Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(21)

Her wedding gown was new, but simple. It had been a gift from the serving maids and a surprise for Della, who was touched by the unexpected present. She hadn’t bothered to order a new overtunic made for the occasion. It was edged with soft, pale blue embroidery and had wide sleeves that only went to her elbows. The bodice was snug and the skirt swung out over her hips to rest just above her ankles. Her undertunic was older, but still in fine shape. It hugged tight at the wrists, showing, along with the bottom hem of the skirt, from beneath the overtunic. A rounded neckline fit across her breasts, exposing the tops of them more than she would have liked. She caught Brant ogling her chest. Narrowing her gaze, she glared defiantly at him. His smile widened by small degrees.

If Della had been given her way, she would have worn a gown of mourning, but Ebba had hidden the dress she’d laid out. Della also refused to talk to Ebba.

All of a sudden, Brant turned to her and grabbed her hand. Della choked down her surprise. She hadn’t been listening to the ceremony. The formalities were over with and it was time for the exchanging of vows. His warm, large palm closed over her trembling fingers as he lifted them to his lips. Kissing her hand lightly, he stared deep into her eyes. Della could swear she felt his tongue flick quickly over her knuckles. He rubbed her wrist with the pad of his thumb, a trait she was beginning to associate with him. She shivered despite herself.

The fire of his touch started at her fingers and worked itself down her arm. Her heartbeat quickened. For a moment, she forgot who she was as she looked into the light pools of his eyes. They were the color of the heavens on a clear day, just after sunrise. She inhaled a ragged breath as his smile revealed perfectly straight, white teeth. His nose was proud and his lips...

Mmm, his lips. Della groaned inwardly as she remembered the feel of them on her breast.

The sun reflected off his long blond hair, making the red streak look as if it were a trail of flames. Rays of light glistened on his sun-bronzed skin. It was the first time she had looked at him with the aid of bright daylight. He was as handsome as rumored, which probably meant he’d had as many women as rumored.

Was it not Gunther who said he was born with a fire between his legs? No doubt he has many mistresses awaiting him elsewhere.

Good, let him have his mistresses! Della shook herself back to reality. It would mean that Brant, the fiery one, would spend less time demanding his husband rights and more time in the arms of other women. Lifting her chin in defiance, she arched a brow and dug her fingernails into the back of his hand. If the marriage bed was anything like what she’d experienced at the hands of the midwife, she wanted no part of it.

Brant’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, but his angelic smile stayed intact. He squeezed her hand tighter, causing her fingers to flex out in pain. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Gunther stepped forward and handed Brant an old sword, which he took in his free hand. Turning back to Della with the weapon he presented the hilt to her. She eyed it with a sneer.

“For our oldest son. To be kept in trust by you until he is old enough to wield it. And to then be passed on to his wife and in turn our grandchildren. It is a symbol of our ancestors and the continuation of the bloodline. May we be blessed with many, many children.” His voice was strong and confident as it rang over the onlookers. The Vikings cheered in approval and the few Anglo-Saxons who attended peered at each other in confusion over the strange declaration of words.

Brant grinned impishly as he let go of her hand so she could take the offered sword. Her fingers throbbed as she tried to grab the heavy hilt. The unexpected weight of it brought the tip crashing to the ground. Della dragged it to her side and a few men chuckled behind her. Her bridegroom smiled his irritating smile.

Brant watched her expectantly as he held out his hand to receive her sword. Della took a deep breath, all the while cursing his pagan ways. Using her wrist, she hugged the old sword to her waist and flexed her fingers. Her hand throbbed as the blood slowly returned to the crushed appendage. Staring at him for a long moment, she lifted the new sword to him blade first.

Brant gave her a look of warning and she in turn gave him an expression of innocence. Her tone even, she repeated the words that she had been forced to memorize earlier. “And for you, m’lord, a symbol that I am no longer my father’s, that I am yours. For you to protect me in times to come and in turn to protect our child and our home.”



Brant’s smile widened, hiding his relief that she hadn’t refused to speak and thus cause another scene. In truth, Della didn’t speak the traditional vows of the exchanging of the swords, but he thought the ones he’d made up for her were more appropriate. They were to be a reminder of his expectations of her. Only Gunther, who chuckled quietly behind him, noticed the alteration. He tried not to let his amusement show as the crowd hushed for the couple’s exchanging of vows to satisfy the church.