Almost a sennight passed and Brant didn’t make love to her again. Having never been with a man before, Della didn’t know if it was normal. Could it be that a man’s desires were exaggerated? And, if they were, why did she still want to touch him? She’d always heard men were the ones who demanded their marital rights, never the wife.
He didn’t seem to be sleeping with any mistresses and each night he came back to her bed, kissing her on the cheek like a stranger and then turning from her to sleep. When he said goodnight to her, she was sure it was the most he’d said to her all day. And when he slept and she could not, she sat in bed and studied him.
Della tried to busy herself with chores, but her heart was not in them. She was distracted and ended up being more of a hindrance than a help. Many of the servants grew exasperated with her efforts and encouraged her, none too gently, to find work elsewhere. In the last sennight, she’d weeded her garden until there was no more soil to churn. She’d overseen the shearing of the sheep, which if truth were told, the chore was done too early. She’d ordered the manor deeply cleaned, until every surface shimmered. She’d instructed the dying of cloths and the weaving of new bed linens. And she’d set some of the maids to brewing more mead when it was not needed. The stables, the workshops, the chapel, all of them were attended to. There was not much else with which she could busy herself.
Della had even schooled Rab until the boy revolted and hid from her teachings—not that he was available much these days. Brant stayed true to his word and let the boy help the men on the exercise field. It was a task Rab would much rather do.
This was why she now found herself walking aimlessly about the castle grounds searching for something to occupy the time. Restless, she began to curse her highly efficient home. Why had she made things run so smoothly? Why had she made it so she wasn’t needed anywhere, for anything?
Even Edwyn, having all but finished the stone wall, was busy instructing the seasonal dredging of the moat and could not be bothered. Roldan, Gunther, and the other knights were on the practice field exercising—as was her husband, as far as she could tell.
The sun shone bright over the bailey, the day warm. She thought of Brant and her feet turned toward the loud shouts of the soldiers. Passing close to the exercise field, she saw her husband supervising some of the men who sparred without weapons. His tunic was off, his exposed chest sweaty. Next to him was Rab, his face beaming at Lord Blackwell in boyish awe.
Brant noticed her and nodded politely before turning back to bark an instruction at the men. Getting into the fray, he showed one of them a fighting technique. He didn’t look at her again. His cold indifference was an effective dismissal and she didn’t continue toward him.
Argh! If I don’t get out of here, I will scream.
Suddenly the walls of the bailey were too confining. Brant would not talk to her. The servants shooed her from every corner. Della felt unwanted in her own home.
If no one wants me about, who would notice if I was to leave?
Della made her way to the private chamber in the bailey wall, slipping easily past Edwyn’s room. No one in the manor, except for Edwyn and herself, knew of the secret entrance she had built into the castle. For some reason, she’d never even told Stuart of it.
At first, she hadn’t thought building a tunnel under the moat would actually work, but it had. The builders had been contracted from far away to complete it and, when they were done, she hadn’t thought to tell anyone. That was years ago and the workers, honest ones the whole lot, had been paid well for their silence. She liked having it as her own secret tunnel. It made her feel more secure knowing there was a way to escape the castle that didn’t include swimming, since she didn’t know how.
It had been a long time since she’d used the passageway. Often she had escaped outside the castle walls just to look at her home from a distance. At sunset, the castle was marvelous—its towering form reaching into the blue and purple heavens.
Making sure she was not followed, which didn’t seem to be a problem since she was not sought after, Della pulled up a secret latch. It was cleverly hidden in the stone wall. The opening shifted slightly as a mock panel fell back. Grabbing a torch, she pushed the panel all the way open.
The underground corridor was narrow and damp. The tapping of the servants sounded as they dredged over the stone ceiling. She closed the panel. The door didn’t secure as well as on the inside of the walkway, but after careful consideration it had been determined that no one would notice the flaw unless they knew to look for it.
Della briskly made her way down the passage, ignoring the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling. She always worried that if she tarried too long, the torch would dim and eventually would burn out. For that reason, the walls had been marked with various grooves so one could find their way if trapped.