Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(139)

“Then use this, you sniveling goat,” Gunther shot in disgust.

Brant glanced at Gunther as he blocked the frame of the broken entryway. There was no other way out of the chamber. He held up his sword and waited for Brant to nod his approval before tossing it over. Stuart jolted away from the weapon as if it were a striking snake. The blade skidded on the floor, stopping as it hit his feet.

Stuart took a deep breath before leaning to pick up the weapon. He raised the blade as he stood, moving to lunge at Brant with a brutal yell. Brant knocked the effort aside and quickly thrust his sword into Stuart’s gut, severing his spine with the force of his anger. Brant let go of the hilt as it stuck into the man’s flesh.

The wounded Stuart sputtered and grabbed at his midsection as the sword he held once more tumbled to the ground. His legs weakened and became lifeless as his knees folded under his mass. Clutching his fingers around the hilt of Brant’s sword, he tried to pull it from his body. His fingers weakened and he fell lifeless to the floor. It was over. Stuart was dead.

Brant leaned to pull his blade from the dead body, looking at the man’s lifeless form in disgust. As he did, he heard Della’s scream muffled by the bit in her mouth. He turned quickly to her. Serilda was poised above her, a vial of poison in her hand.

“Nay!” Brant exclaimed, recognizing the venom. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gunther’s knife fly over his head to land in Serilda’s shoulder. The vial flew back to avoid Della and the midwife fell wounded to the floor.

Brant gave Gunther a nod of grim thanks as he stood. After many breathless, silent moments, he looked at his deceitful wife. He stared furiously at her, tortured by her panicked face, her amber eyes glowing with a force he could not look away from. Her golden hair was matted and dirty, her skin was caked with mud and grime, and her blue dress was torn and stained. Brant didn’t care about all that. He only saw the deceit he believed her capable of. He didn’t trust himself to deal with her quite yet, and so turned to Serilda, who lay gasping on the floor.

“M’lord,” Serilda panted. Her pale face was taut and her eyes narrowed with pain. Her lips moved as if to plead with him, but she would find no sympathy in the ealdorman.

Brant nudged her with his foot. Her injury was superficial, but for the vial of poison that had landed atop her. The thick liquid soaked through Serilda’s overtunic, spilling forth into her wound and then to the dirt floor. She chuckled, her eyes glittering in the irony that her death was by her own hand. Her arms began to shake as the venom coursed through her veins.

“You will die by your own poison, Serilda,” Brant stated flatly.

The woman made a strange noise in the back of her throat. Brant didn’t help her. The midwife’s gaze clouded over as a spasm of pain racked her body. Spit trailed from her mouth to kill off her laughter.



Della struggled against her restraints as she watched Brant in horror. He made no move to help her. Finally, he turned from her, as if wiping her from his sight in disgust. Tears of anguish attacked her heart and shook her body with his rejection. His handsome face held no tenderness for her, no relief, no hope. It was her worst fear. He didn’t care for her, and only came to her rescue out of pride and mayhap a sense of duty.

Brant motioned Gunther to wait outside the chamber. When they were alone, he turned back to her. His stare was detached as he walked to stand over the bed.

Della fought her restraints, desperately wanting to hold him. Tears coursed down her reddened cheeks. She mumbled incoherently through the stifling piece of cloth bound to her mouth, glancing a few times at Stuart’s dead body as she tried to explain. Brant shook his head, his look stopping her words. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t understand them anyway. She barely understood them.

“You are lucky I do not kill you, lady wife.” Brant said calmly. Della made a weak noise and he narrowed his gaze in warning. She quieted. “I will leave you alive to live with your failure and the knowledge of what you tried to do to our child. You will carry the child, of that you can be certain, but you will never raise it. I’m taking the babe from you the moment the child is born. You will never be his mother. You will never look upon him or hold him. You will not even be told his name.”

Della saw the hard set of his beautifully chiseled face as he turned away. His eyes were cold and dead. Not even anger showed through their depths. She screamed against the gag, yelling at him to stop, straining unsuccessfully to free herself.



Brant ignored her cries as he walked silently out the door, his shoulders hunched in disappointment. Closing her in the chamber, he didn’t look back. As he strode out of the cottage, Gunther stopped him near their horses. He couldn’t look at his friend, choosing instead to stare off into the night. When he spoke it was in low, dark tones commanding Gunther in their shared Norse tongue. Gunther froze at what his lord asked of him, but Brant didn’t wait to hear his man’s opinion of the order. Swinging onto his horse, the ealdorman galloped away into the night.