Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(44)

“And Sir Vladamir of Kessen.” This time Brant rolled the missive and placed it under his arm. He watched carefully for her reaction to the younger, handsomer visitor. Della paid the man little heed.

“M’lady,” Sir Vladamir acknowledged in a strange foreign accent. His low, soft voice was much more pleasant than his friend’s had been. A shock of short black hair fell over his dark brooding eyes, as he quickly kissed her hand and released it.

“Gentlemen, this is my wife, the Countess of Strathfeld.”

“My pleasure, gentlemen,” Della said graciously as they bowed in acknowledgment of her title. To her it sounded strange. She always thought of the countess as her deceased mother. “M’lords, please forgive a foolish woman’s interruption, but I must beg your forgiveness as I steal away my lord husband. It is a most urgent matter for which I need his assistance with, I assure you.”

“M’lady.” Sir Vladamir seemed bored as he glanced expectantly at his companion. When Lester didn’t readily speak, he said, “Let me know if I can be of service.”

“Thank you, but that will not be necessary. It’s most urgent, though inane in nature.” Della allowed a blush to creep over her cheeks. The redness wasn’t completely fake. She could imagine what they thought she wanted with Brant.

“I must insist that you read the missive now, Lord Blackwell,” interrupted Lord Lester rudely, shooting Della a look that said he didn’t so easily forget her display of displeasure. “It’s from King Guthrum, himself.”

“M’lord.” Della tried to be charming. “I don’t think that even King Guthrum would mind me talking most urgently to my lord husband while you partake of the best ale in all of Northumbria. We have perfected the recipe in our brewery. Mayhap, you will have an opinion on it, being as you are so obviously well-traveled.”

“Yea,” Lord Lester assented unwillingly. It was clear he thought he faced an uphill battle with the simple woman. “But I must insist on quickness.”

Self important pig! The man acts as if he is royalty.

“To be sure.” She took Brant around the wrist that held the missive so he wouldn’t be able to give it back. “The maids have set cups on the high table for you and I insist that you stay here to dine tonight. It will be roasted mutton.”



“Self important pig!” Della muttered, dropping her hand from where it had been on Brant’s arm. He didn’t want to let her go, but she rushed ahead, viciously rubbing the back of her hand on her gown. Brant wondered whom she referred to with the comment. He rather thought Lord Lester was deserving of her scorn, but with the circumstances of their relationship, Brant was afraid the contempt was directed at him.

He had watched the whole interplay with amusement. If he didn’t know his pretty little wife, he would have believed her act of innocence. His eyes strayed to where her hips moved, seductively swaying under the burgundy linen of her dress, and he wondered what urgent matter she spoke of.

The gold cord at her waist gave him a truly wicked idea as he wondered how it would look tied around her wrists in love play. He licked his lips. Involuntary lust pumped in his veins and he ached to grab her skirt and toss it over her backside so that he may have his way with her in the stairwell.

I doubt that is your urgent matter, Ice Princess. Brant sighed in disappointment. Pity.

“What was that, Lord Blackwell?” Della inquired as she reached the top. The mask of ice had once more frozen her features and her gaze revealed nothing as she directed it toward him.

“It’s naught to be concerned with.” He hated the way she insisted on using his formal title. The way she said it was so cold and distant.

When she turned, he realized his tone had been dejected. Seeing his eyes on her butt, she gasped and blushed. Brant smiled sheepishly at being caught, but didn’t try to hide his brazen response.

“Lord Blackwell, please!” She was shaken and he saw her falter in her purpose.

Brant gave one last longing glance to the cord.

“Oh.” Della grabbed her skirt in irritation, marching toward his bedchamber. Pushing open the door, she then turned and held out her hand, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.

A slow, amazed gleam sparked within him, surging from the depths of his tempered desire. Longing flooded him, coursing in his veins at the smallest hope she would offer herself to him. He stepped closer, his eyes straying toward the massive bed behind her and then to her hand. Could this be? He reached to take her fingers in his, hesitant yet eager for her touch.

“Nay.” Della shooed his hand away like an annoying insect. “The missive. Give it to me and I will read it.”