Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “It will not hurt badly, Della.” He brought his lips to her mouth, moving slow so she felt every single moment in painstaking detail. “Mayhap only a little at first, but there will be no real fire, lest you refer to the flames you now feel within you. I will be as gentle as I can.”

  “Oh.” Della would’ve been embarrassed if she could have concentrated long enough on one thought.

  Braced on an elbow, Brant reached between them. His hand brushed over her soft curls, back and forth, back and forth, pressing deeper into her folds with each pass. She opened her mouth wide. Wet with her cream, he slid his fingertip along her opening with precision. Wiggling her hips, she tried to anticipate his movements, forcing him more firmly against her. His finger encircled the tight bud between her thighs and she weakly cried out, the sound swallowed by his hovering mouth. He breathed into her, harsh and loud. Before she knew what he was about, he thrust a finger inside. She stared at him, stunned by the feel of pressure within her body.

  “Oh,” he breathed, biting his lip. Firelight illuminated his handsome face, glinting off his trim beard, giving heavy contours to his chiseled features. “Ah, such a wet, tight sheathe for my sword.”

  With a groan, he finally kissed her mouth, taking it hard as his tongue delved deep only to pull back. The movement mimicked the finger inside her, moving in and out, in and out, faster, deeper. The thickness of his finger grew, as if suddenly there were two stroking her intimately. Pressure built and he pulled his mouth back with a loud growl.

  “Della, I’m sorry. I cannot slow. I need to feel myself inside you before I burst. I have waited too long to possess you.” Brant pulled his fingers from her and moved his shaft to her opening. “I know you do not, cannot understand, but it is taking all of my control not to ride you like a wild mare that needs to be broken.”

  Brant rubbed the tip of his erection along her wet folds, following the path his fingers had traveled moments before. She groaned as he pushed her legs open, widening her passage, causing her to tense in a strange mix of nervousness and anticipation.

  “Don’t be frightened, Della. I’m meant to be inside of you.” The words sounded tormented.

  Della began to speak, but he swiftly thrust into her, cutting off her words as he imbedded himself fully. She yelped in surprise as her muscles were stretched around his thick arousal. The penetration was deep. Brant made a strange, animalistic noise. Her eyes widened in bewilderment and she felt claimed, conquered. For a moment, he held still, frozen with a look of ecstasy on his face.

  “Finally,” he whispered.

  Brant pulled his hips back, rocking in short, deep thrusts, as if to test the fit of their bodies. Della didn’t move, just let him take control. The ache lessened and she was left with the beginning sensations of pleasure. His movements became bolder. The pressure eased as his shaft glided to her entrance.

  Thinking he meant to stop, Della leaped into action. She moaned in protest as she wrapped her legs around the backs of his. Using all of her strength she forced him to thrust into her again, this time even deeper. The eager motion brought with it throbbing gratification. She loosened her legs to intuitively do it again. She could not have stopped if she wanted to. The force within her was so innate, so natural that she was helpless against it.

  Driven by the primal need for release, her head turned back and forth on the bed in sweet torment. Brant grabbed her under her knees and forced her legs farther apart. He pushed her legs as up and open as they would physically allow, tossing one of her knees over his shoulder. As he showed her how deep this new position allowed him to delve, his finger moved to her sex, rubbing along the hard bud. Sensation after astonishing sensation washed over her.

  Della stiffened, the tension building with each of his thrusts. She panted and moaned in encouragement, mindless of anything but the man on top of her. His hips slammed against her, almost violent in their need. She wasn’t afraid of him as she returned his savage motions thrust for thrust. He moved faster within her, pushing her toward an unknown destination. Without warning he tensed between her thighs, pressing one last, hard time into her. Della felt her body quake with an inner force that was so great she swore she fell off the edge of the earth.

  Brant’s primeval yell reverberated off the chamber walls. She was beyond sound as her mouth opened in wonderment. He jerked his release, staying deep as he staked his claim to her. She would never be the same again.

  Brant didn’t move. Something unfamiliar stirred within him as his heart slowed and his blood calmed. For so long, he could think of nothing else but bedding his beautiful wife. At first, as he bathed, he’d been taken aback by the small shows of affection she’d given him, and the torture of her innocence had almost been too much for his straining body. But, as her resistance faded, so did her fear. The entire time he’d been with her, all his wife had needed was a gentle hand. He smiled at the thought, savoring the stillness of her body against his.

  He’d waited so long to hold her against him and now here she was, all his. Brant shifted his weight, pulling out of her so he could rest on his side. Words welled within him, but he wasn’t sure he liked where his thoughts traveled. He treaded on unfamiliar territory. His stomach tightened, unsure as to what to say to her, but he knew he was not about to get trapped into a sentiment of love just because his body felt more sated than it ever had.

  Once he was inside her, deep and sure, he’d been hard pressed to allow her time to adjust. Never had he resisted the natural urges of his loins for quick penetration, but before he never had a reason to go slow. The wanton maids he’d been with sought as selfish of a release as he. And though he treated them gently enough, they were nothing compared to the woman at his side.

  He propped himself up on his elbow and ran his index finger down the valley of her breasts. Della shivered and tried weakly to pull the fur to cover her body. Her cheeks colored and she hid her face from him.

  “Nay, princess.” Brant moved his hand more possessively around her waist. “Do not hide yourself from me. I am your husband and I get much pleasure from looking at you. There’s no shame in it.”

  Nuzzling her neck, he was careful not to scratch her with his beard. Her lids were lazy over her eyes, as she said, “I’m cold.”

  Brant sighed and sat up. He tugged the fur from underneath them and tenderly wrapped it around their bodies. Then, pulling her into the crook of his arm to lay tightly next to him, he rolled onto his back. The movement forced her to turn so that her head rested on his shoulder. A soft breast molded itself against his side and, though he couldn’t be sure, the nipple felt as if it might still be hard. It was almost as seductive as the wet curls tickling his thigh.

  “M’lord?” Della sounded as if she were reluctant to break the silence.

  “Brant. My name is Brant. Do you think you could use it?”

  “Yea, Brant.” The word was a soft whimper. “Did I hurt your back?”

  He chuckled quietly before yawning. His eyes drifted shut in contentment. “The things you say, lady wife. Nay, you did not hurt me.”

  “Do you think we should get dressed?”

  “Nay.” He yawned again and scratched his stomach. “Methinks that you will never wear clothes to bed again.”

  Della’s body hummed with pleasure and she sighed as she laid her hand tentatively on his chest. She felt warm and safe in his arms. The sensation warred with the guilt that slowly threatened to seep back into her mind. As she watched his eyes close, she didn’t feel at all tired. It was still too early for her to fall asleep.

  Unsure if the weakened state of her limbs was normal or if her stomach should feel so turbulently calm, she thought to ask him about it. But his breathing had deepened into a soft snore and his bare chest rose and fell in easy breaths. Touching his bearded cheek for the briefest moment, she tried to roll out of his embrace. His slumbering body seemed reluctant to let her leave, but she finally wiggled her way loose. Slipping from the bed, she grabbed a nightgown from her trunk
and walked over to the fire.

  Sweet Lord, what have I done?

  Chapter Eleven

  “It would seem the ice has melted a little.”

  Brant shot Gunther an amused smile and refused to answer. All day his eyes had carried a self-satisfied glint and at the slightest provocation he would grin. The news of Della’s announcement the eve before quickly spread throughout the manor until every one of his men made a point to comment on his good fortune.

  “It’s coming along nicely.” Brant nodded in approval of the bailey wall. Edwyn and Gunther both directed the workers and they’d almost completed another section. Within a fortnight, the wall and gatehouse would be finished. Gunther oversaw the section they were now by and Edwyn was farther down the wall.

  A cool breeze picked up, giving a pleasant relief to the warmer evening hours. He couldn’t help another smile as he looked at the magenta streaked sky. Evening fast approached and Brant had yet to see his wife. When he awoke that morning, she was not there, much to the disappointment of his erection. He’d gone to the exercise field, searching for her in the twilighted bailey yard, but she was not there. Then, after his morning drills with the men, he looked for her in hall as he broke his fast. She wasn’t there either. Those in the hall had been elated with their lord’s good humor and the meal tarried overlong.

  Brant turned his attention back to Gunther, seeing that the man’s eyes were on the distance where Edwyn worked. “Have you seen my wife, Gunther? Methinks she has been missing all day.”

  “Yea, she was with the foundling child again.” Gunther gave Brant a knowing look. “Did she not satisfy you enough last night, m’lord, that you are forced to seek her again so early in the eve?”

  He didn’t answer, much to Gunther’s obvious amusement. However, the man’s smile faded with Brant’s next words. “Mayhap you can find something better to do than repair this wall. Edwyn seems to have it well in hand. I don’t know if your time is best spent standing here, staring at rocks.”

  “Yea,” Gunther agreed.

  Brant knew he merely delayed his decision to replace Edwyn. Gunther knew it as well. Leading toward the main hall, he said, “Methinks the chapel should be rebuilt.”

  “And methinks you are trying to find work fer two men. Patching the chapel stone will work just fine.” Gunther kicked at the ground. Originally he hadn’t wanted the duties of seneschal but, being without property and high title, he had agreed. Now, he would be reluctant to give the arrangement up.

  Not knowing how to answer, Brant didn’t. Again, he changed the course of their conversation. “Did you see the way the Saxons practiced? Perchance you can show them how to be more effective.”

  Gunther’s face lightened. Soldiering was one domain where he was more skilled than Edwyn. “Yea, Roldan and I have already spoken on it.”

  “Stuart!”

  Brant stopped as the sound of his wife’s voice rang joyfully over the bailey. For a moment, his heart soared to hear her, but when her words penetrated his mind, he frowned. His eyes narrowed and he turned to see Della running toward the main gate. Anger instantly welled in his chest and he swore a string of dark Nordic curses under his breath. Without thought, he stormed across the yard to stop her reunion with her cousin.

  Those milling about the bailey turned their attention to the front gate. A few of them joined Della in her rush forward to greet the visitor. Gunther followed behind in silence.

  The soft linen of Della’s dark blue gown swayed enticingly as she moved, clinging to her form. Beneath the dress, she wore a lighter blue undertunic, which was exposed at her arms and sides. The honeyed locks of her hair shone in the sun and were neatly pulled into a braided coiffure at the nape of her neck. Dirt stained her apron, indicating she’d been tending her garden.

  Liquid hot desire filled his blood at the sight of her, causing him to curse once more. He’d kept his passions tempered back during the day and had thought their night together would’ve sated him some. But his appetite for her raged, fueling his already blazing ardor.

  Edwyn had already given the command for the gate to be opened. Brant should’ve dismissed his wife’s standing order to let the seneschal control the gate, but it was too late, for Sir Stuart was already being let inside. If he were to turn the man out now, he would look like a jealous fool. And he could not be certain his wife would hide her icy displeasure in the decision.

  “Stuart!” Della hopped in excitement, clapping her hands as the sound of horse’s hooves. Her face lit up in girlish pleasure as her cousin’s gray stallion came into view. The man traveled with only a few servants at his side, but acted as if he led a whole army of knights. He paused in his ride, waving graciously at the gathered peasants before continuing forward.

  Della moved as if to go to the man, but Brant gripped her shoulder, squeezing to get her attention. Into her ear, he hissed, “You forget yourself, lady wife.”

  He felt his arm twitch with the need to shake her, but he refrained. The scent of wildflowers overwhelmed him and he took a deep breath. Jealousy, swift and sure, consumed him as his eyes bored into her. Yet even now, he wanted her.

  “M’lord,” she gasped, looking at him.

  Brant bristled at her distant use of his title. She’d yelled familiarly to Stuart for all to hear and yet she could not bring herself to simply call him Brant. It was always m’lord or Lord Blackwell.

  “You will mind yourself, wife,” he warned, “lest I must remind you that you are wed to me.”

  Della shivered at the darkness in his tone. It sent chills of both fear and excitement through her. Startled by the angry threat in his voice, she nodded. The happiness she felt at seeing her cousin drained in light of her husband’s anger. She turned her head, straining her neck to look up into his piercing blue eyes. Disappointed, she found his expression hard. His hold did not loosen and she forced a nonchalant expression to her face, one she didn’t feel. Her heart raced with nervous fear, but there was another emotion as well. She didn’t wish to give it a name.

  Della hadn’t thought it possible, but her husband looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him. Beautifully dressed in the black and gold tunic she’d made for him, he also wore a new undertunic and braccas. She’d laid the clothes out for him early that morning when she left the bedchamber. It only seemed natural to do so, and she’d wanted to see how the black tunic fit since she worked the hardest on it. She wasn’t disappointed. He was ravishing.

  “M’lord…” The full knowledge of what they’d done kept her from finishing the thought. All day she’d hidden from him, unable to face him, too unsure of herself, unsure of him, of their marriage, of what had happened. She was afraid he’d look at her with tenderness or love, and afraid he wouldn’t. His manners gave nothing away as she studied him. How was she to act after such a night? Was she the only one spellbound by it? Was she just another woman he’d conquered?

  And why should I care? I don’t love him. Cannot. Will never.

  “Did you hear me?” he said when she didn’t speak. “I said you will mind yourself.”

  Della’s mouth fell open at the veiled threat and her gaze shot at him in icy displeasure. “I don’t so easily forget who my husband is, even if it’s you. I will not apologize for my excitement over my cousin’s arrival, m’lord, because Stuart is the only family left to me.”

  “Nay, Della, I’m your only family.” Brant leaned down, pressing his face into hers. Instantly, his gaze fell to her lips. Della shivered at the intensity in him, the quick burning anger that turned to passion and back again within a flickering moment. The bailey yard fell away until they were the only two left in the world. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. There was no doubting Brant came from fire. His moods burned hot and bright for all to see.

  The idea brought her back to what was happening. Through the corner of her eye, she saw Stuart swing down from his horse. Della started to answer Brant, but her cousin wrapped his arms around her waist and flung her throu
gh the air like a child. The motion tore her from her husband’s hold. Brant thankfully let her go, otherwise the battle over her limbs would’ve hurt. Stuart dropped her to the ground, spun her around, and lifted her once more so she faced him as he danced about in circles while holding her in the air.

  “Ah, my little cousin, how you have grown to be a fine woman!” Stuart finally lowered her to the ground. His handsome, dark face smiled gaily at her as he looked her over, and his hands lingered at her waist as if disinclined to let her go. “It has been too many years since I have last seen you. We have much to talk about.”

  “Ah, Stuart.” Della tried to smile for him, but her cheeks were hot with embarrassment at his enthusiastic greeting. Well aware of the quiet stares of the others and of her husband’s darkening rage, she put her hands over Stuart’s and gently pushed them from her. Before letting go, she gave him a light squeeze. It was all the affection she would dare. “There is much to speak of, my cousin.”

  “What has happened to your face, Della?” Stuart’s expression dropped into one of concern. A frown creased between his eyes as he studied the bruise on her cheek. Lifting his hand as if to touch her, he let it hover, only to draw his fingers back to his side.

  “It’s naught to be concerned over. I fell yestereve, tripped on the dining platform stairs.” Della refused to look at Brant. “I was careless.”

  “Yea,” Stuart acknowledged, dropping a familiar arm over her shoulder. He didn’t question her explanation. It had always been thus between them. Stuart ignored Brant as he tried to escort her to the castle. “Where is my uncle? I should like to greet him.”

  “Ah, Stuart.” Della ducked from his friendly gesture. Stuart looked hurt, but let his arm fall to his side. He cocked his head, his eyes wondering why she shied away from him. Growing up, they’d always had an easy friendship. Stuart seemed to be in as much pain as she in childhood. But they were no longer children and Della was all too aware of her husband’s watchful, disapproving gaze. Her father’s warnings to Brant didn’t help her cousin’s reputation. “My father died, nigh on a fortnight past. We would have written you, but we didn’t know where to find you.”