Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(37)

“Della,” Brant interjected.

“Nay, I don’t wish to hear another word from you!” Tears brimmed her eyes and pain poured from her heart. “I’m tired of being your wife. I hate you, I hate your friends, and I hate your heritage. I hate how I feel when you touch me. I hate everything about you. You repulse me, lord husband, and I wish to be rid of you always.”

Della sniffed back any tears that might have fallen. Brant didn’t move. Without another word, she spun on her heels and ran from the chamber.



Brant watched her go, at a loss for words. He shook with the force of his longing and could still smell the sweet scent of her neck, could still feel the ache caused by the innocent brush of her cheek. He wanted her and his member had been raised to the point of explosion. It had required all of his control not seize hold of her and take her on the floor like a rutting boar. But all desire had left his body at the blatant exclamation of her hatred for him.

The sound of her footfalls echoed farther away until disappearing altogether. When he could no longer hear her, he turned his stare to the black long tunic she had made for him. The fabric of the tunic was gripped in his palms and he could feel the fine quality of the linen.

During times of war, a knight had little use for finery, so he had never bothered to order it made. The tunic gift was perhaps the finest he’d ever owned. The stitching was small and precise and that she had made it especially for him he had no doubt, for the size was perfect and not many men would fill such a garment.

He felt like a fool as he ran his finger over the fine gold embroidery. Glancing near where she’d been working, he found five other finished tunics in a pile. Brant’s pride in the garments welled in his throat. None were as fine as the black one he held, but all were of excellent quality. And all had been made for him. No one had ever taken such care in a gift for him before, let alone six gifts.

Gingerly, he picked up the tunics and laid them over his arm. Perusing them as he walked, he shook his head in shame. He had ruined his wife’s surprise.





Chapter Seven




The main hall smelled of lye as the maids hauled buckets of hot, soapy water from the kitchen’s hearth to the bare stone of the hall floor. Several maids scoured the stone with coarse brushes made of animal fur, whereas others carted what was left of the dirty straw rushes to the bailey yard. The worst of the straw was taken out to a controlled fire Della had lit in a large outdoor pit. The rest of it would be stored as winter bedding for the animals.

Thoughtfully, Della waved an older servant to her. The plump woman walked with the ease of a girl half her age. Della ordered her to have the maids continue up the stairwell with their brushes. It had been months since the manor had been given a good cleaning and now was as good a time as any to do so. As an afterthought, she also ordered the tapestries shaken and the walls underneath scrubbed. The maid frowned at the order, not wanting to be the one to relay it to the already tiring servants.

Della stretched her hands over her head with a yawn. She watched in quiet satisfaction at the progress she had already made. After the failed encounter with Brant, she’d purposely not sought him out, choosing instead to have the maids begin cleaning the hall. The horrible chore had to be done and she refused to put it off another day. It would be too smelly in the keep if she continued to let the spilled wedding feast rot in the rushes.

Della hadn’t seen Brant since his earlier tirade in the sewing chamber and was secretly glad for it. Although, she did look for him every time she helped cart a load of straw to the bailey. She hated to admit that she didn’t trust herself around him. Until she found a way to counteract the pagan love spell he had woven over her senses, she would have to stay away from him. Or at least away from his magnetic touch.

“Riders are coming!” Rab’s childish voice cracked as he ran into the great hall. Della glanced up and wiped her hands on her apron. The lad smiled boyishly when he saw her and waved to get her attention. “M’lady, riders are coming!”

“Rab, calm yourself and try to breathe.” Della turned to the excitable child. Catching the eye of a nearby servant, she motioned to the bailey yard with a wave of her hand. “Cart that to the pit.”

Rab bounced as he waited for Della to turn back to him. She gave a few more orders before giving her full attention to the boy.

“Now, what is it?” Della inquired of the noisy lad. Rab playfully bounded closer. Della reached out and rumpled his hair while pulling him to her waist with a hug.

“Riders, m’lady.” Rab looked at his feet, tolerating her affection. Then, drawing away from her, he announced, “They are coming up to the main gate from the south. They are about a half of an hour ride from here.”