Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(9)

Gunther lifted an eyebrow and then shrugged his shoulder. Spotting the informative maid across the hall studying him, he winked, giving her his most charming smile.

Brant had given his temper a moment to cool after his first meeting with Lady Della. Even he had to reluctantly admit that his bride had a charming vivaciousness to her. Most men would not dare to stand up to him in opposition. He liked the idea of a wife who could hold her own. It meant she would be strong enough to last through hard times. Once he won her loyalty, she would make a great ally. Though he would have to do much to curb that wayward tongue of hers in the future, for it was not right for a wife to holler at her husband in front of servants.

Maybe she was just nervous, or irate that her father hadn’t asked for her consent before the decision was made. Regretfully, there had been no time for such concerns. He had seen many unhappy marriages because a lady wasn’t consulted before the agreement, not that a consultation would have changed anything. But the gesture often assuaged feminine pride. He would just have to make it right by her on the wedding night, prove that he had some sense of good manners.

He suppressed a groan at the prospect of the coupling. It had been a long time since he was held in the gentle arms of a woman. Sleeping next to an army of men was hardly as pleasant of a diversion.

“What was that about earlier? Lady Della did not appear taken with you.” Gunther nodded to a serving wench with black hair as she went abovestairs. He shot her a come-hither smile. “Perchance, you have lost yer charm.”

Brant watched his friend in amusement. Gunther never stayed in one place long without some company to share his bed. Unlike Brant, who preferred to keep a steady mistress.

“It would appear m’lady has an aversion to Vikings—something to do with the way we smell and sleep out of doors with cattle.” He sat up and finished his cup of mead in several long gulps and then rubbed his eyes in aggravation. They’d been riding all over the countryside for the last several sennights and had yet to have a day of peace and quiet. He’d hoped that would have changed when he finally arrived at Strathfeld. It wasn’t to be. “Yea, she even tried to convince me not to wed with her. She said she carried Stuart of Grayson’s bastard child.”

Gunther choked on his mead as he gave Brant a horrified look. “Gods Bones! She did not say that. What if it is so?”

“I do not think it is,” he answered softly. “Besides, I have ordered her checked by the midwife.”

“You didn’t!” Gunther’s laugh echoed in the hall as he pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. “Methinks the Lady Della will not take kindly to that.”

“She left me little choice in the matter. Though, I have yet to tell her father.” Brant let a small smile lift the corner of his mouth. Lord Strathfeld had informed him that his daughter wished to be married to Sir Stuart, but she hadn’t seen him nigh on the last five years. It was too long of a time to be carrying a man’s babe. Unfortunately, he had no way of knowing how many people she’d told her lie to. This was the only way to ensure Della’s reputation and his own.

“What are you going to do about her aversion?” Gunther’s laughter subsided for a moment as he took a quick drink.

Brant re-crossed his ankles and adjusted his arms over his chest. “It’s already done.”

“What?” Gunther’s eyes narrowed in anticipation.

“I told Lord Strathfeld my ancestors demanded I have a traditional Viking wedding. He didn’t care either way, just so it was done.”

“You didn’t.” Gunther laughed louder, unable to believe the audacity of his friend. “I don’t believe you. How traditional?”

“My friend, it is my wedding day. We are going to do it right.” Brant grinned as he imagined the look on his intended’s pretty face as he made her drink from their kasa filled with mead and goat’s blood. He wondered if his dainty bride would refuse and then he thought of the many pleasurable ways he could punish her.

“No one has used the traditional ceremonies nigh on the past hundred years.”

“Nay, there are a few tribes to the far north,” Brant answered. “Besides, the Saxons don’t know that.”

“Well, m’lord, it would seem someone has just informed yer bride of the change in nuptial plans.” Gunther looked to the stairwell in feigned concern as he settled more deeply into his seat. It was apparent he had no intention of missing the upcoming fray.

Brant followed his friend’s gaze. Not surprisingly, there was his bride storming across the main hall in their direction. Even in her wintry fury she was lovely. Rushes were kicked up in her rage and the dark-haired servant quickly moved behind her to smooth them down once more. He nodded his approval of their quick attention to detail. It said much of how his future wife ran the keep.