Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(137)
“Then no deal,” William said.
“If you tell me, I will have you taken prisoner until I have retrieved my wife,” Brant paused, and enunciated in words this kind of man could understand, “my property. She is mine and I will have her back.”
Brant raged inwardly, but his expression remained eerily calm. Even through his anger, he wanted Della safely home. He refused to say her name and it pained him to call her wife.
William grunted, starting to deny the claim. “She is—”
“But,” Brant continued, “if you have harmed my property and thus insulted me in any way, I will have you killed for your offense to me.”
William didn’t move as he contemplated his options.
When the man didn’t readily agree, Brant tossed his head to Gunther. “Gut him.”
“Nay!” William denied, as Gunther reached into his belt for a knife. Gunther leaned over him with the blade and paused to look at Brant. William gulped, showing his first sign of fear. “I will tell you.”
Brant tilted his head to order Gunther back.
“That is what methought.” Gunther chuckled darkly. His hand rested on his knife.
“Speak,” Brant ordered. “And make it good, lest I change my mind and kill you.”
* * * * *
“Be still, Della.” Stuart dug his fingernails into the soft skin of her inner elbow, holding her still.
Della struggled in protest. The ropes binding her arms above her head bit into her wrists, digging painfully into her flesh until she felt a raw sting with every jerk. Wrenching away from Stuart’s touch, she shot him a deadly glare. Her cousin flinched at her blatant hatred, but soon found his composure.
She’d regained consciousness only to discover that she’d been gagged and bound to the cottage bed. Della paid little mind to the throbbing in her temple. Her fear outweighed any physical discomforts.
Serilda laid out devilish, gruesome instruments along a table, deliberately placing them within Della’s view. A large, thin knife glinted in the firelight, as the midwife held it up. Della closed her eyes and looked away. Serilda chuckled. Stuart said nothing.
Pulling frantically against the ropes at her ankles, she found they too were strong. Desperate tears stung her eyes and her heart pounded so hard she felt it throughout her body. She muttered curses against the gag in her mouth, breathing heavily through her nose and refusing to look at Stuart. Pleading with him would do no good.
It hadn’t taken her long to realize Stuart had known the truth behind her mother’s death and of William’s part in the deed. She’d read the hardened reality in their eyes before Serilda struck her.
Please God, don’t let them take my baby. Don’t let them take Brant from me. By all the Saints, don’t let them harm my family.
Glaring at her cousin, she struggled against his hands on her shoulder. His touch repulsed her. She screamed against the gag.
“Quiet,” Serilda said.
Della closed her eyes and continued to mutter every obscenity she could think of. She even found use of a few Nordic curses she’d heard from her husband when he didn’t know she listened.
Serilda sharpened the gruesome knife against a grinding stone. “M’lady, it will hurt less if you do not move. I should hate to see you bleed to death.”
“You will not cut her unnecessarily,” Stuart told the midwife. “If she dies, you die.”
Serilda paled and said nothing more, but her hand shook at the warning. Della whimpered, remembering the rough treatment she’d been given during the checking. With mounting fright, she realized Serilda planned on sticking the knife inside of her. She fought harder against the press of Stuart’s hands, but her bonds held her fast to the bed like a metal vise.
She closed her eyes, too scared to watch as Serilda stopped grinding the blade. A tear trickled over Della’s face and her heart yelled for Brant. She heard the midwife step toward the bed, her footfalls were the ominous sound of defeat. Della braced herself for what was to come. Fear welled inside her. The only thing she could think of was Brant and his smiling face. And she knew she would sooner die than live without him.
* * * * *
Night was fast approaching and the evening sky blanketed the ground in its darkness. Brant sent Roldan back to Strathfeld with the prisoner before making his way to the abandoned cottage with Gunther. Everything was like the man had said. They had no trouble finding it and Stuart obviously hadn’t expected his plans of an ambush to go awry because they had no difficulty sneaking inside.
As Brant stepped silently across the threshold of the cottage door, he lowered his drawn sword. The small room was musty and abandoned, and the fire pit was cold. Brant sniffed and could detect nothing that proved his wife had been there.