“Yer sire was a fool,” Serilda chimed in with a sneer. “Why else would he trust me to tend his wounds with poison?”
“Serilda!” Stuart sliced his hand through the air for silence, stepping in front of Serilda to hide her from Della’s view.
“You knew of this, Stuart?” A wave of queasiness drifted over Della. “How could you? My father took you in, raised you as his own son.”
“His own?” Stuart spat. “If I were his own, he would have given me the title I deserve. Instead, he gives it to that barbarian Viking. Your sire had to take me in. It was his duty to do so. He had no love for me.”
“Yea, he knew. We would plan it while in my bed,” Serilda gloated, ignoring Stuart’s hiss for silence. She skirted around her lover to face Della. “As soon as you wed with him and produce his heir, you will come to yer tragic end. I will be Lady Strathfeld and you will be a corpse.”
“Serilda, silence!” Stuart warned before looking properly apologetic.
“You will never be a lady, Serilda. Murderous whores can never be ladies,” Della proclaimed. “You are a fool to believe he would marry you. The best you can hope for is to be his mistress.”
“Yea, it would seem I am surrounded by a company of fools.” Stuart laughed, clearly liking the idea that the women argued over him. Giving Serilda a gentle push toward the door, he ordered, “Serilda, go attend Cedric. I promised him you’d see to his pains. Then ready yourself to depart.”
The midwife left, pouting, “His pains are hardly worth lifting my skirts fer.”
Stuart waited a long moment in silence. He paced the room thoughtfully before coming to sit on the edge of the bed. When another door slammed, he said, “You are quite right to believe that I will not marry her. She was merely a necessity. I don’t care for her.”
“You had my father killed.” Della balled her hands into fists, wanting to punch the smirk off his face and the self-satisfied gleam out of his eyes.
“Also a necessity,” Stuart admitted. “I did it for you, for us. Everything I have ever done has been for you. Your father sold you to a barbarian. I sought to free you from that bondage. You needed a friend. I was your only friend. You needed a husband who would not harm you. I offered to be that husband. I waited for you, but you had little faith to wait for me. I find the murderer of your mother and you spurn me for it. I have done everything in my power to make you happy. I loved you and you betrayed me by bearing the brat of that Viking inside you!”
Her blood ran cold until a numbing pain made its way over her limbs. “You kidnapped me. You murdered innocent people. Do not say you did that for me. I never asked it of you.”
“You did ask me to marry you, to be your husband. You begged me to save you from the marriage bed.”
“I was a child.”
“You still are a child, foolish cousin.”
“I never asked you to kill for me.”
“I did what I had to.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“Nay, I rescued you! Why must you insist on seeing everything as it is not?” Stuart’s pacing turned frantic and he started mumbling to himself as he shook his head. “Nay, you will see soon enough. Serilda will deliver my message for Brant and he will come alone. When I present his head to you, you will see that he is dead to you and that you do not care. Then after Serilda cuts the child from your body, we will wed. And you will see. You will…”
Della slowly nodded her head, but Stuart’s words rambled on. She realized yelling at Stuart would not aid her cause against him. Angering him would not see her and her child safely home. She did her best to hide her distaste as she said, “You may be right. I feel as if my head is beginning to clear with the logic of your words. He has woven a spell around me. He has poisoned me with his pagan ways. At the wedding feast, he gave me this drink. Methinks there might have been blood in it.”
Stuart brought his head up sharply to stare at her, looking as if completely unaware that he had been speaking aloud. “You mock me.”
“Nay.” Della widened her eyes with what she hoped was innocence, lowering her face so she looked at him from beneath the thick of her lashes. She’d never been one to play the docile maid, but she gave the performance all she had. Pouting, she said, “If only I could stand to comfort you, sweet cousin, but my legs still do not work. I have been selfish, have I not? You have been through so much and I have done naught but live in the comfort of Strathfeld. I should have waited, but it had been five years. Methought you had forgotten me. It’s your fault for not sending word to me that you still cared. I was jealous. And then I see you with that woman, Serilda. It makes my blood run cold to think you—”