Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Della had never seen Stuart angry. Until that moment, she would have guessed he didn’t know how to rage. And, unlike Brant’s, she felt unsafe around her cousin’s anger. He lacked the steely control of her husband. His eyes moved back and forth in his head, as if the mind behind them raced with thoughts.

  “Mayhap the wedding was not completed? There was a lot happening that night. Mayhap the ceremony is not legal.” Stuart turned a knowing glance to her. “Think, Della! Is there aught that was not finished?”

  “Yea, it’s legal,” Della assured him. “We have about two hundred witnesses, both Norse and Saxon, to attest to the fact. My father didn’t pass until after every detail was done.”

  Stuart cursed again.

  Della laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Stuart, please. Don’t carry on so for me. I know what happened to my mother and I also know that my father sought only to protect me. So don’t hate him in his death. He thought to please King Guthrum so I would have the protection of his armies behind me if there was to be another war.”

  “But I could have provided you with protection. I, too, have the ear of King Guthrum.” Stuart lowered his tone to a more pleasing pitch. His expression was veiled. “I would’ve protected you with my life. And I would’ve been the kind of husband I have always promised to be. I wouldn’t have forced you into my bed.”

  “It wasn’t force.” She didn’t want to tell her cousin about her father’s last comments about him. Stuart didn’t need to know that her father didn’t like him. “I went willingly to his bed, as was my duty.”

  “Then he used his pagan magic,” he concluded. “Which is worse, Della? Taking a woman against her will or taking the will away from the woman?”

  Della swallowed hard. She’d suspected Brant had put a pagan curse on her. Was that what happened? Had she become so blind by his magical spell that she had forgotten her own mind completely? Mayhap it was the curse of the ring. Mayhap Lynnea was a pagan goddess or a witch. Mayhap the engraving was not an endearment but a spell. Mayhap that was his power over her. But could she dare to take the ring off? Be seen without it? Could she dare to openly defy her husband? And how could she test her feelings without doing so?

  “I’m so sorry, Della. I have failed you.” Stuart pulled his knees into his chest and rested his head on them. “I should’ve known to come to you sooner. I was busy campaigning for King Guthrum and now I’m too late. How you must despise me.”

  In the past, Della had always been moved when Stuart showed such open feeling in front of her. It was not masculine for a man to cry, but somehow, when Stuart became close to tears, she felt herself experiencing the same emotion. He only showed this side of himself to her.

  She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Nay, don’t say such things. You cannot control the world. You cannot control the minds of other men. My father did what he thought he had to. Mayhap he didn’t know that you were so close to the king.”

  “Nay, Della. I should’ve been here for you. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. Methought that if I worked hard, as I have these past years, and got into good stead with King Guthrum, you would be proud of me. Methought I…” His shoulders shook. “I have failed you and I’m sorry. But I will find a way to make it up to you, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

  He lifted his head. No tears spilled forth from his eyes, but she could well see the pain in them. Della trembled.

  “Oh, Stuart, don’t carry on so. I don’t blame you for any of it and I’m proud of you. It’s done and there is naught we can do to change it. I wish it could have been different, truly. But I’m married, and I will have to live with Brant.” Della rubbed her hand soothingly over his back. “We are not children anymore. As an adult, you realize that life doesn’t turn out the way one plans.”

  “You call him Brant? So familiar.” Stuart groaned. “Nay, it’s not fair, Della. I have given up many proposals of marriage, to many beautiful women over the years in waiting for you. And now you call him Brant and do not love me anymore, when I have done naught but stay faithfully attached to you.”

  “Nay, don’t say such things.” Della hugged him to her. “I do love you. I always have, and I will always love you. You, my dear faithful Stuart, are the brother I never had. But I am married now. I’m sorry you gave up happiness to be with me. I’m sorry if your plans were ruined out of faithfulness to me. I wish I could take the pain of childhood from your heart. I wish you could find true love. I should never have made you promise to wait for me. I should have never said we would be married. It was selfish of me to trap you from love. Given the right woman, your heart will heal. It’s my fault you are alone and so hurt. I am a selfish woman and a bad friend. Stuart, could you ever forgive me?”

  “Della.” Stuart hugged her to his chest. “Nay, it’s not your fault. I wanted to be married to you, too. You know how cruel my mother was to my father. She tormented him. I wish to be away from the pain a woman can inflict. And I realize this must be a sign I am to always be alone.”

  Tears spilled from her eyes as she cried against his shoulder. Guilt at what she had done to him choked her. He felt so familiar, was her oldest friend, and was in so much pain. And she was so confused. Had Brant cast a spell over her? Did she love her husband? Or did she truly love Stuart?

  But when she held Stuart, she felt none of the turbulent emotions she had with her husband. There was none of the pain or joy that came from loving Brant. All she felt was kinship and the well-versed pain they’d both clung to in childhood.

  Pulling back, she searched his eyes. Before she had time to react, Stuart’s lips came up against hers in a kiss. His lips parted, obviously expecting more of a response from her. Della gasped and pushed against his chest.

  “Nay, Stuart!” Della struggled out of his embrace. Frightened, she stumbled to her feet. His warm lips created none of the feelings Brant’s gave her.

  “Oh, Della, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He turned his face from her. Quietly he stood, his shoulders hunched. “I am so humiliated.”

  “Nay, it’s not your fault.” Della was discomforted by his actions, but believed to understand them. “You are upset with the news of my father and my nuptials. With all the work you have been doing for King Guthrum, it’s no wonder you are under much strain.”

  “Now you will tell him and he will surely kill me.” Stuart stared coldly at her. “He has taken you away from me.”

  Della wondered if Stuart had always been so possessive of her. She didn’t remember him being so emotional when they were children. Guiltily, she suppressed her revulsion his dramatic display caused. “Nay, I will not tell him.”

  Stuart watched her, tilting his chin proudly in the air. His expression hardened as her eyes slid from his face.

  Nay, how could I tell him? He would likely blame me, Della thought as she pressed her lips together. Walking slowly toward the yard, she knew Stuart would not follow too closely behind.

  * * * * *

  Brant glanced at his countess. She sat quietly next to him during the eve meal. In fact, the entire high table was unusually devoid of conversation. Della’s face was pale, her eyes swollen as if she’d been crying. He wanted to pull her into his arms and wipe away the pain he saw etched in her expression. Her cheek was still red and bruised—a reminder of his harsh treatment. It wouldn’t leave a scar on her flesh, but her heart was another matter, and that muscle had been ill-treated as it was.

  Sir Stuart sat on Della’s other side, eating quietly. The man met his stare dead on and a small smile formed on the corner of his smug mouth. Brant clutched his fist, resisting the urge to reach across the table and hit him.

  Did Della cry for her cousin? Or did she cry because of some other inane female reason? Brant was afraid there could only be one answer and he didn’t like it.

  While they dined, set high before the eyes of the great hall, wasn’t the time to study Stuart and Della together. If he wanted any real answers, he would have to find a
n excuse to get all of them alone.

  “Sir Stuart, it is said you have admirable skill at hnefa-tafl. I have been known to take a few games myself and am in possession of a fine tann-tafl if you are willing to play after we dine.” Brant kept his tone formal, not giving the man a chance to gloat. An arrogant expression crossed Stuart’s face as he looked at the ealdorman. Brant’s stomach tightened in animosity as the man’s eyes glinted in mischief.

  Della turned to him in surprise, a warm look of gratitude shining on her face at his request. Her voice carried in it a persistent encouragement, as she said to her cousin, “Yea, Stuart. Perchance you could play one game.”

  Stuart nodded his head, smiling kindly at his cousin. His eyes seemed to say, all right, but only because you wish it, Della. Brant gritted his teeth. Della smiled prettily, looking back and forth between the two men.

  “Yea, Lord Blackwell. I would be most honored to teach you what I know.” Stuart turned to his mead. Swirling it thoughtfully in his goblet, he didn’t look back up.

  Gunther grunted at Brant’s side in disapproval, but he ignored it. Brant didn’t mean to get a lesson from the obnoxious man and Stuart knew it also. How dare the man try to make him look foolish in his own home? Hnefa-tafl was a game of much skill and political maneuvering. To suggest one was not well-suited to the game was to suggest one lacked brains on the field of battle.

  When her back was to him, Brant glared past Della’s shoulder. She whispered something to her cousin. He couldn’t hear her words, but knew it didn’t matter. He would have the answers he sought soon enough.

  As he turned to his trencher, his appetite was not as hearty as it should’ve been. None at the head table broke the silence through the rest of the meal. After receiving Brant’s permission to start evening games to entertain the men, Gunther and Roldan quickly finished their food and departed. Brant even had mead brought out to the grounds to keep the men there and offered a prize of five gold pieces to the night’s winner. He wanted to be free of prying eyes when he probed Stuart and Della for their reactions.

  Roldan would stay at the exercise field in charge of the men and Gunther would come back to the hall to witness Brant’s private tournament. He didn’t even have to tell his old friend what he was up to. The man instinctively knew. They’d fought together for many years.

  Tonight, hnefa-tafl was more than a game of intellect played on a table. It was a game of wits played over his wife.

  * * * * *

  Della kept her eyes cast down during the meal, ignoring both her husband and cousin equally. She felt the heat of Brant’s gaze as he kept close watch on Stuart, who in turn studied him. Each man weighed the other’s measure in a silent war over her bowed head. She hated it.

  After the meal, the tann-tafl, tooth table, was set up on one of the lower tables in the main hall. Many of the soldiers were encouraged to go out to the exercise field to participate in the games of strength. Torches burned high and bright over the great hall and serving maids carried the last of the food trays to the kitchen. One left a pitcher of mead at the game table. Gunther spoke to the woman while she poured him a goblet. She blushed and scurried away.

  Peeking out from the stairwell, she finally saw Brant step over the threshold to the hall. She’d been waiting for him. Hesitant, she touched his arm. “There you are, m’lord. I’ve been looking for you.”

  Brant stopped walking and turned to her. His steeled face showed no emotion as he glanced dispassionately at the nervous hand on his forearm. Flustered by his stare, she let go.

  “I wanted to thank you for your kindness in letting Stuart stay. He and I are all that is left of our families. It’s a true and noble thing you do, especially after all I said the day we met, even though I was punished quite thoroughly for it. It proves you are a great man.”

  Brant nodded, as if not sure what to make of her praise.

  “Come, husband, they are waiting for you.” Della tried again to pat his arm. She wanted to feel the fleeting touch of his skin. Breathless, she waited for a tender word or gesture, only to be sorely disappointed. Swallowing over a hard lump forming in her throat, she glanced at her ring, wondering, yet again, if what she was feeling was the cause of a pagan curse. “Do you wish for me to leave?”

  “Nay. Stay and watch.”

  Della nodded, glad he at least spoke to her. He didn’t seem too angry, not like before. Mayhap he realized she didn’t love Stuart in the way he’d suspected and didn’t want to lay intimately with him. In fact, the only man she wanted to be with was the attractive, virile man she’d married. A blush crept to her cheeks, as she wondered if Brant would want to do it again this night. She hoped he did. He had promised to let her explore his body.

  Della slowly sat beside her husband. She hadn’t seen Stuart enter the hall and was surprised to see him. Her cousin looked confidently, almost arrogantly, at Brant.

  “Are you familiar with how the game is played, Lord Blackwell, or do you need my instruction in that as well?” Stuart’s smile was angelically intact, with only a slight bite to his words.

  “Nay, I didn’t mean to imply I needed any lessons from you. It has been said in some lower circles that you are an adequate player—for one new to the game. I wished to see if I could trounce you.” Brant also kept his smile intact. “Merely as a diversion, naught else.”

  Della looked from one man to the other in opened mouth awe, dumbfounded with the knowledge of their intent. They were having an ego contest over a table game. She shook her head, not wanting to bear witness to their male stupidity. However, as strong as the urge was for her to stand and leave, the urge for her to stay was twice as powerful.

  Gunther stood at the end of the table and watched the opening move with much seriousness. Della followed his gaze to the board, observing in quiet as the men tested the other’s skills. Occasionally, they would exchange a manly jibe at the expense of the other’s judgment. Both were competent players and, after an hour, Della thought surely one of them could have thwarted the other. She witnessed several opportunities to win the men kept missing.

  “It would appear that I’m not so much an amateur, am I?” Stuart laughed as he stole a vital game piece from Brant. “Mayhap it’s not I who is less of a man.”

  She felt the anger emitting from her husband. The insults were becoming more blatant with each exchange. She shot Stuart a hard look, willing him to stay quiet. Both men ignored her. Unconscious of the action, she rested a hand on Brant’s thigh under the table. His leg tensed, but didn’t pull away.

  “Nay, I’m plenty man. Just ask Della,” Brant returned with a victorious smile.

  Della gasped at the bold implication and quickly removed her hand. Her cheeks became hot with embarrassment.

  “Yea, it’s an easy thing to take a woman with pagan charms. But to earn her trust, that is the real test of manhood. I have done that long ago. Is that not right, Della?”

  Stuart’s bold response made her color more. They were heading into dangerously personal territory. She glanced at Gunther for help. He tapped his fingers lightly and turned his attention back to the game. Della refused to answer either of them, furious as she glared at the board.

  “You can be a child and earn the trust of a woman. It doesn’t make you a true man. Many young maids have foolishly given their trust to the wrong person.” Brant dismissed the claim with a small gesture of the hand.

  Now I’m foolish? Della fumed at the unintentional insult. Neither man dared to look at her.

  “It’s more than her trust I have,” Stuart rebutted.

  Brant’s fist clenched around a discarded game piece. He studied the small, carved figure for a moment, digging his nail into a wooden crease. “Nay, don’t confuse pity as being aught more.”

  Della again glanced in disbelief from one man to the other. Both had stopped the pretense of playing. Their eyes met and locked in a battle of wills.

  Leaning back in his chair, a baiting smile curving his lips, Stuart said, “Del
la, do you remember when we were younger? Do you remember what we did out by the old apple tree?”

  Della clamped her mouth shut. The men weren’t talking to her. Stuart had promised to never tell the tale. She’d been twelve and had let Stuart kiss her quickly on the cheek. But it had only been to seal a pact of friendship between them. At the time, she’d been embarrassed by it. Now, in light of how her husband kissed, she knew it had been nothing more than a meaningless touch.

  “Della, do you remember last night?” returned Brant with a smug smile of satisfaction. Stuart glowered and Gunther hid his amusement under a cough.

  Della stood, shocked and disappointed in the both of them. They turned to her in surprise, as if they’d forgotten she sat there listening.

  “Enough,” she demanded. “I will listen to no more.”

  “But, Della, it is only a game.” Stuart gave her an angelic look. Della knew better.

  “A game?” Della leaned forward and moved the men’s pieces quickly over the squares of the tann-tafl. Making the winning move for Brant’s side, she laid Stuart’s last piece over in defeat. Both men gaped in awe at her swift skill. “Then it’s just a game you have lost. Now, tell Lord Blackwell that naught happened in the apple orchard. It’s not as you suggest.”

  Stuart refused to speak. Brant began to laugh heartily as his opponent’s face turned red with outrage.

  “I don’t see why you laugh.” Della turned her icy thorns to her husband. The amusement faded from his eyes. “You are just as low as him at this moment, discussing private matters for all to hear. It’s shameful and it’s most disrespectful to me.”

  Brant met her gaze boldly and Stuart looked sheepishly away. She couldn’t tolerate either one of them at that moment, so she did the only thing she could think of. She ran out of the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Methinks you have your answer.” Brant stood, intent on following his wife as soon as he was able. He set the game piece he clutched on the board. It hadn’t been his intention to humiliate her, but he’d been so angry at Stuart’s implications. “Methinks it’s time you left Strathfeld—permanently.”