Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(18)

“Father?” Della had never seen him act like this. His words carried a surreal finality to them.

“Nay, Della.” Lord Strathfeld stood. He refused to look at her, instead choosing to stare at the closed chamber door. “It’s a grave thing you have done, trying to convince Lord Blackwell to renounce the betrothment. You will have to live with the consequences of your actions.”

“Father?” She backed away from the two men. The fire grew hotter behind her and she stopped. Not daring to look at her intended, she whispered, “What do you mean to do?”

Lord Strathfeld looked wearily to Brant. “That is not for me to decide.”

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked Brant, not bothering to hide her fear. Looking up at him through the sweep of her long lashes, she waited. He watched her intently, his face red with irritation. Her gaze moved to the firm set of his mouth. “Would you consummate the marriage now? In front of witnesses no less?”

“Nay,” Brant answered. Relief flooded her, but she hid it quickly beneath an icy mask. The frown between his eyes deepened.

“Would you not marry me?” She was unable to keep the hopefulness from her voice.

“Nay, should you prove to be a maiden, we will be wed. If not…” Brant took a step toward her, his fists clenching and unclenching in an unmistakable effort to control his anger. “If not, we will discuss it at that time. But, make no mistake, we will still be wed.”

Della nodded, well aware that he was letting her off easy. Legally, he could kill her for her insults to his reputation and no one would think less of him. He would only have to pay her father her worth as compensation and women really weren’t worth much in the eyes of the law. Or he could marry her first and then kill her. He would owe nothing and he would still be Ealdorman of Strathfeld. Della paled at the thought. There were many ways for a husband to rid himself of an unwanted wife.

Brant turned to Lord Strathfeld and nodded. The ealdorman frowned, but didn’t naysay the silent gesture. Della wondered what they were up to.

“So we are to wait then? To prove I’m not pregnant?” A calm relief came over her at the idea. It would be well over a fortnight before her woman’s time happened again. It meant she had more time to prepare herself for the tragedy that was to be her life. With more time another out would present itself.

“Nay, the wedding goes on as planned providing the outcome of your checking is satisfactory.” Brant’s expression shone with determination.

The relief drained slowly from her limbs to be replaced by first dread, then repulsion, and finally outrage. “You would not dare.”

“Della!” her father warned.

“Yea, m’lady, I would dare much. It’s time you were put in your place. I will not tolerate a faithless wife, in words or deeds. Heed my warning now.” He stormed toward her and grabbed her by the arm. “If ever I catch you even thinking of playing me false, I will beat you repeatedly within an inch of your life.”

She glanced at her father for help, but he shook his head and moved to go. The sharp bite of Brant’s hand closed on her arm like a vise. Her father opened the door and waved the midwife and two servants inside the bedchamber to witness.

Father? Father, please don’t leave me with him. Father? Father!

Della watched with wide eyes as Lord Strathfeld turned his back on her and shut the door behind him. Glancing at the servants, she didn’t really see them. She wasn’t sure what torture Brant had planned for her, only that it couldn’t be good. Della turned her pleading gaze to the unyielding man at her arm. It would be useless to beg him and yet she tried. “Please. Don’t do this, m’lord. Give me a chance to make it right.”



Brant’s resolve slipped at Della’s soft plea. He read the innocent fear in her eyes and in that moment was completely certain she was pure. But she’d put herself into this predicament. He had to have her maiden status proven. For when it was, all would think her dishonorable words were a desperate defense by a bride nervous of the wedding night. Such a thing would be laughed at and forgiven. If he did nothing, everyone would think ill of her and his children’s legitimacy would always be wondered at—no matter if he claimed them for his own. And worse, they would think he was less of a man. Soldiers wouldn’t follow a man who couldn’t control a mere woman. They wouldn’t trust him to be a strong leader.

“I am ready, m’lord,” the midwife, Serilda, called from the bed.

He knew it was too late to stop the inspection. Without answering Della’s plea for mercy, he stiffly dragged her to the bed by her arm. “Della, lie still. It will be over quickly. If you move it will hurt more.”