Brant didn’t know whether he was angrier at her outburst or at the idea that she would never grow fond of him. It was a very unhappy marriage he saw before them, just as she first warned him it would be. Taking a long drink of mead, he tried hard to swallow over the lump of despair in his throat. He wanted to go to her, but to do so would be to show weakness to his men and undercut his authority before the king’s ambassadors. Not to mention, Lord Lester’s decree in the name of the king that she should stay on the floor. To go to her now would mean to insult the royal name.
Brant motioned stiffly to the servants directing them to continue serving the meal. They had stumbled to a stop at Della’s outburst. Those gathered in the hall were unusually quiet as the maids carried in trays laden with hot food. The men waited patiently for the servants to place the meal on the table before moving to take what they wanted. They made no secret about watching to see what their lord and lady would do next.
Gayla came to the high table. The maid’s hands shook as she set a dish of roasted mutton before Lord Blackwell. She glanced to Gunther who motioned her away. The man-at-arm’s face pulled into a grim line.
“It’s wise to keep your lady wife in line, m’lord,” Lester said.
Brant hadn’t noticed that Lord Lester took the seat beside him. Now as he directed his attention to the man, he wondered how he could’ve been so distracted as to not smell the overwhelming stench. Brant ignored him and took a bite of lamb. Inside, his heart pounded wildly as he forced himself not to look at his wife. Already the look of her wounded face emblazoned on his mind.
“It would not do for her to play you false,” Lord Lester continued, leaning to block Brant’s view of Della. “I have no respect for wives who cuckold their husbands.”
Who said aught about cuckold? Brant bristled at the man’s smug tone. He didn’t like the offensive, gossiping noble commenting on his marriage.
Lord Lester chuckled, prompting some of the men to do the same, most of whom belonged to Lester and Sir Vladamir’s traveling party. The knights of Strathfeld stayed woodenly silent, eyes shining in disapproval, though which of the nobles they were disappointed in was not clear.
Feeling sorry for his wife, he glanced over at her trembling form as she bravely sat before him. Her amber eyes watched him warily through a lash-shaded gaze. He detected the tears she refused to let fall. His wife was a proud one, mayhap as proud as he was. A piece of his heart broke away with the agony of what he was allowing to happen, but his stubborn self-respect refused to forgive her. She insulted his manhood in front of his men, in front of the king’s men—men who were to ride all over the kingdom with little more to occupy their time than to spread the tale of this event to all who would listen. And for what? Because she was mad at him for desiring her? Would she even take his help if he offered it? Or would she scream at him again, insulting him more? Would the king regret giving him land and power if Brant allowed his Saxon bride to humiliate him so early in their marriage? With so much gained, he had even more to lose. It wasn’t as if he were a pauper in the king’s realm. With his new title, land, and pure Viking heritage, he was one of the most powerful men under Guthrum’s rule.
Lord Lester laughed harder and slapped his knee. The sound soon turned into a cough. The pockmark on his chin noticeably darkened and he took a drink of mead to calm himself.
Brant chose to disregard him, not caring what Lord Lester thought. He took another bite of the roasted mutton, but did not taste it. Hearing Gunther grunt in disapproval, Brant turned a questioning look to him. He could have sworn Gunther shook his head in displeasure. When had that happened? When had Gunther found a soft spot in his heart for any woman, let alone Brant’s shrew of a wife?
Brant ignored Gunther and the men, ignored the eerie silence which settled over the keep. Even the night air brought in no familiar sounds of insects or of animals in their pens. Brant forced himself to eat, trying to act as if nothing was amiss, willing the meal to end as quickly as possible. Secretly he prayed Della would find a way to redeem herself, though he had no idea what such a thing would be. He willed her to storm from the hall so he could chase her and end this in the privacy of their chambers. She did not move.
Roldan entered the hall from the side door, the smile of greeting dying on his face. Quickly, he took a seat next to one of his fellow knights. After a few whispers, the man frowned in Della’s direction with an unhappy shake of his head.
“Methinks the dog needs a drink, m’lord!” Lord Lester’s sudden words were abnormally loud.