Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(14)

Good thing he hadn’t kissed her lips. He knew if he felt her sweet mouth he would be lost and then Odin help him. His self-control threatened to abandon him as he stopped and looked back, tempted to finish what was started. He forced himself to continue down the stairwell.

Beg.

If it had been any other maid, his command would have been met and eagerly so, but she wasn’t just any maid. She was Della the Cold and she was to be his unwilling wife.





Chapter Three




“M’lady!”

The shout of a small boy carried over the loud main hall. Della looked up from where she’d been staring at her trencher to see Rab running across the floor toward the high table. The manor had come together for the morning meal, except for a few servants and guards who were on duty. Hearing a small sound, she glanced at Gunther on her right in distaste. He was licking grease from his fingers. To her left was her father, whom she refused to talk to out of principal, and on the opposite side of him was her intended. Lord Blackwell had chosen not to sit by her and they enjoyed the morning meal in relative hostility. She was relieved to have time to get her emotions under complete control and didn’t want to have a repeat of their last meeting. Stretching her sore, raw hand, she grimaced. She shouldn’t have taken her frustrations out on the wall.

Rab gasped for breath, his thin shoulders heaving under his worn, brown tunic. Seeing the lower tables filled with soldiers, he skidded to a sudden stop, almost slipping in the rushes. Nervous, he eyed the gathered hall. Most of the knights continued to dine, ignoring the rambunctious lad. Suddenly, his gaze found Della and the boy seemed to relax.

“Rab, what is it?” Della couldn’t help but give him a fond smile, knowing that he’d come to her in such a panic and not to one of the men. It just proved who the people thought was in charge.

“Go on, boy, out with it.” Lord Strathfeld’s voice was gruff. Chunks of half-chewed meat flew from his mouth at the command, some of it landing on her trencher. Della stiffened in her chair, gripping the arms for support. The hall quieted and all turned their attention to the boy.

Rab flinched. “Raiders, ‘long the south section. Two o’ the freeman…”

Della’s breath caught in her throat, her body instantly weak with worry. She started to stand, instinctively wanting to ready her horse and ride out. Sensing movement at her side, she stayed seated, reminded of who was in her hall. Gunther looked at her thoughtfully. Brant didn’t move as he watched the boy in silence. Her father frowned. If it was only her, she’d have ordered the men to their horses, but with her father home she didn’t have the authority to do so.

Rab continued, “They’re dead, m’lord. Burned alive!”

“To the exercise field, tell Roldan to ready the men. Go now, boy!” Lord Strathfeld shot to his feet, the chicken he’d been eating still in his hand.

Della pushed her food away, no longer hungry as her mind raced with the news. Who had been killed? She knew most of the people who worked the land, if not all.

“M’lady?” Gunther asked quietly. “Do you know that child?”

“Yea,” she answered in distraction. “That is Rab, a foundling boy. I let him help around the manor. His mother was killed by raiders years ago, when he was still a babe.”

Gunther furrowed his brows, but said no more.

Sensing Brant’s hot gaze on her, she turned to him. His attention made her nervous and she resented that he could unsettle her with just a look. The man was a stranger and yet his face was burned into her thoughts. All night, as she sat awake staring into a fire that reminded her of the red in his hair, she’d tried to think of ways to end the betrothment without hurting her people. She’d come up with nothing.

Brant was the first to look away. Lifting his cup, he drank the remainder of his ale and set the empty goblet on the table. Standing, he said, “Gunther, I will ready twelve men to ride with Lord Strathfeld. You stay here, lest you are needed. It is unwise to leave the manor unguarded.”

Lord Strathfeld nodded as he dropped the chicken. “I am sorry to tell you, but this happens quite often. You might as well see the worst of it. Besides, the ride will give me a chance to show you the extent of the south portion of Strathfeld land.”

“Nay, father,” Della interrupted with false pleasantness. “The raids only started again since you made known your intent to betroth me to Lord Blackwell. Edwyn and I had the raids under control. Aside of petty thievery, such things only occur once a year, and always during winter when traveling bands of rovers raid for food, not lives.”