“M’lord?” Della sounded as if she were reluctant to break the silence.
“Brant. My name is Brant. Do you think you could use it?”
“Yea, Brant.” The word was a soft whimper. “Did I hurt your back?”
He chuckled quietly before yawning. His eyes drifted shut in contentment. “The things you say, lady wife. Nay, you did not hurt me.”
“Do you think we should get dressed?”
“Nay.” He yawned again and scratched his stomach. “Methinks that you will never wear clothes to bed again.”
Della’s body hummed with pleasure and she sighed as she laid her hand tentatively on his chest. She felt warm and safe in his arms. The sensation warred with the guilt that slowly threatened to seep back into her mind. As she watched his eyes close, she didn’t feel at all tired. It was still too early for her to fall asleep.
Unsure if the weakened state of her limbs was normal or if her stomach should feel so turbulently calm, she thought to ask him about it. But his breathing had deepened into a soft snore and his bare chest rose and fell in easy breaths. Touching his bearded cheek for the briefest moment, she tried to roll out of his embrace. His slumbering body seemed reluctant to let her leave, but she finally wiggled her way loose. Slipping from the bed, she grabbed a nightgown from her trunk and walked over to the fire.
Sweet Lord, what have I done?
Chapter Eleven
“It would seem the ice has melted a little.”
Brant shot Gunther an amused smile and refused to answer. All day his eyes had carried a self-satisfied glint and at the slightest provocation he would grin. The news of Della’s announcement the eve before quickly spread throughout the manor until every one of his men made a point to comment on his good fortune.
“It’s coming along nicely.” Brant nodded in approval of the bailey wall. Edwyn and Gunther both directed the workers and they’d almost completed another section. Within a fortnight, the wall and gatehouse would be finished. Gunther oversaw the section they were now by and Edwyn was farther down the wall.
A cool breeze picked up, giving a pleasant relief to the warmer evening hours. He couldn’t help another smile as he looked at the magenta streaked sky. Evening fast approached and Brant had yet to see his wife. When he awoke that morning, she was not there, much to the disappointment of his erection. He’d gone to the exercise field, searching for her in the twilighted bailey yard, but she was not there. Then, after his morning drills with the men, he looked for her in hall as he broke his fast. She wasn’t there either. Those in the hall had been elated with their lord’s good humor and the meal tarried overlong.
Brant turned his attention back to Gunther, seeing that the man’s eyes were on the distance where Edwyn worked. “Have you seen my wife, Gunther? Methinks she has been missing all day.”
“Yea, she was with the foundling child again.” Gunther gave Brant a knowing look. “Did she not satisfy you enough last night, m’lord, that you are forced to seek her again so early in the eve?”
He didn’t answer, much to Gunther’s obvious amusement. However, the man’s smile faded with Brant’s next words. “Mayhap you can find something better to do than repair this wall. Edwyn seems to have it well in hand. I don’t know if your time is best spent standing here, staring at rocks.”
“Yea,” Gunther agreed.
Brant knew he merely delayed his decision to replace Edwyn. Gunther knew it as well. Leading toward the main hall, he said, “Methinks the chapel should be rebuilt.”
“And methinks you are trying to find work fer two men. Patching the chapel stone will work just fine.” Gunther kicked at the ground. Originally he hadn’t wanted the duties of seneschal but, being without property and high title, he had agreed. Now, he would be reluctant to give the arrangement up.
Not knowing how to answer, Brant didn’t. Again, he changed the course of their conversation. “Did you see the way the Saxons practiced? Perchance you can show them how to be more effective.”
Gunther’s face lightened. Soldiering was one domain where he was more skilled than Edwyn. “Yea, Roldan and I have already spoken on it.”
“Stuart!”
Brant stopped as the sound of his wife’s voice rang joyfully over the bailey. For a moment, his heart soared to hear her, but when her words penetrated his mind, he frowned. His eyes narrowed and he turned to see Della running toward the main gate. Anger instantly welled in his chest and he swore a string of dark Nordic curses under his breath. Without thought, he stormed across the yard to stop her reunion with her cousin.