Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(29)

“Nay, I don’t think I would have to ravish you.” He moved his fingers to her rapid pulse, stroking her chin with his thumb. “If you would but give me a moment, I could show you all of what your body is capable. I could show you how mistaken you are about my touch.”

“I don’t understand you.” Della shivered at the sensual caress and forgot what they had been arguing about. Her mouth suddenly feeling dry, she licked her lips. She hadn’t enjoyed his sloppy kiss, yet she found herself oddly drawn to try it again.

Had his lips been so inept on my body? Why had I not noticed?

“It would appear I’m not such the barbarian.” He growled, dropping his hand and putting space between them. “For I have never brought an unwilling maiden to my bed and you, lady wife, are the most unwilling I have yet to behold.”

Confused by his words and by the disappointment that unfurled in her at his withdrawal, she shook herself back to reality. She should have been happy that he was showing self-control. But she wasn’t.

Brant smiled when she didn’t speak, but the expression was bitter. He picked his tunic up from the floor. “They think I’m drunk so it’s been long enough. Let us attend your father before my barbarian instincts come back to me and I’m forced to grant your wish.”

He didn’t look at her again. He nudged her aside and grabbed the latch, forcibly swinging the door open. Della stumbled out of the way at his abrupt departure. He stormed down the hall. Grabbing a plain overtunic from her trunk, she slipped it over her head.

“Stupid barbarian.”



Brant stalked barefoot from the bedchamber, not bothering to see if his wife followed. His entire body shook with the force of his rage and with the power of his unfulfilled appetites. As far as everyone was concerned, the wedding was completed. No one would question their union    .

Though he was tempted to find a maid to relieve his desires, he knew he couldn’t. He would have to take care of the matter himself, quickly, before he went to see the ealdorman. Still aggravated, he went to his bedchamber. This was not how a wedding night should be.





* * * * *


The ealdorman’s bedchamber smelled of pungent herbs, animal fat, and the smoke that curled from pots of burning incense. Della stood just inside the door, trying not to choke on the overbearing odor. She waited as Serilda gathered her healing draughts. The woman blocked her view of her father and Della shifted, trying to get a glimpse of him under the soft glow of candlelight. The room was quiet, save for the movements of the midwife. After what she had gone through at the woman’s hand, Della found it difficult to look at her. Serilda strolled past and she heard the woman giggle, but the moment was so brief she wasn’t sure it actually happened.

Della became aware of Brant’s presence close to her back. She hadn’t seen him in the passageway as she went to her father’s chamber and had been surprised when he wasn’t already there. It was odd, but she drew some comfort from his presence, like a newfound strength within herself.

She hesitated before stepping into the darkened room, only turning to glance at Brant when she could no longer feel his heat. He’d changed his tunic and put on a pair of shoes. As Serilda closed the door, Della continued to move toward her father. There was much she wanted to say to the dying man, but it was impossible with Brant in the chamber. Her father’s eyes were closed. She shivered. The ealdorman had somehow been reduced to a fraction of the healthy man she’d spent most of her life idolizing. Why hadn’t she suspected the truth? How could she have not seen it?

The lights were dim to help her father sleep. Edwyn stood in the shadows. The old seneschal’s intense grief added a grim finality to the moment.

“Sire?” Della leaned to take her father’s hand and tenderly rubbed her thumb over the thinned, almost translucent skin. Her eyes drank in the pallor of his graying flesh and the blue of his lips. His chest rose in shallow breaths. She closed her eyes briefly to the pain rolling through her.

Lord Strathfeld grumbled and opened his eyes. “Yea, daughter.”

“Father, why didn’t you tell me?” She was unable to help the quivering of her lips as she spoke. Resting her forehead on the bed, her voice was muffled by the mattress as she continued, “I could’ve taken care of you. I would’ve gotten you all the help you needed.”

Lord Strathfeld’s soft laugh turned instantly to a cough. When he could speak again, he answered, “It’s because you would carry on so, my stubborn child, that I did not tell you.”

Unshed tears lined her eyes when she looked up. “I am so sorry for—”