Della slowly sat beside her husband. She hadn’t seen Stuart enter the hall and was surprised to see him. Her cousin looked confidently, almost arrogantly, at Brant.
“Are you familiar with how the game is played, Lord Blackwell, or do you need my instruction in that as well?” Stuart’s smile was angelically intact, with only a slight bite to his words.
“Nay, I didn’t mean to imply I needed any lessons from you. It has been said in some lower circles that you are an adequate player—for one new to the game. I wished to see if I could trounce you.” Brant also kept his smile intact. “Merely as a diversion, naught else.”
Della looked from one man to the other in opened mouth awe, dumbfounded with the knowledge of their intent. They were having an ego contest over a table game. She shook her head, not wanting to bear witness to their male stupidity. However, as strong as the urge was for her to stand and leave, the urge for her to stay was twice as powerful.
Gunther stood at the end of the table and watched the opening move with much seriousness. Della followed his gaze to the board, observing in quiet as the men tested the other’s skills. Occasionally, they would exchange a manly jibe at the expense of the other’s judgment. Both were competent players and, after an hour, Della thought surely one of them could have thwarted the other. She witnessed several opportunities to win the men kept missing.
“It would appear that I’m not so much an amateur, am I?” Stuart laughed as he stole a vital game piece from Brant. “Mayhap it’s not I who is less of a man.”
She felt the anger emitting from her husband. The insults were becoming more blatant with each exchange. She shot Stuart a hard look, willing him to stay quiet. Both men ignored her. Unconscious of the action, she rested a hand on Brant’s thigh under the table. His leg tensed, but didn’t pull away.
“Nay, I’m plenty man. Just ask Della,” Brant returned with a victorious smile.
Della gasped at the bold implication and quickly removed her hand. Her cheeks became hot with embarrassment.
“Yea, it’s an easy thing to take a woman with pagan charms. But to earn her trust, that is the real test of manhood. I have done that long ago. Is that not right, Della?”
Stuart’s bold response made her color more. They were heading into dangerously personal territory. She glanced at Gunther for help. He tapped his fingers lightly and turned his attention back to the game. Della refused to answer either of them, furious as she glared at the board.
“You can be a child and earn the trust of a woman. It doesn’t make you a true man. Many young maids have foolishly given their trust to the wrong person.” Brant dismissed the claim with a small gesture of the hand.
Now I’m foolish? Della fumed at the unintentional insult. Neither man dared to look at her.
“It’s more than her trust I have,” Stuart rebutted.
Brant’s fist clenched around a discarded game piece. He studied the small, carved figure for a moment, digging his nail into a wooden crease. “Nay, don’t confuse pity as being aught more.”
Della again glanced in disbelief from one man to the other. Both had stopped the pretense of playing. Their eyes met and locked in a battle of wills.
Leaning back in his chair, a baiting smile curving his lips, Stuart said, “Della, do you remember when we were younger? Do you remember what we did out by the old apple tree?”
Della clamped her mouth shut. The men weren’t talking to her. Stuart had promised to never tell the tale. She’d been twelve and had let Stuart kiss her quickly on the cheek. But it had only been to seal a pact of friendship between them. At the time, she’d been embarrassed by it. Now, in light of how her husband kissed, she knew it had been nothing more than a meaningless touch.
“Della, do you remember last night?” returned Brant with a smug smile of satisfaction. Stuart glowered and Gunther hid his amusement under a cough.
Della stood, shocked and disappointed in the both of them. They turned to her in surprise, as if they’d forgotten she sat there listening.
“Enough,” she demanded. “I will listen to no more.”
“But, Della, it is only a game.” Stuart gave her an angelic look. Della knew better.
“A game?” Della leaned forward and moved the men’s pieces quickly over the squares of the tann-tafl. Making the winning move for Brant’s side, she laid Stuart’s last piece over in defeat. Both men gaped in awe at her swift skill. “Then it’s just a game you have lost. Now, tell Lord Blackwell that naught happened in the apple orchard. It’s not as you suggest.”
Stuart refused to speak. Brant began to laugh heartily as his opponent’s face turned red with outrage.