Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(135)

“Stuart?” She eyed her cousin, hurt that his treachery could have gone so far. “You knew? All these years you have known? You knew and you tried to make me believe that Brant’s father…”

Della couldn’t continue. Tears blinded her to reason and her heart ached at the true depths of her cousin’s betrayal. She started to turn, intent on getting away. Her feet slipped in the mud and she landed hard upon the earth. Pushing desperately at the slick ground, she righted herself, not knowing where she would run only that she must try. She took a hasty step toward the forest, but before she could get away something hard crashed against her temple.

Della stumbled, falling in a daze. She landed roughly on her hands and knees. Her fingers gripped the ground in pain. Through a fog, she heard Serilda cackling above her.

“I told you she wasn’t changed,” Serilda gloated. Della heard the woman circle her like a hunting beast. The salty flavor of blood filled her mouth and dripped to the ground. “We should kill her and be done with it. Then there will be no one left to naysay yer claim. You will be the only heir to the land.”

And that was the last Della heard. Her limbs trembled as she tried to stand, wanting to defend herself against the treacherous midwife. She never reached her feet. Serilda leaned over and hit her head again, causing her world to go black.





* * * * *


Stars peeked through the purpling sky as the orange glow of the sun set against the horizon. The threat of rain was over for the moment, but the humidity the dark clouds brought was not. Brant listened to the forest. No animals made noise and even the insects were quiet. The wind picked up, blowing over the land, crashing the leaves together in a natural melody on the trees.

Brant slowly urged his horse toward the large oak. The old tree bent naturally to the east, just as Della wrote. He knew in his gut that his wife was not there, felt that she wasn’t. He wasn’t surprised, for he hadn’t expected her to be.

Brant watched the trees, not knowing what to believe. He was no fool to think Della had meant it when she wrote she loved him. She’d said just the opposite to him on many occasions. But why the deception to gain his trust? Was she really so heartless as to throw his words of love into his face now? Or was it because she loved Stuart still? For it was with the help of Stuart and Serilda that she had her message delivered. He knew Edwyn played no part in his wife’s deception, only that Rab had no knowledge of the secret passage. That was why the boy thought the elderly man helped the midwife.

Suddenly, an arrow whizzed by his ear, missing the lobe by less than an inch. Brant responded with an instinct born from years of combat. He charged his horse behind the protection of the oak’s thick trunk before swinging swiftly to the ground. He landed silently on the moist earth and drew his sword as another arrow hissed by to land near his feet. He heard a string of curses before the forest went silent.

“Blackwell!”

“Yea,” Brant yelled tersely. He straightened and relaxed his sword a bit, angling it toward the ground. “What was that all about?”

“Methought to give you at least a bit of sport this day,” Gunther answered in return. Brant heard the smirk in his friend’s voice. “Are you hit?”

“Nay,” Brant growled. “Did you find the archer?”

“We got him,” Roldan answered. Another curse echoed the forest and then a loud, pained grunt. “Yea, his manhood fell on my foot. He will not be moving fer awhile.”

Brant relaxed his guard and glanced around the wooden trunk of his sanctuary. He was barely able to move his head when a sword thrust deftly near his face. He struck up with his blade in one fluid motion to block the attack, returning the man’s paltry blow with one of his own more powerful ones. Brant forced the hidden attacker to stumble away from the protection of the tree and into his view.

“Cedric,” Brant acknowledged with a sharp growl. He shook his head in mocking amusement. The knight righted himself and swung around with a lift of his smaller sword. Brant once again deflected the blow. “Give this up, boy. You are no match for me. I have seen you practice. I know all six of your moves.”

“Blackwell,” Cedric spat in ire. His face turned red at the insult. “How is it I should be frightened by an old man who fights with the skill of a crippled elder woman?”

Brant grimaced at the poorly delivered slur as he blocked the man’s assault. His broadsword dwarfed the man’s smaller, slender Anglo-Saxon weapon. Cedric dashed his blade forward several times and each time Brant expertly countered the blow. The younger man lacked the skill to thrust his weapon close to the more experienced fighter. As Brant thwarted another attempt, Cedric turned quickly and took him by surprise. His blade glanced off Brant’s unprotected arm, nicking his flesh enough to draw blood. Determined, Brant held back though he had perfect opportunity to kill the knight.