For if Lord Strathfeld’s dying act was to give his title to a respected warrior of the Viking army, then King Guthrum would remember him kindly, and in turn, would feel a debt to keep his daughter safe. This arranged marriage wasn’t because her father actually liked the Viking barbarian at her side.
Nay, perchance he doesn’t favor him over me at all. He was only trying to protect me. What a sweet, diligent father I have and what a poor, ungrateful excuse for a daughter I have been.
Tears welled in her eyes and Edwyn quickly sat beside her. He leaned to her, refusing to touch her lest the guests or her new husband construe his attentions as unseemly. “M’lady?”
“Oh, Edwyn, I have been such a spoiled child.” Shutting her eyes tight, she lifted her balled fist to her lips and bit her knuckle hard to keep from crying.
“Nay, m’lady, Lord Strathfeld knows well yer reason fer not wanting to marry a Norseman. He understands the pain you still carry in yer heart and is sorry fer it.” Abruptly Edwyn sat up and looked over her shoulder. “Mayhap this is not the time to discuss such private matters, m’lady.”
Della nodded, realizing her husband must be listening.
“Della?” Brant confirmed her suspicion.
“Yea, Lord Blackwell?”
Brant laid a gentle hand on her arm. Edwyn nodded in approval of Lord Blackwell’s concern. Della frowned at the seneschal.
“Is all well?” Brant asked.
Della didn’t have the energy at the moment to fight his touch. She took a calming breath before turning to him. “Yea, m’lord, all is well.”
Brant studied her watery eyes. Slowly he nodded, accepting her answer.
“M’lord, you stare like a commoner. Mayhap you could direct your eyes elsewhere.” Della snapped to her senses and pulled her arm away. Her weakness embarrassed her. She stood up to face their guests and imagined she could feel Brant glaring at her. He would not like her public show of distaste. After a few moments, he stood and moved as if to talk to her.
Della ignored him and lifted up the wedding kasa. She studied the bowl-like vessel. It had two large handles on each side and a strange Viking symbol of a hammer engraved into it. It looked very old, even for bronze, and had already been filled with dark ale when she’d arrived at the high table.
It was customary for the bride and groom to drink from the same cup for four sennights after the nuptials, at least whenever they were together at the high table. Usually the one larger wedding goblet was set before them with liquor, but they were permitted to have their own smaller goblets. It was a formality only, but one that must be adhered to, otherwise the wedding was not considered legally binding.
The crowd quieted some in respect to watch the couple. She nodded to Edwyn, who had once more made his way to the back of the hall, before presenting the cup to her husband. Brant’s strong fingers lightly brushed hers as he took the cup from her. Della felt the unfamiliar shiver begin in her hands, only to work its way to aflame her stomach with a strange kind of fire. He held the two handles as he took a small taste. A look of confusion passed over his face and he hesitated before swallowing.
Once he set down the cup, Della picked it up to hurriedly take her drink. The ale was thick and overly salty. She set the kasa down and turned to Brant, who studied her with a look of extreme repentance.
“Would you explain the drink, m’lord?” The salty taste still stung her mouth and she wished another drink were nearby. “Is it another pagan custom? Perchance made from sheep dung and grass?”
Brant shook his head. A somewhat mischievous smile curved his lips. “Nay, m’lady. It is made from the sow’s blood that was sacrificed in honor of the Norse Goddess, Freyja, to bless our union with many children.”
“Do you waste a good sow for such purposes?” Della fumed.
“Nay, it is being eaten by the wedding guests.” Brant didn’t take his eyes off her.
Then the truth of his words hit her. He had made her drink sow blood? Della turned to the kasa and then back to Brant. All tender gratitude she had been feeling for his help with her father, though it had been little, slowly slipped away.
“You are a despicable, detestable, miserable boor.” Della kept the pretense of a smile on her features. “I will not drink this for the next two fortnights.”
At her words, Gunther, who was still to her husband’s side, turned a disapproving look to Brant. It was obvious he didn’t think much of Della’s sharp tongue.
“It is only required this one time.” Brant strained to suppress his amusement. “Besides, it could have been a goat.”
“I would see my father this night.”