The idea brought her back to what was happening. Through the corner of her eye, she saw Stuart swing down from his horse. Della started to answer Brant, but her cousin wrapped his arms around her waist and flung her through the air like a child. The motion tore her from her husband’s hold. Brant thankfully let her go, otherwise the battle over her limbs would’ve hurt. Stuart dropped her to the ground, spun her around, and lifted her once more so she faced him as he danced about in circles while holding her in the air.
“Ah, my little cousin, how you have grown to be a fine woman!” Stuart finally lowered her to the ground. His handsome, dark face smiled gaily at her as he looked her over, and his hands lingered at her waist as if disinclined to let her go. “It has been too many years since I have last seen you. We have much to talk about.”
“Ah, Stuart.” Della tried to smile for him, but her cheeks were hot with embarrassment at his enthusiastic greeting. Well aware of the quiet stares of the others and of her husband’s darkening rage, she put her hands over Stuart’s and gently pushed them from her. Before letting go, she gave him a light squeeze. It was all the affection she would dare. “There is much to speak of, my cousin.”
“What has happened to your face, Della?” Stuart’s expression dropped into one of concern. A frown creased between his eyes as he studied the bruise on her cheek. Lifting his hand as if to touch her, he let it hover, only to draw his fingers back to his side.
“It’s naught to be concerned over. I fell yestereve, tripped on the dining platform stairs.” Della refused to look at Brant. “I was careless.”
“Yea,” Stuart acknowledged, dropping a familiar arm over her shoulder. He didn’t question her explanation. It had always been thus between them. Stuart ignored Brant as he tried to escort her to the castle. “Where is my uncle? I should like to greet him.”
“Ah, Stuart.” Della ducked from his friendly gesture. Stuart looked hurt, but let his arm fall to his side. He cocked his head, his eyes wondering why she shied away from him. Growing up, they’d always had an easy friendship. Stuart seemed to be in as much pain as she in childhood. But they were no longer children and Della was all too aware of her husband’s watchful, disapproving gaze. Her father’s warnings to Brant didn’t help her cousin’s reputation. “My father died, nigh on a fortnight past. We would have written you, but we didn’t know where to find you.”
Stuart mulled the information over. He didn’t look too surprised by the news. “Are you well, Della? I know you were close to him.”
“Yea, I’m fine.” Tears tried to come at the still painful memory, but she fought them, blinking hard. She took a step toward him, not wanting the servants to overhear her anguish. “It has been hard, but I am surviving.”
“Yea, sweet Della.” Stuart spoke as if they were the only two in the bailey. He touched her lightly on the chin. “You have always done that well. Survive, I mean. But fear no longer. I’m here to help you. We will get through the formalities of the inheritance together. You have had too large a burden these many years.”
Della smiled at his kind offer. In her heart she knew he meant well, but didn’t think her husband would feel the same. Glancing over Stuart’s shoulder at Brant, it was as she suspected. Her husband’s hands were on his hips and he glared at them. Even in anger he captivated her, leaving her breathless.
In light of what had transpired the night before, she saw Stuart differently. He wasn’t the fine figure of a man she’d once believed him to be. She used to think him the bravest, most handsome man alive, but now he just looked like a man—handsome, yea, but handsome in the way that was so common. He was nothing compared to the rolling fire of her virile husband who burned her with his presence every time he was near.
Brant cleared his throat in irritation and Della realized she’d failed to introduce him. Stuart frowned at the rude interruption. There was no way her cousin could know of her marriage.
Stuart put his hands on his hips as he studied Brant. “I am Sir Stuart, Della’s cousin. I trust you are here on behalf of King Guthrum to attend the funeral and to see to the inheritance? You can deal with me as freely as you do Della. She will tell you, I am Lord Strathfeld’s closest male heir.”
Della glanced helplessly back and forth between the two men. A slow, triumphant smile curled Brant’s mouth as he answered, “I am Lord Blackwell, Ealdorman of Strathfeld.”
“Yea, Stuart,” Della interjected, trying to shelter her cousin from the sting of Brant’s words. She didn’t want to see them fight. Stuart’s back was to her and she couldn’t see his face, but she saw the stiffening of his body. “I don’t believe you have heard of my marriage to Lord Blackwell. It happened right before my father’s death. We didn’t know where to reach you else we would’ve told you of it also. Like you said, so much has happened.”