Her words of contentment had been a lie, yet part of him held on to her tender display. His heart physically ached when he thought of it, remembering the gentle caress of her hand, the innocent way her head nuzzled on his chest. Just as soon as the manor started to settle, he was going to find out just what he had done, or hadn’t done, to bring on her aversion to him and his people.
He had overheard her talking with Edwyn at the wedding feast about there being a pain in her heart and that being her reason for not wanting to marry a Norseman. Brant perceived he hadn’t done anything at all, that in fact it was some deep hurt from long ago that kept his wife from him. Though he discreetly asked, no one said a word about her past. He was no fool to hope for love in an arranged marriage, but he knew they would be sexually compatible if she would just let her damned self-control go. And she was just the kind of stubborn woman a man would want next to him during the hard times.
Though he wanted it, Brant wasn’t sure he even knew what love was, or if it existed for a man—for a woman, of course. Women were always going on about love. It was something that came to them naturally. Women nurtured, suckled. Men were a harder lot, bent on wars and fighting. Brant couldn’t see how a warrior, such as himself, could fight and kill, yet love and nurture at the same time. The traits were too conflicting in nature.
“Oh, yea. Oh, yea, that’s it!”
Brant’s eyebrows furrowed in ire as he came to a stop at the top of the stairwell. That time he definitely heard his wife’s voice. Spinning around, he strode back along the passageway. A slow rage consumed him at the sound of her pleasure.
Here I have been trying to find ways to please the wench and it sounds as if she is getting pleasure elsewhere!
Brant narrowed his gaze as he heard a deep male voice reply to his wife’s exclamation. “Oh, yea, m’lady, this is truly the most marvelous...”
He couldn’t listen to anymore. Focusing in on the chamber door from whence the sound came, he charged the thick wood. A low growl flew from his lips as he slammed open the door without drawing the latch. He didn’t hear it crash through the blood rushing in his ears.
The chamber was lit by a single torch, set up with a weaving loom and several cutting tables. A half-woven tapestry of red and blue had been started on the loom. In the corner, behind it and sitting in a chair, was a slender man with a wide smile of satisfaction curling his thick lips. And leaning over the offending man’s lap was his wife.
The man jolted at the sound of the wood smashing on stone, the reaction slightly delayed. Brant cleared his throat and the young man leapt to his feet, clutching black material to his stomach.
“Quinn, hold still. And whoever is making that noise, cease. You are going to wake the manor.” Della stood up and turned, no doubt expecting to scold a servant. “My lord husband will not take kindly to your disquiet. It’s likely he is still in bed—”
Brant raised an eyebrow.
“M’lord!” Della gasped in surprise. Her round amber eyes sought his and she quickly hid her hands behind her back. “What are you doing? Coming in here like that?”
“You, out!” His voice was hard as he directed his deadliest gaze at the young Quinn. He couldn’t believe that his wife, who was supposed to be in her bedchamber grieving and denying him his marital rights, was giving adulteress pleasure to someone else. And a servant no less!
Brant’s chest heaved as Quinn hurried from the sewing chamber. He didn’t take his eyes from Della. She paled, not daring to move.
“Really, Lord Blackwell, that was not necessary,” Della said. “Quinn will undoubtedly keep running until he arrives at the coast and there he is likely to get on a boat and sail away.”
Brant took a step toward her. “Nay, lady wife, I find it was quite necessary. I will slaughter that little piglet later, but first I will attend to you, adulteress.”
“Adulteress? What have I done?” Her long, dark lashes fluttered over her eyes. Brant wasn’t swayed by her confused, innocent expression. A sewing needle and spool of thread dropped from her hands. Glancing around the chamber, she gradually made her way from behind the loom. Her gaze darted to the door, as if calculating her chance for escape.
“I catch her and she still asks me what she has done,” Brant said in disbelief.
Della again looked around. “Who are—?”
“What do you think you were doing in that man’s lap, Della?”
“You think that I? And Quinn? You think that I would…with Quinn? A servant?”
“Yea, I saw you. Do not deny it!” Brant finally got enough control over his anger that he trusted himself to move closer. “I warned you that if you ever played me false I would beat you within an inch of your life. Do you remember?”