“Della?” Lord Strathfeld coughed. He motioned to the man whose arm she held. “Have you met Gunther? He will be replacing Edwyn as seneschal here after I am gone. I was showing him the improvements Edwyn made here in hopes that he would see fit to continue them.”
Brant watched in grim satisfaction as Della turned to Gunther in horror.
“Seneschal?” she mouthed as she dropped Gunther’s arm. Her eyebrows shot high on her face, adding to her icy charm.
“Yea, m’lady.” Gunther let her hand slip from him as he turned to Brant, not even trying to hide his amused smile. “Brant, did you introduce yerself?”
“Lord Blackwell?” Della gasped and turned her head sharply to look at him. Realization dawned in her amber eyes.
“M’lady.” He bowed and offered his hand to her.
“Oh!” Della opened her mouth in shock. She jerked away from him as if he were poisonous. “You are a detestable, unspeakably miserable lout! How dare you not reveal yourself to me?”
Gunther chuckled and soon all the servants in the hall were doing the same. Della turned around in dismay, quickly making her way abovestairs.
“It would seem you did not make a favorable impression on her, Blackwell,” Gunther said in amusement. “And to think we left the fighting behind us. Perchance you are just too much Viking fer her.”
“Yea, perchance.” Brant gave a wry smile as he stared at the place his bride’s feet had disappeared from. And perchance the battles have just begun.
* * * * *
“M’lady?” A knock sounded on the door, following the maidservant’s words. “M’lady, it is me, Ebba.”
“Come, Ebba.” Della sat on her bed with her back to the door and kicked the bottom of her shoes against the nearby stone wall in frustration.
“M’lady? What are you about?” Ebba eyed her with concern, tilting her head to the side as she investigated the source of the hard thuds.
Della sighed and dropped her feet to the floor in order to stand. Leaning against the cold stone of the wall, she pretended to look out the narrow slit window. “What news from my sire?”
“They are done with the negotiations. Lord Blackwell has announced his intention to marry you in front of yer father’s men and yer sire has named him his heir pending the marriage.” Ebba eyes shone with excitement. “And yer husband—”
“Nay, future husband, Ebba. He is not my husband yet,” Della corrected tersely. And if I can help it, he will never be.
“Yer future husband,” Ebba amended before rushing on. “He gave yer father the handgeld in good faith. It is said he paid a princely sum fer yer hand. It’s said King Guthrum blesses this match so that the manors of Blackwell and Strathfeld can become one.”
Della shivered at the maid’s words. She doubted it was truly a ‘princely sum’ Brant paid, for her future husband didn’t clothe himself like he had many coins. Already, she knew Brant would become Ealdorman of Strathfeld upon her father’s death, as well as remaining Jarl of Blackwell to combine the titles. She’d hoped her hasty words of being unfaithful would have dissuaded her suitor. It wasn’t to be. The men had actually gone through with the dealings. The last splinter of hope left her.
“Begone, Ebba,” Della said dismally into the window. She refused to turn lest the woman see her nervousness. Ebba was a good servant and an admirable companion, but she was still a servant and prone to gossip. Della didn’t want her childhood home knowing the full extent of her displeasure over the marriage, at least not yet.
“Ah, m’lady?”
“Yea,” Della finally moved to look at the woman. There was something to the maid’s tone that worried her. It was rare that Ebba didn’t do exactly as told.
“It is to be a Viking wedding.”
Nay! How could her father have agreed to that?
“Perchance I did not hear you?” Her voice croaked and she was sure her heart nearly stopped beating.
“Yea, m’lady. It’s to be a traditional Viking wedding. Lord Blackwell was insistent on that point. Though, it will be presided over by a Christian priest as well, so it will be binding in everyone’s eyes.” Ebba took a step back.
By All the Saints! A pagan wedding? A shaking started in her stomach, only to make its way to her heavy limbs. It wasn’t completely unheard of, but she’d just assumed they would follow the local customs. She took a deep breath, mortified by the news. You will not get away with this, Brant the Fiery Thorn!
“What else?” Della demanded, feeling that Ebba was hiding something from her.