Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(2)

Ebba giggled and Della wondered at the knowing look in the girl’s eyes. “Yea, Sir Stuart is handsome. Would yer sire consider him?”

“Nay,” Della admitted with remorse. Nay, he thinks naught of Stuart. He is more interested in his political intrigues and an alliance with Stuart is not politically advantageous. He would rather see me married to a murdering, lecherous boor of a Viking than let me find true happiness with a man who would stay out of my way and let me run my keep!

“It’s a shame.” Ebba licked her bottom lip. “Perchance this Viking husband will not be so bad. It’s rumored he’s good with his sword, both in bed and out.”

Della suppressed a groan at the younger girl’s crudeness. It was no secret Ebba already had many lovers in her young life. She had never even been alone with a man, except for her cousin, Stuart. They’d been childhood friends, though she hadn’t seen him for many years. She didn’t love him as a woman loved a man, far from it, but he was safe.

The marriage bed terrified her and wasn’t a prospect she’d been looking forward to experiencing. Della knew if she would’ve been permitted to marry Stuart, he would’ve let her out of that particular marital duty. In turn, she would’ve let him keep as many mistresses as he desired so long as he was discreet and out of her way.

She determined it best to change the course of the conversation before her fear of the marriage bed was discovered. It was easier to be in charge of men and servants if she showed no weaknesses. Della knew what the men called her behind her back—“Della the Cold-Hearted” or, for short, “Della the Cold”. Long ago, she’d taught herself not to care so long as they showed no disrespect to her face and did as they were commanded.

“Do you think this Viking has even seen the inside of a keep? I heard it told they sleep outdoors on their ships. Mayhap right next to the cattle.” Della gave Ebba a pointed look.

“M’lady!” Ebba’s cheeks turned red and she grabbed a piece of her cropped black hair, twirling it around her fingers. She kicked the worn tip of her shoe into the herb-scented rushes that lined the floor. “Mayhap he was just at battle. Mayhap he rode through the night to get here on time.”

The maid gave a romantic sigh, no doubt believing the whispers of Lord Blackwell being a glorious war hero, a valiant knight-errant. It was said he was a man of distinguished valor on the field of battle and those war-hardened men who fought against him ran at the mere sight of him and his fiery sword. However, Della knew how the scribes liked to exaggerate. Eyeing the Norseman now, she frowned. He wasn’t so frightening.

Besides, Della thought ruefully, he might scare grown men but he would assuredly meet his match in a woman.

“Yea, and mayhap you should marry the nefarious barbarian and I could be your handmaid.” Della understood Ebba had no knowledge of the conspiring that ran her mistress’s life. All the servants could seem to understand was the work of their daily existence. Della tried to change that by teaching them the ways of the world, for she believed that everyone deserved to be enlightened. She found most of them didn’t want her lessons.

Ebba scrunched her face at the prospect of being a fine lady. “Nay, it’s too much to ask. Abovestairs he would break me with his very size.”

“More like he would stifle you with his odor,” Della noted wryly. Ebba giggled again. Though, the handmaiden had a point. Brant was indeed a big man, even for a Viking.

“Yea, it’s a sad truth. Lord Blackwell is not known for his cleanly ways.”

Della stiffened, as the soft words drifted from behind her. The sound curled the hairs on her neck to standing. She’d only changed the subject to keep Ebba from probing too much into her future husband’s carnal appetites. She hadn’t meant for anyone else to hear her barbs—especially not someone with a Nordic accent. Her heart fluttered and she felt sick at being caught, but she couldn’t let her anxiety show.

Proudly straightening her shoulders, she turned to the man behind her. Heat rose on her cheeks and she hoped he didn’t see it, as she eyed the man who dared to interrupt their conversation. Giving him a chilly stare, it was too late to back down from her viperous comments.

“Yea, it is.” Her hard tone crackled over them like breaking ice. No one would know it, but the more nervous she became the harder her voice was, the icier her expression.

“M’lady?” Ebba whispered. Della saw the maid from the corner of her eye, but refused to pull her gaze from the barbarian’s. The servant swayed back and forth, clearly wanting to be dismissed. Ebba gave a cautious glance to the large man and took a step back. “M’lady?”