Della didn’t know what was coming over her. The longing he stirred within her was turning into a familiar occurrence. The strong arm about her waist made her blood flow in a chaos of emotion. She looked to his parted lips and slowly moved her tongue to the corner of her mouth. Taking a deep, shattering breath, she nodded.
Brant lifted her up by his one arm and pressed his lips quickly to hers. Her hands tightened about his neck, but he released her. Della dropped to the ground in shock, confused by his swift kiss. It was as if he could not wait to be rid of her touch. Rab appeared at her side, distracting her.
“The riders, m’lady.” The boy pulled on her sleeve. “Don’t forget.”
“Oh, yea.” She cleared her throat. “M’lord, riders approach. We were just on our way to inform you.”
Brant pointed to where he had been exercising and said to Rab, “Quick, page, get my tunic by the field.”
Della walked numbly beside her husband to the main gate. Her lips still stung where he touched them. She wondered why he hadn’t kissed her like last time. At the memory, Della wrinkled her nose, remembering how sloppy it had been. “Thank you for what you did for the boy. It has always been his dream to become a page. Methinks he hoped one of my father’s men would choose him, but they had no reason to. When a child is branded bastard, many do not find the time for him.”
Brant made a weak noise. Was Della actually thanking him? As he watched her, he waited for the moment her gentle amber eyes would turn cold. Part of him was afraid that if he looked away, he would realize her smile was not for him. But she was looking at him and he had never seen her eyes glint with such obvious tenderness.
He slowed his step, listening as the guards opened the front gate. Rab delivered the tunic. It was the dark blue one she had made for him. Waving the child away, he said, “Yea, it is of no matter. I needed a page. I have no kin with sons to lend to the task.”
Della bit her lip and he felt her eyes stay on him as he pulled the tunic over his head. Instantly, her attention turned to the garment she’d sewn. It was long enough to hit just above the knees. She tugged the material at his side. “It’s not quite right. I was unsure about the size. Mayhap I should have made it longer.”
Concentrating, she grabbed his arm and began to lift it. Brant chuckled and instead moved his arm to settle over her shoulders, pulling her next to him. She didn’t notice the familiar way he handled her or the stares their unofficial truce elicited from the yard. “It’s fine, Della.”
“Nay, I just want to see if you can lift your arm. Methinks I might need to take out the shoulder some and take in the waist, just a bit. I had thought your waist was bigger, what with the muscles.” She bit her lip and tried to pull away to study it again. “I should just start over. This one is not right at all. Mayhap that is why you did not exercise in it? It doesn’t fit properly?”
“Nay, Della.” Brant stopped and stuck his knuckle under her chin, lifting her face to gain her full attention. “It’s perfect. I thank you for it.”
Della frowned, still concentrating on her craftsmanship. “It really would look better with the braccas I made for you and the new undertunics.”
Brant stared at her in disbelief. He wondered how she spared enough time to make his six tunics in one sennight, let alone underclothing. Surely she’d had help from the servants.
He was still awed by her gift. Though he would never admit it to her, he had spent much of the morning trying all of them on in front of the mirror of polished silver in his chamber. “Della, it’s fine and the fit could not be more perfect.”
Della nodded, still examining the tunic for imperfections in the seam lines more than listening to him. Again she tried to lift his arm and again he resisted by placing it over her shoulders. The smell of her, the dancing innocence of her touch drove him mad with lust. He’d wanted to deepen the earlier victory kiss, but he’d been many months without a woman. If he would’ve held her too much longer, he would’ve lost control. His wife would not take kindly to him acting the barbarian. But her new compliance to his touch was overwhelming. It had been much easier to hold his passions at bay when she fought him. Even now, he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and drag her away to his bed.
“When did you have time to direct the servants to do them?” Brant tried to take his mind off her lips, as he glanced down at his tunic.
Della’s head snapped up and she took a step away from him. “Servants?”
“Yea, to sew the clothing.” He smiled, trying to bring the gentleness back to her eyes. It was too late. The look had faded.