see you still wear the barbarian’s ring.”
Della looked at her finger and touched the bronze band lightly. Remembering Brant’s face as he’d told her the ring belonged to his mother, she was reluctant to part with it. She shook her head in denial, knowing what was to come. Grunting in frustration, her cousin stood and held out his hand.
“Give it to me.” Not waiting for her to comply, he instead leaned over and jerked it roughly from her finger. Without looking at it, he dropped it into the small satchel at his waist. “I will give you a jewel as large as you wish—not some silly heathen’s ring of bronze and amber.”