Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(27)

Unsure, she quickly brought her gaze to his face. He had the same aggravating smile that often graced his lips when he looked at her. The men pushed at Brant’s back. Her stomach turned, fear choking her as he loomed forward.

“Into bed with you,” Gunther yelled, drunkenly wielding his goblet like a sword as he forced Brant to the bed with the tip of his empty cup. Turning to Della, he winked audaciously.

To her horror, she realized her inebriated husband swayed on his feet, appearing very close to passing out. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The action only made him laugh as he suggestively wagged his brows.

“Do you fret, Della?” Brant slurred. He stumbled to the right only to be caught by a toothless peasant and pushed back to standing. His hands strayed to the waistband of his braccas and he slid his finger along it, drawing her eyes over his rippled stomach. “It will be fine. I will not be too drunk to tend you proper.”

The men cheered their approval. Her eyes rounded. She watched his inept fingers fumble with his lacings. Much to her relief, he gave up his task and swayed once more to the right.

“Nay,” was all she managed to get out. She felt the blood draining from her face as she lifted her hand to keep him back.

“It will be fine,” Brant said, his slurred tone trying to soothe her. He blinked slowly, frowning at her deathlike grip on the coverlet. “It’s only a few drinks I had.”

“Nay, more like a few dozen!” one of the men offered with a bawdy chuckle.

“A groom could little refuse a toast.” Brant stumbled toward the bed. “Come give us a kiss, lady wife. I have a fire in my belly for you to tame.”

“Nay. Methinks it is more like a fire in your addled brain,” Della spat.

“You’d better tame the wench, m’lord, lest she eats you alive!” Gunther chortled uncontrollably as he fell against the frame of the door.

“Nay, Gunther, it’s what I want. To be eaten alive.” His smile softened. “It will be an agonizing death, but worth it if done by those pink lips. What says you, lady wife? Would you like to dine on my naked flesh?”

Her mouth fell open at his words, knowing there was a hidden meaning in them. She just wasn’t sure what that meaning might be. Brant leapt onto the bed, straddling her with his massive legs. The weight of him pressed her down into the mattress. The intoxicated men fell all over themselves in fits of laughter. She tried to glare at them, but she couldn’t force her eyes away from Brant as he swayed above her. It became clear the drunken crowd had no intention of leaving and missing the show.

Brant grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and pulled her mouth to his. Whiskers scratched her face and she wanted to push him away, but her hands were trapped against his chest. A startled moan escaped her as his lips moved sloppily against hers. She clamped her mouth shut and a trail of his spit trickled down her chin, dripping onto her cleavage. She tried to jerk her head to the side to loosen the hold he had on her. The movement only encouraged Brant to rub his slobbery mouth more insistently. Only when he was ready to let her go was she able to slip her mouth from his.

Brant drew away to the cheers of the onlookers. Della wiped her wet mouth on her sleeve. Her husband looked quite pleased with himself, as she shuddered in what could only be defined as revulsion.

“Methinks she likes it!” Brant hollered. The men cheered louder.

“Mayhap, you should let me try, m’lord. Methinks she would like it better!”

Della grimaced at the possibility, for the man who said it was a fat, balding creature with only one tooth in his mouth and that one was close to rotting. Unconsciously, she leaned closer to Brant’s chest. His muscles tightened in surprise before he wrapped a protective arm about her shoulder. As she trembled next to the warmth of him, she saw a slight smile curl his lips before he pushed her to his side, twisting his body to keep her from view of the others.

“Methinks not,” Gunther said at her reaction.

“Begone!” Brant shouted in drunken ardor. He waved his free hand toward the door, not letting go of Della. His shoulder pressed her cheek. ”Enough show fer you this eve.”

The men grumbled as Gunther ushered them out, shutting the door, but it was clear by the uproar that they still stood on the other side. Della fiercely pushed at Brant’s arm. He chuckled as he turned his attention to her. Gazing down at her, his eyes intent, he let her go.

“Take off yer gown, lady wife,” Brant demanded loudly. “Let me see yer—”

“Get off me, you lewd oaf,” Della screamed, interrupting his vulgar words. She swatted at his wandering hands. “Begone!”