Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(4)

“Yea, my father has fought in many battles,” Della said.

Those battles were the reason for her hasty marriage. He’d fought bravely several months ago at the Battle of Martin, where King Aethelred had been brought low, and had caught the notice of King Guthrum. Together they had formulated a plan to help ensure Strathfeld’s continued allegiance to the Viking clans. Their arrangement was simply to unite the prominent Strathfeld line in marriage to a Viking noble and have male heirs of mixed blood produced to join the people. Her father had readily offered her up to be a political sacrifice. Not only did he seek to assure peace with King Guthrum, but he also wanted to ensure continued loyalty between his manor and the neighboring Nordic manor of Blackwell. So it came to be that she was betrothed to Brant of Blackwell, Viking Barbarian.

A jarl, Lord Blackwell was one of the few nobles truly descended of pure Norse blood. Generations of raiding and pillaging the land had given way to Norsemen taking Saxon brides and the children of such matches were considered Viking by birth. If her father had been a pure or even half Viking, he would have been Blackwell’s better. Lord Strathfeld was richer and had more land. However, by Viking law, the circumstance of Blackwell’s birth made him more powerful than Della’s father.

While he is titled, it does not make him noble. He is still naught more than a Viking barbarian, a Viking barbarian who is soon to be my husband.

Della closed her eyes as a wave of disgust rose in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves.

“M’lady has a look of distaste. Do you feel ill?”

She sensed the man kept his emotions well-guarded and couldn’t tell if he disapproved of her earlier remarks regarding her intended. His stony expression puzzled her. She could usually sense what others were thinking.

Mayhap he is as displeased by this match as I! It’s likely he does not care for the Saxons as much as I do not care for the Vikings. Mayhap I can convince him to persuade his friend to leave before the nuptial vows are spoken.

Della turned her most charming smile to her unknowing ally. She ignored his surprise at her sudden change in attitude toward him. “Methinks this marriage between our people is a mistake. Perchance, it is the same for you?”

The Viking’s eyes narrowed and shot flames in her direction, but he kept quiet.

Della took his silence as a fervent agreement. “I do not wish to marry Lord Blackwell and it’s obvious you dislike the match as well. Perchance you can whisper a few words of discouragement into my intended’s unsuspecting ears. It would be well worth your while to do so.”

“And what would these whispers say?” The Viking leaned closer, his face devoid of emotion as he scratched at his beard.

“They would say I love another, that I would not be faithful. They would say I carry the bastard child of Stuart of Grayson in my belly. They would say aught you would see fit.” Della’s tongue edged the line of her upper lip in nervous agitation. She barely believed the lies spilling from her mouth. But she didn’t care, for they could be disproved when it was discovered she carried no babe. “I care naught what the whispers say of me, only that they meet their purpose.”

“It would appear that m’lady has little care for her reputation, nor for the reputation of her betrothed, to speak thusly of herself.” The Viking’s lips pressed together into a thin line.

Was it possible she’d been mistaken in her assessment of him? He didn’t appear as daft as she first assumed and he didn’t seem pleased at her intention to overthrow the betrothment. Jutting her chin up in defiance, she said quietly, “I care naught of his lordship’s reputation. If you are a true and loyal friend to him, you will warn him against me. Do you understand my words?”

“Yea, I understand.” The Viking lowered his head and leaned his face into hers.

Anger glowed like embers of fire in his gaze. He didn’t take her veiled threat lightly. Narrowing her eyes, she returned his hard stare, not about to back down now that she’d stated her case. What did it matter if she got along with a barbarian who owed allegiance to her future husband? If this charade of a marriage took place, her first act would be to dismiss the knave at her side and turn him out of the castle. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she stared into his steely gaze. Even before the battle of wills had started, she somehow knew she was to be the loser.

Contemptuously, she withdrew her gaze from his and noticed his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Suddenly the size and power of the man before her grabbed hold of her senses and she knew she’d stepped too close to the flame. Taking a hesitant step back, she debated as to whether she should turn and run.