Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(126)

Brant laid his hand on his sword and several of his men did the same. Through the mist of the heavy, gray droplets, he recognized Roldan’s form shadowed on the other side of the bridge. The man waved him forward.

Brant urged his horse forward carefully, scanning the manor for any sign of life. The bailey yard was empty of both people and animals. When finally the ealdorman pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted with no incident, he let his body relax and released the hilt of his sword.

“M’lord.” Roldan rushed to Brant’s side. His wan expression apologized for the delay. “Please, quickly come inside.”

“Is aught amiss?” Brant held the horse’s reins, not moving to go indoors. His chain mail clanked quietly. The rain was breaking, making it just clear enough to be bearable. “Where are the guards? Why are they not at their posts? Where is Gunther? What has happened here?”

“It’s Lady Blackwell,” Roldan said bluntly, when it was obvious his lord was not to follow him in.

“What is it?” He tensed, glancing around the yard in vain, as if he could will her to appear. “Has she gone ill?”

“She is gone,” Roldan said. “Cedric reported a raid to some of the men, who in turn reported to Gunther. When we went to check it out, there was naught there. We rode back as fast as we dared, but Della and Cedric were missing when we got here.”

“When?” Brant again searched the inner bailey, eager for any sign of his wife, for any hint that Roldan was mistaken.

“Yestereve.” Roldan motioned the riders toward the stables and started to grab the reins from Brant’s hand. “Gunther is out searching e’en now.”

“Nay.” Brant refused to give up the horse. He gripped the leather straps tight.

“I was about to send riders to search fer you. Edwyn is writing missives e’en now, for we did not know where you were or when you would be back. Methought it best to send most of the men with Gunther—hence the empty wall.” Roldan motioned to a passing soldier and ordered, “Bring my horse at once. I ride with the ealdorman.”

Brant lifted his face to the darkening sky. Searching for his wife would be hard in the black rain of night. Any tracks would’ve melted away and no doubt Cedric would be long gone. His heart beat erratically in his chest and he, who was generally not afraid of anything, felt his hand tremble in fear.

Afraid of naught except the idea of losing my Della.

Brant swore under his breath, waving the knights who had ridden with him inside to rest. Then, swinging his tired body back onto his horse, he didn’t wait for Roldan to mount. Brant tore from the castle as if pursued by demons with Roldan trailing quickly behind him.





* * * * *


Della scowled at Serilda, who in turn glared back at her maliciously. Their eyes waged a silent war until the midwife finally turned away first to wipe her fingers on her dirty apron. Huddling underneath the matted fur coverlet, Della’s body still quaked from where the woman had touched her. Stuart hadn’t even left during Serilda’s forced examination, choosing instead to hold down her arms. Her cousin’s eyes roamed freely over her exposed thighs and stomach and when she’d tried to kick Serilda, he had threatened to call Cedric to hold her legs. Della had let the woman examine her.

Stuart followed Serilda’s silent beckoning and they retreated to the far corner of the chamber. Della tried to hear their fervent whispers, but could only make out the tones of their voices, not the words.

“It is true then, Della?” Stuart glared at her. “You carry his bastard in your belly?”

“It is not a bastard. We are wed.” Della protectively cradled her stomach. “So you see this is pointless. Even if you kill the father, the child will live and he will be the heir to Strathfeld. You cannot kill us all and still be ealdorman.”

Stuart chuckled, though his eyes were filled with disgust as he looked at her protective hand. “Foolish cousin, to believe there are not ways to rid a woman of a child. You just cannot see the greater scope of things. You were always foolish though, cousin.”

Della had begun to see what others did in him. She’d spent much of her life feeling sorry for him, when he was indeed the animal people had called him. He’d murdered innocent people and now planned to murder her unborn child. He was no better than the men who had attacked her mother. He was right in calling her foolish. She had been a fool—a fool for believing in him, in defending him, in wanting to have married him.

“As was your sire,” he continued in a contemptuous whisper.

“My father was a great man.” Della gritted her teeth. “How dare you speak ill of him. He was thrice the man you could ever wish to be.”