Digging into the pocket of his tunic, he grabbed a ring and slipped it onto the hilt of his new sword. He studied her for a moment, feeling guilty for what he had put her through and cursing the midwife for not being a little more sensitive to his bride. Della was a maiden after all. He wondered if she was still sore from the examination.
Would you let me soothe that ache, Ice Princess?
His bride was indeed ravishing—except for her constant icy scowls. For a moment, he’d thought he had seen her softening toward him. But no, he admitted to himself in disappointment, it was clear she held no tender thoughts of him. In time, he hoped her angry heart would calm so they may live peaceably together. Although divorce was traditionally accepted amongst his people, it was not allowed so readily by the Christian church.
“I, Lord Blackwell, future Ealdorman of Strathfeld, take thee, Lady Della of Strathfeld, to be my wedded wife…” He continued with his vows, watching Della’s face as he spoke. She didn’t move.
When he was done, Della took the ring from the hilt of the sword and slipped it on her finger without looking at it. She shot him an expression of annoyance. Brant tried not to be hurt by her blatant disinterest in his gift. Swallowing visibly, she repeated his words back to him in a hushed voice. After she had spoken, the crowd was quiet, obviously not knowing she’d finished. A priest cleared his throat and held up his arms. Saying his quick blessing over Lord and Lady Blackwell, he bade them to kiss and seal the union . Della paled, her eyes traveling to his lips.
Brant leaned in to Della, watching as she shot a sidelong glance to her father. Lord Strathfeld started coughing. As Brant moved his lips to join with hers, she sharply turned her head to the left, causing him to miss her mouth and instead kiss the tip of her ear. He grated his teeth in irritation as he heard the assembly chuckle with laughter. Grabbing her by the shoulder, he was intent on giving the crowd a good show.
“Nay!” Della struggled against him, unable to break his grasp. She sought his gaze, panicked as she pushed at his chest. “My father!”
Brant glanced to Lord Strathfeld in bafflement. The older man’s face had turned a grotesque shade of yellow. His lips were edged with blue. The ealdorman fell forward. Brant let go of his wife. She rushed to the man’s side to catch him, getting pummeled by his heavier weight.
“Father!” Della eased the man to the ground the best she could. The head rail was knocked from her hair so the strands flew freely in the breeze to tangle around the fallen man. Unmindful of the damage the dirt did to her wedding tunic, she kneeled on the ground. “Please, someone get help.”
The throng of people burst into chaos. Brant motioned to Gunther, knowing he’d understand his silent command to go after Serilda. She was the only one at the castle who had knowledge of the healing draughts.
Kneeling beside his wife, he lifted Lord Strathfeld out of her arms. Della stood, hovering next to her father. Brant noted her stricken features as tears worked their way into her eyes.
“Della, let us get him inside.” Brant kept his voice soft.
He motioned to some nearby soldiers for assistance. After they hoisted the fallen ealdorman up, Brant helped to carry the man abovestairs. Glancing back, he saw a tear slip down Della’s face. A maid picked up her headpiece and several more hurried forward to try to dust off her gown. She grimaced as she shooed them away, moving to follow her father.
* * * * *
Della was a married woman, despite the minor formalities they had yet to complete. For the most part, the worst was over—at least publicly. She’d given her word, bound herself to the barbarian. In doing so, she’d assured her noble place, assured protection for her people, assured the Viking king would look upon them in favor. And she’d assured that happiness would never be hers.
After Lord Strathfeld’s collapse, her husband had carried her father abovestairs to his bedchamber. He didn’t look well and Serilda had said he might not last the night. Lord Strathfeld had been insistent they hurry back belowstairs and finish the formalities, so none might later claim the marriage was not legal before his death. Della hated to leave his side, but with his insistence she had obeyed. Already, she’d upset her father enough in the last several days and now berated herself for not talking to him. How selfish and foolish she had been not to see past her own anger and insecurities.
When she came down, the feasting had already begun. Gunther had been good enough to tend to the guests in their stead. She could see how he was a good man to have around, despite his numerous liaisons with the servants.
Brant made a few polite announcements regarding her father’s health and for once she was glad there was someone to take over for her. It didn’t mean she liked her barbarian husband, but even she could admit to being grateful. She didn’t know what she was going to do without her father. He was the only family she had left, not counting Stuart. For all she knew, her new husband would forbid her from ever seeing her cousin again.