Brant studied him in disbelief. “It seems my wife has many talents. Did she ever just play as a child?”
Edwyn gave Brant a pained look. The old man cleared his throat and tenderly laid the doll back in the corner as if it were a real child and turned back to his papers. “Surely you know of her sleeping habits. There are many hours in the day fer her.”
“Has she always had trouble sleeping?” Brant refused to let the subject drop. He tried to sound like he knew what the man was talking about. In truth, he had never spent a night with his wife. How could he know her sleeping habits?
“It’s not my place to say.” Edwyn didn’t look at him. “I have no wish to be disloyal to m’lady.”
“What if I command you?”
“M’lady has been through much pain in her life. I will not add my betrayal to the list.”
“You say pain. Like what?” Brant wondered what the man was not telling him.
“I am sure the plans are here somewhere,” Edwyn tried to change the subject.
“You never answered. Did she ever just play as a child?” Brant watched the man’s face carefully. Why didn’t he just answer the question? It was simple enough.
Edwyn gave Brant another pained look and chose his answer carefully. “Nay. There was a time she was like other children, but m’lady is smart. She spent most of her time teaching herself many things. I suppose, in a way, that is how she played, by learning all she could.”
“What changed, Edwyn? Children do not just stop playing one day because they are smart.” Brant stepped to the old man, not giving him a chance to avoid answering. He was growing uneasy about what was deliberately being kept from him. “What am I not being told?”
“Perchance you should speak with Lady Della.” Edwyn tried to turn away, but Brant put a restraining hand on him to stop the retreat. The old man sighed, unsure.
“I am speaking with you,” Brant insisted.
“Mayhap you should ask yer wife.” Edwyn risked much in naysaying his lord.
“Edwyn, it is obvious you care for m’lady.” Brant let go of his arm. “So you must know her.”
Edwyn nodded, giving up any pretense of looking for the papers. “Well, m’lord. I know her well.”
“Then you know she will never tell me.” Brant hated to admit it. “Why does she dislike me? Because I am a Viking?”
“You cannot blame her fer the prejudice. She was very young when it happened.” Edwyn pulled a stool from under the table and sat. He gestured for Brant to do the same. He thoughtfully scraped his nail against a splinter in the old wood. Digging the offending piece up, he swiped it away with the back of his hand, pondering his words for a long moment. “I only tell you because I believe it best you hear it from someone who knows and not a bit of distorted servant’s gossip.”
“I understand.” Brant sat.
“M’lady’s mother, Lady Strathfeld, was a caring woman and she was extremely close to her daughter. She took the child everywhere with her. A kinder or more devoted mother I have ne’er seen. When Lady Strathfeld was very much pregnant with her second babe, Lord Strathfeld took the family to the coastal villages. A boat had just arrived in one of the towns bearing goods from faraway lands—silks, exotic spices, fragrances, jewelry. You know the like.”
Brant nodded, willing the man to get on with the tale. Already his stomach tightened in dread. He kept his face blank and listened intently to every detail.
“Lord Strathfeld left his wife and child to look at the wares, telling young Della to make sure she looked after her pregnant mother. Back then, Strathfeld was a younger man, anxious to expand his fortunes. He met up with some traders and wanted to make arrangements to invest in their ship’s next voyage. The men got drunk on foreign mead and before they knew it, they’d passed out.
“M’lady was about four years old when it happened. The family had been staying in a home owned by Sir Stuart’s father, Lord Grayson. Lady Strathfeld must have gotten tired of waiting fer her husband and she and Della made their way back home.” Edwyn took a deep breath. “The attackers were waiting there fer ‘em. It’s like they knew the women would be alone.”
“Who?” Brant asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer. Viking mercenaries.
“Vikings. Lord Strathfeld found his daughter the next afternoon, tied to a bedpost and drenched in her mother’s blood. Lady Della’s hair was chopped off and thrown all about the chamber along with the hair of her mother.” Edwyn swallowed in disgust, turning his eyes away. “And not just the hair from Lady Strathfeld’s head.”
Brant was sick to his stomach. He’d heard many stories of a similar nature, but the Viking’s who performed such cruel acts were mercenaries for hire and not representative of the whole race. In truth, all races had mercenaries.
“Lord Strathfeld left fer the wars soon after, leaving m’lady in my care,” Edwyn’s words droned on in grim determination. “He loved his wife. Methinks Lady Della was a reminder of all that happened. As she grew older, she began to idolize her sire until he was a legend to her. No one could speak ill of the ealdorman. She wouldn’t have it. By the time he came back three years later, it was ne’er mentioned between ‘em again.”
“What happened that night?” Brant was afraid of the answer, but he needed to know.
“No one knows fer sure, but one could well imagine. Lady Della, at least physically, was left unharmed. She’d been tied to the bedpost with a piece of leather strapped to her head so she could not look away from the bed. It was evident she had been forced to watch what they did, and they had all night to do it. Her mother had been raped, repeatedly, and tortured. The late countess’s unborn child was cut out of her womb, the body ne’er found. The men left a torch burning the whole night. It was estimated Della had been there fer nigh on sixteen hours before she was found.” Edwyn scraped the table harder with his thumbnail, the motion frantic as if trying to erase the past with the action. His eyes glistened with unshed tears and his voice cracked in pain. “She sat alone, gazing at the body of her dead mother the entire time. We ne’er understood why she was left alive and untouched. Methinks because living is a much worse torture than death. But we are glad she is with us.”
“God’s Bones!” Brant exclaimed, horrified. His heart went out to his wife and the poor child she’d been. How could he have guessed she’d been through such horrors?
“Yea.” The old man cleared his throat and stood, rubbing thoughtfully at his forehead. “By the time Della was discovered, she had gone way inside herself. As far as I know, she hasn’t told anyone what happened that night. I don’t believe she has talked about it at all, but the nightmares have plagued her ever since. That is why she doesn’t sleep, m’lord. Methinks she forces herself to stay busy so she doesn’t have to face it. At least that was the way of it at first. Now, methinks, she stays awake because she doesn’t know what else to do.”
“They were never caught.” The statement was more of an acknowledgment than a question.
“Nay.” Edwyn again busied himself with the stack of papers. “Ah, here it is.”
Brant slowly stood. Edwyn laid the plans on the table. Taking his finger to them, Brant slid the parchment closer. It blurred within his vision.
It all made sense. His wife’s unreasonable hatred of him was because of his Viking descent, and her uncanny ability to sew six outfits in a single sennight was because of her sleepless nights. It also explained her fear of bearing children and also her love for them, especially the foundling boy, Rab. She was trying to make sure he didn’t feel pain as she had.
Brant felt awful at the way he’d treated her. She wasn’t trying to be cruel and play games with him. She hadn’t been trying to frustrate him sexually. She had honestly been trying to reach out to him and be a wife, despite what had happened to her, despite the idiotic lies her cousin had told her. Only he’d terrified her with his rough passion. Brant smiled grimly, sick with himself for his actions. He’d acted the boor, trying to rip her
clothing from her, when she needed him to be slow and gentle and reassuring.
Brant saw well the passion in her for him. He should have also seen her fear. Her great passion would come in time, but first she had to trust him. She had to know that all Vikings, that all men, were not like the savage barbarians who attacked her mother. And, when coupling was done right, it was not a horrible experience.
His heart beat hollowly in his chest. Resting his hand solemnly on the castle blueprints, he stopped Edwyn from talking. He hadn’t been listening anyway.
The seneschal looked up in surprise as Brant shook his head. His expression said more than words ever could have. The old man nodded in silent understanding. Brant left, his shoulders hunched in anguish over that which he could not change.
Edwyn sat quietly, long after Lord Blackwell walked from the chamber, staring at the castle plans and not seeing them but for a vague impression they gave of the past.
Chapter Nine
“Countess, might I have a word with you?”
Della tried to smile pleasantly at the odious Lord Lester. The maids had just finished with the last of the rushes, so the hall smelled sweet with the fragrance of wild flowers and mint. The mint was a new addition to the usual scented mixture she blended for the stone floor. She hated to admit it was because she’d grown fond of smelling it on her husband’s breath.
However, now it wasn’t mint that filled her nostrils. The freshness of the hall was punctured by Lord Lester’s unpleasant odor as he approached. Della hoped that if she ignored him, he would go away. She wasn’t so fortunate.
“Yea, m’lord,” she answered, not trying very hard to keep the exasperation from her voice.
Lord Lester smiled. His eyelids dipped low over his disturbingly shallow gaze.
“Do you look for my lord husband?” Della inquired when the man said nothing else to her.
Lester licked his lips with no ready answer. Touching the tip of his forefinger to his chin, he tapped lightly. The motion only drew attention to the red pockmark that scarred his face, which in turn led her gaze to his little upturned nose.
“Methinks Lord Blackwell is in the exercise yard.” She nodded, turning to dismiss him. How had her husband formed such a friendship? The man was simply repulsive.
Politics, Della assumed with a distasteful grimace. She kicked at the rushes needlessly. For surely Blackwell would not form such an alliance out of pleasure.
“Nay, m’lady.” Lord Lester reached a possessive hand forward to stop her from edging farther away from him. His fingers twisted about her arm in a presuming caress as he forced her around to face him. Della didn’t even attempt to smile as her eyes alighted hauntingly on him.
The nobleman didn’t notice. He was too busy ogling her breasts. “It’s not your husband’s company I seek. I’m in search of a more genteel partner to spend the eve with.”
Della’s mouth fell open in displeasure at his forward advance. Lord Lester’s lazy eye stared eerily past her shoulder as the good one grazed over her body in sleazy perusal. He still wore the green tunic he’d arrived in that morning and she cursed the servants for not insisting he bathe. Though she was loath to send any of the maids to his chamber to help him. Even the most obstinate of them didn’t deserve that unpleasant task.
“M’lord, methinks you forget yourself.” Della yanked her elbow from his hand, worried she’d have to burn her burgundy dress now that he’d touched it. The material would undoubtedly reek of him and the strongest lye couldn’t take such a filthy odor out. Not wanting to insult a guest of her husband, she eased her tone. “My lord husband could arrive any moment. I’m sure he would take offense to you saying such things to me.”
Lord Lester glanced around the room, a secretive smile on his lips. “Of course, m’lady.”
You odious pig, do you think I enjoy your inspection?
Trying to stay poised, Della shot him an icy look. To her amazement the man didn’t back away. Her disdain only seemed to encourage him.
“It would not do for our affections to be made known.” Lord Lester turned his back to the hall where people started to gather for the eve meal. He licked his lips as one eye continued to stare at her breasts. “It’s said that your husband already sleeps in another chamber. It must be hard for you to be without his attentions.”
No man had ever dared to address her in such a forward manner—no man but Brant. Was this what happened when one was married? Did men think since a bride had just lost her maidenhead she would gladly accept any invitation of bedsport? Della shivered at the prospect. If Lord Lester touched her again she would vomit all over him.
“It is naught to be ashamed of, for it is well-known Blackwell keeps two mistresses in Jorvik. Mayhap he brings them here to be with him. You should not have to be without a man because your husband is busy spreading his seed elsewhere.” The vulgar man leaned uncomfortably close, pursing his thin lips as his beady eyes narrowed. “It’s not your fault your husband cannot appreciate your body the way I could. And, when I am done teaching you all I know, he will never naysay you again.”
“M’lord,” Della warned in a heated whisper. Her cheeks stained with rage. “Mind your words.”
“You must not be used to being spoken to in such a bold manner. I daresay after tonight you will not feel the same way.” Lord Lester winked, as his eye again drifted down her chest. “That excites you, does it not?”
“Oh!” Della didn’t know what to say to the repulsive proposition. She took a deep breath, her eyes dashing about, automatically searching for Brant to come to her aid. Not seeing him anywhere in the hall, she decided it would be best if she left his friend until she could better deal with the insults. She skirted abruptly past Lester to make her way to the head table.
Just wait until I tell my husband, you lewd son of a pig. Methinks you will not be so smug then! But even as she thought it, she wasn’t sure what her husband would do about Lord Lester’s offense.
* * * * *
Brant heard a maid giggle as he approached. Her shiny, short curls bobbed as she lowered her chin, but her eyes stayed on his face. He returned her smile with the benevolence of a leader and though she blushed prettily, her look was lost on him as he continued past.
Intent on finding his wife, there was much Brant wanted to say to her. First being an apology for his actions. Edwyn’s tale had lit a flame of rage in his chest. He knew all too well that the world was filled with many people willing to perform those kinds of atrocities. There was much death in the land they lived in. Northumbria had been founded on death and wars. Brant himself had killed men in the heat of battle. But there was a big difference in the killing he did. He fought for his king. He fought for a way of life he believed in. And he always fought fair, while the men who had attacked Della’s mother killed for either money or sport. Neither of which was a noble cause. Such acts disgusted him.
He smiled absentmindedly as he walked across the scented main hall floor. Soldiers filled the tables, helping themselves to mead. He nodded at those who addressed him, answering their greetings in kind. Many of Lord Strathfeld’s men accepted his leadership with little dispute. The few who had problems with the arrangement had already left the keep. In total, there were mayhap three dozen of Lord Strathfeld’s men still residing at the manor. The rest of the knights were his fellow Vikings. Beyond their numbers were those nobles and their own separate households whom he lorded over.
Already, he knew most of the late ealdorman’s men and they knew him by his reputation. Brant laughed at some of the ridiculous names he’d been called. Brant the Flame was his personal favorite. Or what had Della called him on their wedding night? Brant the Thorn in My Arse? He smiled, remembering her heated blush as she said it. He wondered if she thought that of him still.
Seeing his wife step up to the high table, he sighed. She’d tied her hair back along the nape of her neck, binding the flaxen waves in a coiffure. Brant felt his stomach harden, as it did whenever he was about to go
into battle. She was indeed beautiful, though her face was frozen with chagrin. He saw the hard set of her lips, pressing together as if not to yell, and her amber eyes stared coldly before her.
Could she still be angry with him? He frowned. Intentionally, he hadn’t gone to her, even after speaking with Edwyn. He thought the time apart would have lessened her ire from that afternoon. It didn’t appear to be so.
Deciding it best to speak to her as soon as possible so as not to let her anger boil any longer, he moved behind her to gently touch her elbow. It would be best if he escorted her to a private chamber where they might talk away from the ears of the hall. His lips parted to quietly say her name, but before the word could escape, she jerked her arm from his gentle grasp. The heated display took him by surprise and a twinge of irritation rose forth in his chest. He didn’t have to wait long for her to speak.
“M’lord, leave me be,” Della yelled, keeping her back to him. Her shoulders shook violently. “I will not sleep with you tonight or ever. So get your hands off me before I have you beaten bloody by the knights of this hall. You whining, stinking girl-child!”
Those gathered gasped in shock, their voices stuttering to a halt. A few of the men snickered behind the backs of their hands—the Vikings to see how their lord would punish the countess’s wayward tongue, and the Anglo-Saxons with a bit of pride in their mistress, though none showed any intention of trying to overtake the new ealdorman. Brant ignored the men. His eyes narrowed in anger and he clenched his fists as she spun around.
“My husband…” Her words trailed off as she saw his face. Her eyes rounded in alarm and her skin became deathly pale.
Yea, you should be scared, Ice Princess. He forced a deep breath, the sound harsh over the stillness of the hall. It took all his might not to strike her. She looked over his shoulder in confusion and Brant heard Lord Lester’s high-pitched cackle behind him. The sound inspired his anger to go from close to exploding to a full-blown rage. He forgot Edwyn’s tale.
Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice Page 14
