Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(8)

“Yer off to sea, Brant, row back to shore.” Gunther laughed as he patted Brant hard on the back.

A sharp pain radiated through his body at the friendly gesture, bringing him again to reality. He’d been struck in the lower back a month ago during a small skirmish and the wound still pained him some when disturbed. “Yea, this a good place. Strathfeld’s land will make a good addition to Blackwell Manor. Mayhap we can finally rebuild Blackwell to what it was before my father’s time.”

“Yea.” Gunther grinned, winking at a passing maid. The girl blushed before hurrying across the empty hall to the kitchen. “It is a good place, this Strathfeld. Do you e’er remember so many pleasing young maids in one stead? If yer new wife does not take to you, you can have many a pick fer a bedmate.”

Brant laughed in appreciation. He knew well that he could have as many mistresses in the keep as he liked and his new wife couldn’t protest. But he also knew what his unfaithful father’s ways had done to his mother. She’d taken her own life when he was only ten years old. Brant had no desire to flaunt his indiscretions. He secretly wished that he could find some sort of happiness in marriage—even if it wasn’t the fabled love of his people, inn makti murr, the mighty passion.

Brant shook himself from his deep thoughts and turned to an amused Gunther. “I see much that needs to be done with the fortifications if this place is to continue to be impermeable.”

“Methought I saw some walls on the east boundary were made of wood. They could be fortified with stone. There are enough rocks lying around to easily do it.” Gunther continued to use the language of their ancestors. A servant came to refill their goblets. Her red hair spiraled out of her head in a disarray of pleasant curls and she had wide green eyes. When Gunther spoke, she stopped, looking at them in confusion. “I do not see why that section was not yet done. Though, it’s said Lord Strathfeld has spent little time here nigh on these last years and that his daughter has managed the keep in his absence.”

“Lady Della would know little about maintaining a stronghold.” Brant crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his legs before him. The servant didn’t move and he realized she didn’t understand them. He motioned her forward. Without much thought, he easily switched to the Saxon tongue. “Though she does maintain a clean keep.”

“Nay, m’lord. It’s because of the spirit.” The servant looked at him. “She will come out if the manor is filthy. Have you not heard?”

Brant smiled at her superstitious ways. “Nay, tell me. Who is she?”

“The spirit of the Roman lady who lived here when the home was built.”

“And what does she do?” he asked.

“She cleans, m’lord,” the servant answered in all seriousness.

Brant and Gunther laughed.

“Nay, sweetling, it’s not you we find amusing.” Gunther also switched easily to the Saxon speech as he leaned forward. He touched the young maid gently under the chin. “Methinks you would just let the cleaning spirit work.”

The maid smiled at Gunther’s charms and swayed back and forth on her feet in girlish shyness. “Nay. It was tried. After a sennight, she tore the manor to bits with her rage and we ne’er tried again fer fear she’d take after us next.”

Brant chuckled even harder as Gunther nodded in earnestness.

“It’s a grave thing you reveal to us, sweetling. Perchance, you can tell me more later?” Gunther lowered his voice suggestively. “Mayhap, tonight?”

“Yea, m’lord.” She curtsied before turning to leave. Gunther let out a belch and pounded himself on the chest. The maidservant glanced back with a small jump, giggling as she scurried off.

“There has been little need to mind the castle walls. The fighting has been away from here.” Gunther resumed where the conversation had been interrupted.

“Yea, but it will not always be so.” Brant rubbed the bridge of his nose. Spirits were a serious business. Not that Brant believed in them, but because the people who served him did. “Mayhap our spirit will fix the wall. It appears she has little to do inside.”

“Yea, and mayhap she’ll get angry at our sloth and tear it down.”

Brant chuckled and hit his friend hard on the shoulder. “Yea, mayhap.”

“It appears m’lady does not get much credit fer her work.” Gunther stretched his arms. Seeing a gathering of dust on his sleeve, he patted it from his shoulder with a hard smack. The particles rose into the air and drifted in the narrow rays of sunlight.

“Perchance, she does,” Brant mused, watching the dust settle.