Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(53)

“M’lord,” Della warned in a heated whisper. Her cheeks stained with rage. “Mind your words.”

“You must not be used to being spoken to in such a bold manner. I daresay after tonight you will not feel the same way.” Lord Lester winked, as his eye again drifted down her chest. “That excites you, does it not?”

“Oh!” Della didn’t know what to say to the repulsive proposition. She took a deep breath, her eyes dashing about, automatically searching for Brant to come to her aid. Not seeing him anywhere in the hall, she decided it would be best if she left his friend until she could better deal with the insults. She skirted abruptly past Lester to make her way to the head table.

Just wait until I tell my husband, you lewd son of a pig. Methinks you will not be so smug then! But even as she thought it, she wasn’t sure what her husband would do about Lord Lester’s offense.





* * * * *


Brant heard a maid giggle as he approached. Her shiny, short curls bobbed as she lowered her chin, but her eyes stayed on his face. He returned her smile with the benevolence of a leader and though she blushed prettily, her look was lost on him as he continued past.

Intent on finding his wife, there was much Brant wanted to say to her. First being an apology for his actions. Edwyn’s tale had lit a flame of rage in his chest. He knew all too well that the world was filled with many people willing to perform those kinds of atrocities. There was much death in the land they lived in. Northumbria had been founded on death and wars. Brant himself had killed men in the heat of battle. But there was a big difference in the killing he did. He fought for his king. He fought for a way of life he believed in. And he always fought fair, while the men who had attacked Della’s mother killed for either money or sport. Neither of which was a noble cause. Such acts disgusted him.

He smiled absentmindedly as he walked across the scented main hall floor. Soldiers filled the tables, helping themselves to mead. He nodded at those who addressed him, answering their greetings in kind. Many of Lord Strathfeld’s men accepted his leadership with little dispute. The few who had problems with the arrangement had already left the keep. In total, there were mayhap three dozen of Lord Strathfeld’s men still residing at the manor. The rest of the knights were his fellow Vikings. Beyond their numbers were those nobles and their own separate households whom he lorded over.

Already, he knew most of the late ealdorman’s men and they knew him by his reputation. Brant laughed at some of the ridiculous names he’d been called. Brant the Flame was his personal favorite. Or what had Della called him on their wedding night? Brant the Thorn in My Arse? He smiled, remembering her heated blush as she said it. He wondered if she thought that of him still.

Seeing his wife step up to the high table, he sighed. She’d tied her hair back along the nape of her neck, binding the flaxen waves in a coiffure. Brant felt his stomach harden, as it did whenever he was about to go into battle. She was indeed beautiful, though her face was frozen with chagrin. He saw the hard set of her lips, pressing together as if not to yell, and her amber eyes stared coldly before her.

Could she still be angry with him? He frowned. Intentionally, he hadn’t gone to her, even after speaking with Edwyn. He thought the time apart would have lessened her ire from that afternoon. It didn’t appear to be so.

Deciding it best to speak to her as soon as possible so as not to let her anger boil any longer, he moved behind her to gently touch her elbow. It would be best if he escorted her to a private chamber where they might talk away from the ears of the hall. His lips parted to quietly say her name, but before the word could escape, she jerked her arm from his gentle grasp. The heated display took him by surprise and a twinge of irritation rose forth in his chest. He didn’t have to wait long for her to speak.

“M’lord, leave me be,” Della yelled, keeping her back to him. Her shoulders shook violently. “I will not sleep with you tonight or ever. So get your hands off me before I have you beaten bloody by the knights of this hall. You whining, stinking girl-child!”

Those gathered gasped in shock, their voices stuttering to a halt. A few of the men snickered behind the backs of their hands—the Vikings to see how their lord would punish the countess’s wayward tongue, and the Anglo-Saxons with a bit of pride in their mistress, though none showed any intention of trying to overtake the new ealdorman. Brant ignored the men. His eyes narrowed in anger and he clenched his fists as she spun around.

“My husband…” Her words trailed off as she saw his face. Her eyes rounded in alarm and her skin became deathly pale.