Brant scowled at Gunther before lifting his own sword as he stepped forward to be Della’s champion. Gunther laughed harder. Brant ignored him. Within several strides, he was upon her. Ducking out of the way when she drew her arm back to thrust the stick, Brant shot forward and wrapped his arm around her waist. Lifting her slightly off the ground, he swung her to his side. Her feet dangled in the air. Not letting go of her, he said for her ears alone, “Death will not be necessary, m’lady. I will always save you.”
Della gasped as she felt a shiver work its way up her spine. Her hand opened and she dropped the stick from her trembling fingers. The unexpected touch took her by surprise. The soft whisper of his words fanned against her ear and tickled her flesh. She hadn’t been expecting him. Brant’s heat flooded her veins and instantly she was overcome by the same unfamiliar emotions that awoke in her every time he was near.
Oh, my.
In her play with the child, she had forgotten that she was supposed to hate him. Della looked at his naked arm, clamped about her waist like an iron brace. He lifted her as if she was no more than a feather and she placed her hands tentatively on his arm. The reminder of his strength overtook her senses.
Rab stopped his charge and stared at them in worry.
Brant lifted his sword and pointed it at the boy. “Do you dare to lay siege to what is mine, boy?”
Della shivered at his openly possessive claim to her. Brant lowered her feet to the ground, but kept her close. The words didn’t irritate her as much as they should have. Rab’s mouth dropped open. He looked at Della for confirmation and she nodded.
Adjusting herself so she could partially see her husband, she whispered, “He is playacting like he is a barbarian. He means no harm. It’s just a child’s game.”
“It would appear that there are many of us barbarians here,” Brant murmured against her throat.
Della shivered. “I—”
“Well, barbarian, it is a serious crime you have committed against me.” Brant lowered his sword and looked sternly at the boy before winking at him. “Do you yield?”
“Never!” Rab visibly relaxed and again held up his wooden sword.
“You are brave, knight, but it is a mistake not to surrender. Now you will taste steel.” Brant made a fake sweep toward Rab. Della jolted at the motion, but Brant held her safely within his embrace.
“You have conquered me, m’lord.” The boy grabbed his gut and groaned viciously as he fell to the ground. Rolling about in the dirt, he clutched at his fake wound, dramatically dying. Then, making a quick recovery, he yelled up from where he’d fallen on his backside, “I yield!”
“Pledge your loyalty to me and my lady wife,” Brant commanded, “and I shall make you my page.”
Rab’s eyes rounded in hope and he eagerly nodded. Della sighed as the boy kneeled before them. Holding his stick like it was a sword, he swore his allegiance. She couldn’t hear the entirety of what the boy said, but knew it to be as noble of a knight’s pledge as ever spoken.
Brant tilted his jaw in satisfaction and loosened his hold on her, still not letting her go. “A wise decision, Rab. As my page, you will start training on the morrow. Perchance, someday, you will be knighted. Methinks you show much bravery and promise, but you must work hard. It will not be easy for you.”
Rab looked at Lord Blackwell in wonder as the older man said his name. Della saw the hero worship in the boy’s eyes and knew he was lost to the giant beside her. The loss didn’t upset her as she thought it might. Feeling an overwhelming sense of appreciation and hope, Della turned to face her captor.
“My hero.” Della sighed, caught up in the moment of the game. She didn’t fight his embrace as she moved her hands to settle about his thick neck. She leaned her head against his muscular chest and felt the press of his naked skin against her. His arm flexed on her waist, his hand tightening on her hip. Hastily, she pulled back to look up at him.
It’s only so Rab will see there is naught to fear in him. Della knew she was lying. Her eyes softened, as she breathed in the scent of his body. The hard, hot length of him molded into her, not leaving any space between them.
“Thank you.” Her eyes held his.
“A kiss,” Rab demanded, his voice cracking. Della jolted at the noise. Brant froze. “A kiss fer the victor. The good knight always gets a kiss from the lady.”
Della looked about in confusion as the onlookers cheered their encouragement. Their curious faces watched the noble couple with avid interest. Della blushed, but met Brant’s eyes resolutely.
Brant whispered, “How about it, m’lady? A kiss for the victor?”