Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Vladamir? Where are you man? Help me,” Lord Lester screamed. When he received no help from that corner, he blustered, “I will put in a good word to King Guthrum to any man who would defend me against this injustice.”

  The Vikings laughed at the request. All of them were loyal to Lord Blackwell first.

  “She begged me to make advances toward her. She bewitched me with her wanton ways. It’s not my fault,” Lord Lester persisted in desperation. “She’s a witch.”

  That brought an angry growl from the crowd and they began shouting for blood.

  Brant leaned down and grabbed the man. Hauling him to his feet, he laughed before announcing, “Methinks my wife was right. You are a whining, stinking girl and it would be most unfortunate to have you at my side in battle. Your stink would give away our position.”

  “Yea!” the men yelled in approval.

  “How dare you!” Lord Lester swaggered as he tried to slap Brant’s hand away.

  “Open the gate,” Brant ordered, staring the man squarely in the eye. The men readily obeyed. “You are lucky I do not kill you for your insults. The Countess of Strathfeld is no witch. Say so again and I will not be able to keep my men from violence.”

  “You will unhand me, Lord Blackwell,” Lester whined in a shrill voice. His feet dangled in the air, his toes only grazing the dirt as Brant carried him across the yard. A large crowd followed behind.

  Brant stopped as he neared the small moat outside the castle. “Methinks my wife was right about another thing. You are in need of a bath!”

  Lester screamed as Brant launched him into the moat. He landed in the shallow water, hissing and sputtering curses.

  “Gunther, get Lord Lester’s horse and lead it out. He is no longer to be welcomed here.” Seeing Sir Vladamir approach, Brant gave him a hard stare.

  “Nay, m’lord, you have no quarrel with me.” Sir Vladamir laughed as he looked down at his traveling companion. He patted Brant heartily on the shoulder. “I will tell the king what has happened here. He will think it amusing.”

  Brant nodded, joining the laughter as Lester tried to make his way up the ditch only to end up sliding back down into the rancid water. His padded green tunic was caked with mud.

  “To tell the truth, King Guthrum sent him on this mission to get him away from his camp.” Sir Vladamir grinned, wiping his eye. “He also grew tired of the stench.”

  “And what crime did you commit, my friend, to get sent with him?” Gunther asked as he led a horse over the stone bridge. Letting go of the reins, he gave the horse a light pat to get it jogging. The mount made his way unescorted into the field before starting to graze.

  “I wish to marry one of the king’s daughters—a very dark and bewitching maiden.” Sir Vladamir shrugged. “He said if I played nursemaid to this blundering oaf I could have her. So here I am.”

  Gunther shook his head. “Methinks no maid would be worth such a task.”

  “Ah, my friend, you have not found the one yet.” Sir Vladamir sighed. “When you do, we will talk on it again.”

  Brant thought instantly of Della awaiting him in her bedchamber. He looked back to his castle.

  Sir Vladamir sighed as he held his hand to Brant. “My apologies, but I must also leave. It is many more stops we have before I am free to go home.”

  Brant nodded and grasped the man’s hand. “Gunther, help him with whatever he needs. Have Isa prepare a satchel of food for their travels.”

  Gunther laughed, “Yea, whatever he needs, so long as I do not have to fish his friend out of the moat.”

  Grinning arrogantly, Brant was unable to move fast enough as he went back to the manor. Della would finally be his.

  “Yea, hurry m’lord. She be waiting fer you abovestairs!” a man yelled behind him.

  “Yea, if it is help you need—”

  “Enough! She is the countess.” Brant didn’t bother to turn, as he sliced his hand through the air for silence. He’d been waiting too long for this night and could only hope his wife didn’t change her mind once again, for he doubted the fire in his belly could stand it if she did.

  * * * * *

  The steam from the hot bath surrounded Della in a cloud as she stood from the tub. Her skin was heated red from the water and she hurriedly wiped the moisture from her flesh with the linen Ebba had left her. As she dried her hair, she froze when the chamber door opened. It was only Ebba bringing in the last of her clothing. A few maids followed behind to remove her bath water.

  Della huddled in the linen as they went by. Several more came in and replaced the bath with fresh, hot water for her lord husband. Della knew he liked to bathe often, so she thought to take advantage of the habit and give herself more time. She only put off the inevitable, but she couldn’t help it.

  She’d had her possessions moved to the main bedchamber where Brant had been sleeping. He had said he wished for someone to warm his bed each night. It could only mean it was his desire for her to sleep there.

  Della’s limbs shook with nervous excitement. She hastily donned her nightclothes and, with unsteady hands, she tried to tie the laces of the conservative gown. Unable to reach the laces in back, she turned and Ebba did them for her. Digging her toes absently into the soft fur rug, Della shivered and looked around the room. The chamber was the largest in the manor and took longer to heat. She moved by the fire and added more wood. Holding her shaking hands to the flames, she rubbed her palms together.

  “Ebba, quick, help me with my hair.” Della pointed at the silver comb the handmaid already carried in her hand.

  Ebba went to her mistress, taking the comb to her long tresses, pulling the wet strands back, away from her face. “M’lady, it is fairly anxious you are.”

  Della didn’t answer as a serving girl dumped more water into the tub. Ebba held the comb between her teeth and tousled Della’s hair so it would curl as it dried. Then, hitting a knot, she took the comb to untangle it.

  “Ebba, do you think he is still angry at me?” Della asked when the other maids had gone. “Do you think he will take me to bed in anger?”

  “Hold still, m’lady. I do not wish to pull yer hair.” Ebba sighed loudly. “And nay, it’s likely he is not upset with you. Besides, you have been a wife now, you should be learning how to best cool his anger.”

  “What if I haven’t?” Della bit her lip as she tried to keep from moving.

  Ebba giggled. “There is nothing to pleasing a man. Just remember they think with their sword most times. If you tame that dragon, then you tame the beast that controls him.”

  “Tame a dragon?” Della inquired, puzzled. She wrinkled her nose.

  “Yea, it’s when the dragon spouts his fire that he is tamed.” Ebba nodded, confident.

  Sword? Dragon? By all the saints! Does Ebba actually believe she makes sense? Della tried to smile at the advice, though she didn’t understand what Ebba was talking about. What came to mind was some of the drawings she’d seen of the sea. Her father had given her some when she was younger. Drawn at the edge of the world were depictions of horrible sea creatures. Della often wondered why anyone would sail if dragons swam in the water.

  The handmaiden tugged at a tangle, trying to free it. Della flinched, but didn’t move as a hard pull finally loosened the knot. She supposed that if a dragon came out of her husband, she would have to tame it. She only hoped she didn’t have to get burned by the fire. Brant was usually very hot when she touched him.

  “Lord Blackwell has turned his anger elsewhere.” Ebba giggled in assurance.

  “What do you mean?” Della froze, trying to make sense of everything and failing. Surely, Brant was not with a mistress tonight. She couldn’t help but wonder at the acute disappointment she felt. If Brant chose a mistress, she should welcome him to it.

  “I mean that after you left, he kicked Lord Lester in his arse. M’lord threw him in the moat, saying you were right, he was in need of a bath.” Ebba giggled again, this time louder. “It was quite funny to see
him sputtering about.”

  “Did he really do—?”

  “Leave us.”

  Della’s words trailed to a stop as a deep, familiar voice echoed the chamber. The sound was soft and sent her to shivering anew. It was the sound she had been both anticipating and dreading. It was a sound she would never forget.

  Della didn’t move, too afraid to turn around, so instead she stared into the fire. From the direction of his voice, Brant stood near the doorway. Her heart beat fast, racing uncontrollably. She took deep breaths, becoming more scared with each passing second.

  “Just remember, tame the dragon,” Ebba whispered with an audacious wink. She handed her mistress the comb, giggling as she scurried out of the chamber.

  Chapter Ten

  Brant closed the door behind the maid and walked slowly toward his wife. He had just been to her chamber only to be informed by Gayla that Lady Blackwell moved into his bed. He tripped over his own feet in his anxiousness to get to her and was a little disappointed not to find her naked and waiting, though he wasn’t really surprised.

  He took in the illuminated curves of her body as she stood outlined by firelight. Moving closer, Brant discovered it was too hard to see her figure under the conservative nightgown she wore. There were several layers to it, causing every feminine curve she had to be hidden beneath the material, except that which had been revealed to him by firelight.

  Della didn’t look at him as she fingered the comb Ebba had left with her, tracing the tip of her finger delicately over the metal tines. Shivers racked her slender form. Brant brushed his hand over the back of her neck, pushing aside her wet, heavy locks. She gasped, stiffening but not running way. He caressed her again, keeping his touch soft. This time she sighed, shivering. Gradually, he turned her around, watching the fire dance on her beautiful skin. The comb fell soundlessly to the fur rug. Her eyes widened as she directed her gaze past him, refusing to look.

  “Does this hurt?” Lightly, he touched her sore cheek with his finger. The scrape was still an angry red, but looked much better after being cleaned.

  “Nay.” Della winced as his finger ran over the sorest-looking part.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered unhappily. “I did not mean to make you fall. Had I known that you were trying to fend off that obnoxious toad, I would have come to your aide. As it was, I was not sure you would have taken my help.”

  Della nodded again, appearing weary of his kindness. Brant realized this was one of the only times he’d touched her in neither anger nor excessive passion. It was hard, but he forced himself to go slow.

  “You shiver.” Brant’s words were low. “Are you cold?”

  “I had your bath,” Della answered, instantly following the comment with a weak moan. Brant smiled. Flustered, she motioned her hand to the tub. She still hadn’t looked at him directly. “I—I mean I had a bath drawn for you, naturally I did not have your bath. It would be impossible, would it not? Methought you…”

  Della snapped her mouth shut with a groan. Brant smiled as she bit her lip. Obviously, she stalled for time. He studied the fine line of her neck, aching to touch her more but knowing he must hold back. It was a bittersweet torment, but one his body took willingly. For he knew if he denied his passions now, he would surely reap the benefit of the waiting later.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Should I leave?” Della finally moved to face him. “I could send you a maid if you prefer, as I have never attended to…bath…never…ah.”

  He smiled as a thought formed in his head. Mayhap his wife’s attempt to stall his advances would work to his advantage. It would give her a chance to get used to his body and it would be sweet torture to be bathed by her.

  “I want you to help me, Della,” he said. “No other.”

  “Oh.” Della brought the corner of her lip once more between her teeth and swayed back. His hand moved to her throat, delicately rubbing behind her ear as he kept her near him. Her whole body focused on that one soft touch. She leaned into his palm for a brief moment, trying to get used to his gentleness. His tender caress did more to chip away at her icy defenses than his fiery passions ever could.

  She met his eyes, no longer able to fight the pull he had on her. The blue orbs looked mythical, glowing with traces of firelight. Brant withdrew his hand, keeping his eyes steadily on her. His hair glimmered, except for the streak of fire that trailed down the one side.

  He shrugged off his tunic, revealing his naked chest. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment and she turned her back to him. Wringing her hands nervously, she plied her mind for anything to break the silence. “Did Lord Lester leave?”

  “Yea,” Brant said in a most attractive tone. “I tossed him in the moat.”

  “I’m sorry you had to remove your friend.” Della heard the hush of his clothes falling to the stone floor. Curling her toes in the rug, she forced herself to stay where she was. Her apprehension outweighed her curiosity to see what he looked like naked.

  “He isn’t my friend. I just met him today.” Brant sounded amused. “Is that who you think I would befriend? An odious man with a bad temperament?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—” Laughter cut her off. Della started to turn and then caught herself. She tapped her heel in agitation.

  “Try to relax, Della. It is just a bath.”

  She wondered if he stood naked, waiting for her to look at him. Is that what he wanted? She’d heard his clothing fall, but no other sound. Her eyes searched the stone wall, as if to see a reflection there to assuage her curiosity. There was nothing, not even a shadow.

  “Methought mayhap you wanted privacy,” she said when silence became deafening. She hoped to hear where he was. Did he slither into the bath, silent as a dropping feather? Or did he still stand, naked and waiting? “I always do.”

  She took a deep breath and forced her hands to her side. Hearing a splash of water, she waited.

  Brant cleared his throat to get her attention. Della jolted, startled by the sound. Little by little, she turned, her eyes finding him easily. He was in the tub, his back to her as he leaned his head against the rim. The strong muscles of his neck and shoulders shifted with every subtle movement. Taking his arms from the edge, he settled them into the water where she couldn’t see. His long hair floated about his shoulders as he sank deeper into the steaming liquid. Staring in wonder, she watched his naked knees creep up and out of the water. They were covered with soft, dark hair, and very unlike her smoother legs. His limbs bulged with muscles, just like his chest, making her curious to see the rest of him.

  She inched forward, trying to be quiet. Stopping a few yards behind him, she wondered what she should do. Inquisitiveness got the better of her and she rose onto her toes. Knees tapered off to large thighs submerged under the water. She wished she could cast a spell to make him fall asleep, so she could explore with her hands where her eyes strayed. Craning her neck, she tried to see deeper beneath the surface, to where his serpent was hidden by dark shadows. An arm moved to relax along the edge of the tub. She followed the trail of wet flesh, only to meet his eyes. Brant silently watched her.

  “I was just seeing if you had soap,” she lied. Della instantly came down off her toes.

  “Come here, Della.” The words were throaty and raw. When he looked her over, she felt exposed like he could see every inch of her form beneath the gown.

  “Wash me.” His command was soft and he held out a wet cloth for her to take.

  Della hesitated, feeling lightheaded at the prospect of exploring him. The fireplace had finally begun to flood the chamber with its heat. His fingers purposely went out of their way to stroke the back of her hand. He was warm from the water and the heat spread itself in to her limbs.

  “So-ap.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “I need soap if I am to bathe you.”

  Brant brought it out of the water, handing it to her as he had the cloth. “Here.”

  Della took it from him and gent
ly lathered the washcloth. Her hands shook with such force the soap slid from her fingers into the water with a splash. She jumped at the noise and looked to where the water rippled softly on the surface.

  “Go ahead.” Brant’s look was now strained, his throat working. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. “Pick it up.”

  His voice was so calm compared to her shaking insides. Della reached into the water where the soap had disappeared in between his thighs. Her wrist brushed the inside of his solid leg. The soft, wet hairs tickled as she moved against his tight flesh. Finding the soap instantly, she didn’t remove her hand right away. She liked the feel of him. Brant’s head was still back, his eyes still closed, and his firm lips set in a long, harsh line.

  Della moved her wrist along his thigh, soap in hand. The rub of his flesh sent a fire shooting though her body until all she could do was imagine how she wanted to touch more of him. She licked her lips, carefully watching his face for changes. His eyes tightened, holding closed. She ran her hand higher, noting how the water grew hotter as she did. Then she bumped against his hardened shaft. The smooth texture of it was the source of his fire. Brant groaned. She quickly pulled her hand from the water, not daring to touch his dragon again.

  Anxious, she re-lathered the cloth. His member had been so hard, so unyielding. It wasn’t at all like she’d imagined. And it was so hot. Was that the fire she had to put out? Mayhap during love play it grew so hot as to spout fire from his body. From what she’d felt, it hadn’t been far from flaming. Unnerved by the idea, she set the soap aside and pushed the cloth onto his flesh. Della moved his hair from his shoulders as she began to scrub. He leaned forward to allow her access to his back as the soapy cloth glided over his bronzed skin. Her movements were rushed, but Brant didn’t seem to notice.

  “Uhh,” he groaned as her hand pushed hard against a stiff muscle.

  “Did I hurt you?” Della instantly drew her hand away. “I’m sorry, I never did this before. Mayhap I should send someone else to finish.”