Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(51)

“M’lady was about four years old when it happened. The family had been staying in a home owned by Sir Stuart’s father, Lord Grayson. Lady Strathfeld must have gotten tired of waiting fer her husband and she and Della made their way back home.” Edwyn took a deep breath. “The attackers were waiting there fer ‘em. It’s like they knew the women would be alone.”

“Who?” Brant asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer. Viking mercenaries.

“Vikings. Lord Strathfeld found his daughter the next afternoon, tied to a bedpost and drenched in her mother’s blood. Lady Della’s hair was chopped off and thrown all about the chamber along with the hair of her mother.” Edwyn swallowed in disgust, turning his eyes away. “And not just the hair from Lady Strathfeld’s head.”

Brant was sick to his stomach. He’d heard many stories of a similar nature, but the Viking’s who performed such cruel acts were mercenaries for hire and not representative of the whole race. In truth, all races had mercenaries.

“Lord Strathfeld left fer the wars soon after, leaving m’lady in my care,” Edwyn’s words droned on in grim determination. “He loved his wife. Methinks Lady Della was a reminder of all that happened. As she grew older, she began to idolize her sire until he was a legend to her. No one could speak ill of the ealdorman. She wouldn’t have it. By the time he came back three years later, it was ne’er mentioned between ‘em again.”

“What happened that night?” Brant was afraid of the answer, but he needed to know.

“No one knows fer sure, but one could well imagine. Lady Della, at least physically, was left unharmed. She’d been tied to the bedpost with a piece of leather strapped to her head so she could not look away from the bed. It was evident she had been forced to watch what they did, and they had all night to do it. Her mother had been raped, repeatedly, and tortured. The late countess’s unborn child was cut out of her womb, the body ne’er found. The men left a torch burning the whole night. It was estimated Della had been there fer nigh on sixteen hours before she was found.” Edwyn scraped the table harder with his thumbnail, the motion frantic as if trying to erase the past with the action. His eyes glistened with unshed tears and his voice cracked in pain. “She sat alone, gazing at the body of her dead mother the entire time. We ne’er understood why she was left alive and untouched. Methinks because living is a much worse torture than death. But we are glad she is with us.”

“God’s Bones!” Brant exclaimed, horrified. His heart went out to his wife and the poor child she’d been. How could he have guessed she’d been through such horrors?

“Yea.” The old man cleared his throat and stood, rubbing thoughtfully at his forehead. “By the time Della was discovered, she had gone way inside herself. As far as I know, she hasn’t told anyone what happened that night. I don’t believe she has talked about it at all, but the nightmares have plagued her ever since. That is why she doesn’t sleep, m’lord. Methinks she forces herself to stay busy so she doesn’t have to face it. At least that was the way of it at first. Now, methinks, she stays awake because she doesn’t know what else to do.”

“They were never caught.” The statement was more of an acknowledgment than a question.

“Nay.” Edwyn again busied himself with the stack of papers. “Ah, here it is.”

Brant slowly stood. Edwyn laid the plans on the table. Taking his finger to them, Brant slid the parchment closer. It blurred within his vision.

It all made sense. His wife’s unreasonable hatred of him was because of his Viking descent, and her uncanny ability to sew six outfits in a single sennight was because of her sleepless nights. It also explained her fear of bearing children and also her love for them, especially the foundling boy, Rab. She was trying to make sure he didn’t feel pain as she had.

Brant felt awful at the way he’d treated her. She wasn’t trying to be cruel and play games with him. She hadn’t been trying to frustrate him sexually. She had honestly been trying to reach out to him and be a wife, despite what had happened to her, despite the idiotic lies her cousin had told her. Only he’d terrified her with his rough passion. Brant smiled grimly, sick with himself for his actions. He’d acted the boor, trying to rip her clothing from her, when she needed him to be slow and gentle and reassuring.

Brant saw well the passion in her for him. He should have also seen her fear. Her great passion would come in time, but first she had to trust him. She had to know that all Vikings, that all men, were not like the savage barbarians who attacked her mother. And, when coupling was done right, it was not a horrible experience.