Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(133)

Stuart, what has happened to make you so crazed? For surely madness affects you.

“You shiver at my touch,” he whispered when she didn’t speak. He lifted a finger to run along the length of her collarbone. “Do you know I have dreamed of possessing you since I first saw you? I knew then you would grow to be my wife and I waited for you. I bided my time until you were grown into womanhood.”

Nausea fought its way up from her stomach, choking her. She coughed. Part of her still cared for her cousin, but not in the way that he did for her. She’d been a fool to think of marrying him, naive in her beliefs of what a marriage should be. Brant showed her there could be more than family alliances and the merging of property and fortune. “I shiver because of the draft.”

“Still my shy little Della.” Stuart chuckled. “Mayhap the barbarian did not poison you as much as methought. Could it be his tastes in the marriage bed are exaggerated?”

Della watched him carefully and didn’t answer.

“I went to see your father on your fifteenth birthday. I asked him for your hand.” Stuart’s fingers had reached the opposite shoulder and began the languid journey back. He leaned closer. “He refused me.”

“He did not tell me.”

“I asked him again, each year after, until your seventeenth birthday. He refused me each time. I told him he would never keep us apart. I told him I would run away with you if he did not allow it. That is when he asked me to leave Strathfeld and never come back. He said he would kill me if he saw me near you again. I wasn’t allowed to write to you.”

“I swear he didn’t tell me.” Della tried to turn her face away, but Stuart grabbed her by her jaw. His grip bit into her bruises, forcing her to be still as he leaned forward to kiss her. She gasped, turning her lips from him as his hand traced along her cheek to cup her neck. His lips were cold and she felt the tip of his tongue brush her cheek. “We cannot.”

“Why?” Stuart demanded in outrage. His grip tightened. “Am I not good enough for you? You would give yourself like a whore to that Viking—”

“Nay, it’s not that.” Della’s mind raced for the right words. She stood frozen in place, too afraid to move completely away, of saying something he would deem inappropriate. The smallest insult would surely set him off. “It’s you who are too good for me.”

Stuart’s surprise was audible as he pondered her reply. The heat of his breath hit against her neck. Finally, he leaned away and nodded in agreement. Giving her one last painful squeeze, he dropped his hand and took a step back.

“Stuart?” Della released the breath she’d been holding. “May I walk outside now?”

“Yea, let us stretch your legs. Serilda should be arriving back anytime.” His expression saddened. “Methinks it might be awhile before you are able to walk again.”

Her insides crumbled in despair and her breath quickened of its own accord. She could not control the shaking of her limbs. Until that moment, she’d somehow managed to remain calm. But as the minutes passed, she felt more and more helpless. Then she realized, with no small amazement, that she’d waited for Brant to save her. It hadn’t occurred to her that he wouldn’t.

“It will be all right, Della. After tonight you will no longer feel the pain of that heathen child in your belly.” He picked up her hand and laid it on his arm. His arm flexed under her hand, but the press of his muscle left her feeling hollow and cold. He walked toward the door, escorting her out of the room, through a dingy front chamber and out into the small yard.

The outside light, though diffused in softness, hurt her eyes. Della squinted until she grew used to the brightness. Moist earth squished under her feet, causing her to slip in the dampened soil.

The cottage stood alone in a small valley, surrounded by nothing but forest and prairie. An overgrown garden grew near the front door, but looked to be unattended for several seasons. The air was thick with the threat of rain, though the darkest clouds were still far off. For a moment, Della just stood and breathed deep, cleansing pants of air.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the tree line. It was too far to chance running away. Already she felt a twinge in her abdomen and knew that Stuart would overtake her if she were to try.

A humid breeze stirred around them, sticky and moist. Her linen gown molded to her skin and the wayward strands of her hair stuck to her face. However, the air was fresh and Della found herself gratefully taking another deep breath. It was a blessing compared to the dank smell of the cottage.

Sighing, Della tried to slip her arm from Stuart’s grasp. He didn’t relinquish his hold. “Stuart, I should have some privacy for what I am about.”