If all she felt was a pagan spell, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to take it off. She fingered her ring briefly, turning it around on her finger. God help her, she was in love with him and she didn’t know if she wanted it to go away. But with the love came a bittersweet pain—a pain that he might not feel the same way, that he might never come to care for her more than a prize awarded him for loyal service to a king.
“Do you regret that you married me?” Brant didn’t move.
“It’s too late to ask that,” Della replied evasively. How could she answer without giving her emotions away? Her face iced over to hide her feelings. “We are joined.”
“Nay, that is not an answer.” Brant searched her face, as if trying in vain to read her. “I regret you thought I meant to disrespect you. I didn’t.”
Della nodded. Really, she already knew. Watching the moon for a moment, she enjoyed its peacefulness. It was so big and full in the velvety sky, as if the earth had pulled it closer for the night. Then, turning back to Brant, she waited patiently for him to proceed.
“Where did you learn to play hnefa-tafl so masterfully?” he asked.
“I taught myself, playing out different strategies until I mastered a plan for each one. The game is really not that difficult once studied.”
“Yea, I forget sometimes there are many hours in a day for you.”
“Did you cast a pagan spell over me?” Della didn’t mean to say the words aloud, but didn’t try to take them back. She eyed him thoughtfully. A now-familiar sense of longing washed over her when she looked at him. His piercing blue gaze met hers steadily. Every pore reached out to feel him. “Tell me the truth.”
“Nay.” Brant chuckled. “I would not know how. You ascribe too much to a pagan’s abilities. Besides, it is not really a following I practice.”
Della was saddened by the admission, for it meant that the ring had truly been meant for another woman. “Who is Lynnea? Was she a great love to you? Do you miss her?”
“Lynnea?” Brant’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead before his face darkened a bit. “Who told you of her?”
“Just answer the question.” Della tried to harden herself to his handsome face. She felt tears threaten and her vision blurred, but she kept her face hauntingly still. “Did you love her?”
“Yea.” His expression confirmed the truth. “I suppose I did, as much as any man can admit such emotions.”
It felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. She kept her body as still as a stone. “She is dead?”
“Yea,” he said again. “She is.”
Intense longing and jealousy began in her stomach. Her heart lurched and her nose burned with the unshed tears. Loving a man who didn’t return her feelings was worse than the fear she had lived with her entire life. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Della, what are you going on about?” He eyed her wearily. “She died a long time ago, when I was young.”
“How?”
Why do I torture myself?
Because I have to know the truth.
“She took her own life.” Brant’s face hardened and she imagined it wasn’t something he liked talking about. “She didn’t like my father’s mistresses.”
“I don’t understand. Why would she care if your father had mistresses?”
“I believe it was because she truly loved him. Not everyone is like you, Della. Some women care if their men take other women to their beds.”
“Wait.” She held up her hands, stopping him. “Then why is her name inscribed in the ring that you gave to me? Did you love her? And she loved your father?”
“Della, Lynnea was my mother. That was her ring.” His face softened. “It’s all I have that was hers. She gave it to me the day before she took her life and bid me to give it to my bride. She hoped it would bring my marriage more luck then it did hers. It was her blessing, in a sense.”
“Your mother?” Della choked, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought he’d put into the gift. “Methought she was your love, your woman. Methought mayhap you pine for her still.”
“Nay, silly female.” Brant took a step closer and cupped her jaw. He was but a hairsbreadth away from her. “You are my woman now. My only one.”
She tried to smile and shook her head. The gentle pressure of his hand turned her until she faced him. In essence he was right. He’d claimed her soul, but he didn’t say he loved her.
“I ask you again,” he said when she met his steady gaze. “Do you regret our marriage?”