Those milling about the bailey turned their attention to the front gate. A few of them joined Della in her rush forward to greet the visitor. Gunther followed behind in silence.
The soft linen of Della’s dark blue gown swayed enticingly as she moved, clinging to her form. Beneath the dress, she wore a lighter blue undertunic, which was exposed at her arms and sides. The honeyed locks of her hair shone in the sun and were neatly pulled into a braided coiffure at the nape of her neck. Dirt stained her apron, indicating she’d been tending her garden.
Liquid hot desire filled his blood at the sight of her, causing him to curse once more. He’d kept his passions tempered back during the day and had thought their night together would’ve sated him some. But his appetite for her raged, fueling his already blazing ardor.
Edwyn had already given the command for the gate to be opened. Brant should’ve dismissed his wife’s standing order to let the seneschal control the gate, but it was too late, for Sir Stuart was already being let inside. If he were to turn the man out now, he would look like a jealous fool. And he could not be certain his wife would hide her icy displeasure in the decision.
“Stuart!” Della hopped in excitement, clapping her hands as the sound of horse’s hooves. Her face lit up in girlish pleasure as her cousin’s gray stallion came into view. The man traveled with only a few servants at his side, but acted as if he led a whole army of knights. He paused in his ride, waving graciously at the gathered peasants before continuing forward.
Della moved as if to go to the man, but Brant gripped her shoulder, squeezing to get her attention. Into her ear, he hissed, “You forget yourself, lady wife.”
He felt his arm twitch with the need to shake her, but he refrained. The scent of wildflowers overwhelmed him and he took a deep breath. Jealousy, swift and sure, consumed him as his eyes bored into her. Yet even now, he wanted her.
“M’lord,” she gasped, looking at him.
Brant bristled at her distant use of his title. She’d yelled familiarly to Stuart for all to hear and yet she could not bring herself to simply call him Brant. It was always m’lord or Lord Blackwell.
“You will mind yourself, wife,” he warned, “lest I must remind you that you are wed to me.”
Della shivered at the darkness in his tone. It sent chills of both fear and excitement through her. Startled by the angry threat in his voice, she nodded. The happiness she felt at seeing her cousin drained in light of her husband’s anger. She turned her head, straining her neck to look up into his piercing blue eyes. Disappointed, she found his expression hard. His hold did not loosen and she forced a nonchalant expression to her face, one she didn’t feel. Her heart raced with nervous fear, but there was another emotion as well. She didn’t wish to give it a name.
Della hadn’t thought it possible, but her husband looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him. Beautifully dressed in the black and gold tunic she’d made for him, he also wore a new undertunic and braccas. She’d laid the clothes out for him early that morning when she left the bedchamber. It only seemed natural to do so, and she’d wanted to see how the black tunic fit since she worked the hardest on it. She wasn’t disappointed. He was ravishing.
“M’lord…” The full knowledge of what they’d done kept her from finishing the thought. All day she’d hidden from him, unable to face him, too unsure of herself, unsure of him, of their marriage, of what had happened. She was afraid he’d look at her with tenderness or love, and afraid he wouldn’t. His manners gave nothing away as she studied him. How was she to act after such a night? Was she the only one spellbound by it? Was she just another woman he’d conquered?
And why should I care? I don’t love him. Cannot. Will never.
“Did you hear me?” he said when she didn’t speak. “I said you will mind yourself.”
Della’s mouth fell open at the veiled threat and her gaze shot at him in icy displeasure. “I don’t so easily forget who my husband is, even if it’s you. I will not apologize for my excitement over my cousin’s arrival, m’lord, because Stuart is the only family left to me.”
“Nay, Della, I’m your only family.” Brant leaned down, pressing his face into hers. Instantly, his gaze fell to her lips. Della shivered at the intensity in him, the quick burning anger that turned to passion and back again within a flickering moment. The bailey yard fell away until they were the only two left in the world. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. There was no doubting Brant came from fire. His moods burned hot and bright for all to see.