“Rub this on your back twice a day. It is a mixture of wild yams and peppers made for muscles and will make you feel better. I use it after I work too hard scrubbing the floors and the maids swear by it.” She handed him the jar. “It might burn at first, but that is good.”
Brant took the jar and set it next to the bath. He nodded his silent thanks.
“Now, dip your head under,” she ordered. He gave her a charming half smile. Della’s heart skipped and he did as she commanded. The head of his serpent peeked briefly from beneath the dark water. When he resurfaced, she said, “I got this recipe for soap from an alchemist traveling from Eblana. It’s very good for the hair, if one does not use it too oft.”
Brant eyed her suspiciously as she dipped her fingers into the gummy substance. “What kind of soap looks like curdled cream?”
“It is soap, truly,” she said, defensively. “It’s special for the head. As much as you wash yourself, you must have tight skin on your head, do you not?”
“Yea, mayhap sometimes.” Reaching up, he scratched his short beard. He kept an eye on her hand as she lifted it to his head.
Without further comment, Della slapped the substance on his scalp and began to lather his long locks. Gliding her hands over his head, she untied the leather strap that bound the lock of his hair and ran her fingers to take the braid out of the red streak. Without thought of her words, she asked, “Were you really born with this red? Or do you bleach your hair?”
Brant groaned in enjoyment of her administering hands. She massaged her way down his temples and over his short beard. Her hair was beginning to dry and curl about her face. Through the veil of her locks, she saw Brant lick his lips. He was staring at her chest. Della followed his eyes. One of her long, damp locks adhered itself to the curve of her breast. At such a close proximity, the outline of her nipple could be seen through the thick fabric. She shifted her weight, causing her hair to fall over the globe to hide it. Finally, he answered, “I was born that way.”
“It’s also true then that you came from your mother in a blaze of fire?” Della questioned, recalling Gunther’s comment. Suspicious, she scrubbed harder.
“Yea, it has been said.” By the look on his face, he wasn’t paying attention to what he answered. His eyes rolled lightly in his head as she pushed along his scalp. Again, he licked his lips.
“It’s also true then that you have gone to many women that same way since?” She pushed harder, scratching her nails against his head, unmindful that her breasts bobbed closer to his face.
“Yea, it has been said.” Brant again moaned.
“Oh! You hideous…” Della shoved his head under the water.
Brant came up sputtering. He reached for her before she could pull away.
“Let me go,” Della yelled. “You are a miserable, perverted man!”
Brant lifted her into the air and onto his lap. Water sloshed over the sides of the bath to run along the stone floor toward the fur rug. Alone he filled most of the tub, so when she landed on top of him there was hardly a place she could go that wasn’t next to his body. The moment his own words donned on him, he started to laugh. “Could it be you are jealous, little wife?”
Water soaked into her clothing and her gown became uncomfortably heavy as she struggled against his naked chest. Furious, she swore, “I am not jealous. I care not that you have two mistresses in Jorvik alone!”
Brant laughed harder, holding her firm against his length.
“Why don’t you go there and torment them?” She faltered in her movements. “I do not need you here. I already said you could have them. I care not.”
“Nay, Della. You will not be rid of me so easily,” Brant said. “Gunther should not have told you that.”
She gave one last, valiant shove against his chest before letting his strong arms pull her forward. Her lips were inches away from his neck and she didn’t protest as much as she should have. “Then tell me how I will be rid of you?”
“Princess, I don’t think you ever will.” Brant sighed in heavy contentment.
Since she’d stopped struggling, Della settled hard against his flesh. Her knees straddled his left thigh and her hands pressed into his chest. When he looked at her, her heart actually ached. Insecurity filled her.
“Besides,” he continued, “those other women were before our betrothment.”
Della slowly warmed to the idea of having someone around to share her life, even if it was a Viking barbarian. But Brant wasn’t like the others. He was kind to Rab. He was amusing at times. And, except for earlier in the hall, he had never laid a violent hand on her and even that could be seen as an accident. She rested her head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her palm. He drew her closer.