Stuart stood. “Nay, it has only begun between us, Blackwell.”
“Do not threaten me, little man. I would think naught of beating you within an inch of your life.” Brant turned to Gunther. “See him out.”
Gunther nodded, clearly intent on forcing the smaller man if he had to. He reached for Stuart’s arm, who jerked his elbow away.
“It’s not a threat, but a warning.” Stuart glared at Brant and then Gunther before storming out of the hall. As Gunther followed him into the bailey yard, he heard the irate man swear, “I will have back what is rightfully mine!”
Chapter Thirteen
The soft blue glow of the moonlit sky bathed the ground in its splendor, feeding the isolation of Della’s soul. She shivered uncontrollably. In the distance, she heard the sound of laughter from the soldiers as they played games in the exercise field. Their excited cheers rose and fell in the merriment. Della had no desire to join their sports, choosing instead to be alone. However, knowing they were nearby was oddly comforting.
She couldn’t believe Brant and Stuart’s excessive competition over her. Though flattered by the attention, she hated to see the two men she cared for at war. She wondered if she should have left them alone together. It was very likely they would kill each other before the night was through.
Della walked by her garden in silence, enjoying the privacy afforded by the night. She kicked at a weed that dared to poke through the rich soil. Tired of the fighting, she wished for once the land could be at peace with no wars, no bloodshed, and no family members dying. Even more, she wished her heart could be at peace with no pain, no sleepless nights, no all-consuming loneliness.
The squeak of the front gate caught her attention. It could only mean Stuart was leaving. Part of her wanted to go after him to say she was sorry for her harsh words, the other part was still too angry. Her poor, dear cousin had been through so much. His mother had been a cruel woman who used to beat him. Once, she’d locked him in a chamber for three days, without food or water, because she claimed he was too attached to her.
Della’s pain had been intense and lasted only one dreadful night. Stuart’s pain hadn’t been as concentrated, but had been drawn out over many years. Often, they’d found solace only in each other’s company. Stuart had lived at Strathfeld for a short time after the death of his mother, about the same time as her own mother’s demise.
She detested herself for not showing Stuart more consideration, but how could she? He’d been so unreasonable during the game. And to imply she’d done something improper with him was inexcusable. He’d been treading on very dangerous ground and could have done her great harm with his carelessness.
Brant was no better, all but saying in detail what had gone on between them. She was mortified by the very thought of speaking aloud of what had transpired. It was somewhat of a double standard, for she had told Stuart that they consummated the marriage. The difference was she had told him as a loyal friend. Brant had used it as a taunt.
She felt awful. Why were they doing this? It wasn’t as if Stuart was madly in love with her and he’d always said he didn’t want the title given to her husband.
“What are you thinking, just now?”
Della felt Brant’s voice drift over her like the heat of a warm flame. She’d sensed he was near before he spoke. Looking down, the weed she poked was shredded into several pieces, but was still rooted into the ground.
“I wasn’t pining for Stuart if that’s what you’re suggesting,” she snapped, unable to help her wayward tongue.
“I didn’t say that.” Brant took a step toward her.
Della turned to study him in the moonlight. His hair flashed silver, except for the streak that was bound as usual in a braid. Whiskers along his jaw glimmered in the luminescence of the moon. He was a striking figure and she wondered, if they were to grow old together, if he would still take her breath away every time she saw him. Somehow, she thought he just might.
If all she felt was a pagan spell, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to take it off. She fingered her ring briefly, turning it around on her finger. God help her, she was in love with him and she didn’t know if she wanted it to go away. But with the love came a bittersweet pain—a pain that he might not feel the same way, that he might never come to care for her more than a prize awarded him for loyal service to a king.
“Do you regret that you married me?” Brant didn’t move.
“It’s too late to ask that,” Della replied evasively. How could she answer without giving her emotions away? Her face iced over to hide her feelings. “We are joined.”
“Nay, that is not an answer.” Brant searched her face, as if trying in vain to read her. “I regret you thought I meant to disrespect you. I didn’t.”
Della nodded. Really, she already knew. Watching the moon for a moment, she enjoyed its peacefulness. It was so big and full in the velvety sky, as if the earth had pulled it closer for the night. Then, turning back to Brant, she waited patiently for him to proceed.
“Where did you learn to play hnefa-tafl so masterfully?” he asked.
“I taught myself, playing out different strategies until I mastered a plan for each one. The game is really not that difficult once studied.”
“Yea, I forget sometimes there are many hours in a day for you.”
“Did you cast a pagan spell over me?” Della didn’t mean to say the words aloud, but didn’t try to take them back. She eyed him thoughtfully. A now-familiar sense of longing washed over her when she looked at him. His piercing blue gaze met hers steadily. Every pore reached out to feel him. “Tell me the truth.”
“Nay.” Brant chuckled. “I would not know how. You ascribe too much to a pagan’s abilities. Besides, it is not really a following I practice.”
Della was saddened by the admission, for it meant that the ring had truly been meant for another woman. “Who is Lynnea? Was she a great love to you? Do you miss her?”
“Lynnea?” Brant’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead before his face darkened a bit. “Who told you of her?”
“Just answer the question.” Della tried to harden herself to his handsome face. She felt tears threaten and her vision blurred, but she kept her face hauntingly still. “Did you love her?”
“Yea.” His expression confirmed the truth. “I suppose I did, as much as any man can admit such emotions.”
It felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. She kept her body as still as a stone. “She is dead?”
“Yea,” he said again. “She is.”
Intense longing and jealousy began in her stomach. Her heart lurched and her nose burned with the unshed tears. Loving a man who didn’t return her feelings was worse than the fear she had lived with her entire life. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Della, what are you going on about?” He eyed her wearily. “She died a long time ago, when I was young.”
“How?”
Why do I torture myself?
Because I have to know the truth.
“She took her own life.” Brant’s face hardened and she imagined it wasn’t something he liked talking about. “She didn’t like my father’s mistresses.”
“I don’t understand. Why would she care if your father had mistresses?”
“I believe it was because she truly loved him. Not everyone is like you, Della. Some women care if their men take other women to their beds.”
“Wait.” She held up her hands, stopping him. “Then why is her name inscribed in the ring that you gave to me? Did you love her? And she loved your father?”
“Della, Lynnea was my mother. That was her ring.” His face softened. “It’s all I have that was hers. She gave it to me the day before she took her life and bid me to give it to my bride. She hoped it would bring my marriage more luck then it did hers. It was her blessing, in a sense.”
“Your mother?” Della choked, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought he’d put into the gift. “Methought she was your love, your woman. Met
hought mayhap you pine for her still.”
“Nay, silly female.” Brant took a step closer and cupped her jaw. He was but a hairsbreadth away from her. “You are my woman now. My only one.”
She tried to smile and shook her head. The gentle pressure of his hand turned her until she faced him. In essence he was right. He’d claimed her soul, but he didn’t say he loved her.
“I ask you again,” he said when she met his steady gaze. “Do you regret our marriage?”
The wind blew gently at her back, pushing loosened bits of her hair toward him. The thin strands hit his chest, caressing him, as she wanted to do. Della refused to reply. Her body ached with uncertainty. If she answered, she would only succeed in embarrassing herself. Her love would have to remain her own secret.
Lifting her hand to his chin, she rubbed her palm against the coarse hair on his jaw. He was so large, her husband. His shoulders blocked the moon from her view. The moon’s glow made a halo around his hair and the silvery white strands floated in the breeze.
She lifted her other hand, knowing he waited for an answer she couldn’t give. Pulling his lips to her, she lightly kissed him. It was the first time she’d willingly instigated a kiss and she was happy Brant didn’t refuse her. His firm mouth moved steadily, giving her what she sought. His heat drew her to him until she melted against his form. Now she knew what to expect from his handling, she wasn’t scared.
Brant moved his arms to encircle her back in a loose embrace. Della tried to get him to deepen the kiss by nudging his lips with her tongue. He groaned, opening his mouth to hers. A mutual flame coursed through their bodies in shared desire. Her tongue traced the line of his mouth, while her hands pulled at the back of his head to urge him closer.
Finally, she broke away to gaze up at him. Her gaze traveled to his swollen lips. Her chest heaved for want of air. “Teach me more.”
Brant pulled her back to his slanted kiss and lifted her by the waist. He carried her dangling body to the small orchard, not taking his lips away until they were hidden within the bend of the trees.
“Can we please go inside? I’m through talking.” Della blushed at the admission and was glad he couldn’t see her face in the darkness of their small sanctuary. All thoughts of the past fell from her mind, along with all the insecurities of her heart. For this night, Brant would be only hers. “I want you to keep your promise.”
“What promise?” he asked in a husky whisper against her throat. His hands searched her in the darkness. “I don’t remember a promise and you never really ask me for anything.”
“You said you would lie still while I explored you.” Della tilted her head shyly to the side, but she didn’t back away. “You said it would be all right if I touched you.”
“Nay, there is no reason to go abovestairs for that.” Brant kissed her again. His fingers ran passionately over her upper body to find a home on the soft curve of her breasts. He massaged the globes gently, peaking the nipples through her gown. “I can show you pleasure right here and you can explore me whenever you like. It’s not a promise that needs granting. My body is yours. Use me how you will, princess.”
To prove his point, Brant shrugged off his two tunics at the same time, dropping them both on a patch of grass. Della shivered at his declaration. Her hands glided over the firm length of his tightly drawn flesh, needing to feel him. She caressed the deep folds of his muscles, finding the buds of his nipples. Brant growled as she boldly licked his skin.
He grabbed her waist and lifted her up until she was face to face with him. With a barbaric growl, he leaned to give a quick kiss the top curve of her lush breast. His mouth ravished her throat in hot oscillations of desire. Setting her on the ground, he commanded, “Take off your undergarments so that I may show you how easily we fit together.”
Della quivered at the heated promise in his words, her cavern wet and warm. Squinting to better see his face in the dim light, she heard his anxious breathing. Quickly, she wiggled out of her underclothes, which consisted only of a light pair of linen braccas, leaving on her undertunic and gown. Going back into Brant’s arms, she kissed him passionately. She ran her hands over the muscles of his chest and down his waist.
“I love the feel of your skin,” she admitted shyly. “Are you always this hot?”
“Only around you.” His tone was husky and he gave a slow shake of his head. She knew he had to see the uncertainty she tried to hide. His body was tight, as if he forced himself to hold still while she stroked him.
Running her hands to his waist, she teased along the waistband of his braccas. She leaned forward and licked his nipple as he had done to her the night before. “Does it feel the same for you as it does for me?”
Brant nodded. He closed his eyes as she licked him again. His body shivered in response.
“Is it wrong of me to say such things? Does it make me too wanton or unattractive?” She pulled back. Her hands stayed their movements on his chest.
“Nay, not when you say them to me. I want you always to be honest with me, to say what you feel. I want you to tell me what feels good to you and methinks it’s very attractive when the bold words come from your mouth.” He leaned to kiss the long line of her exposed neck, scorching her flesh, proving his point. His hands sought the curves of her hips, forcing her hard against his rising member. He groaned and rotated his covered erection into the softness of her tunic gown. “It makes me burn for you. Your words set my blood on fire. You make me want to plunge myself deep inside you.”
Della pushed his arms off her to free her hips. Brant groaned his protest. His words hummed delightfully in her veins.
Eagerly, she moved to draw kisses along his chest to his back. She circled him, exploring his body with her hands and tongue. Conquering the sinewy length of back, she moved her hands over his shoulders and down his sensitive spine. She hid her face from him, trying to get used to the bold ways he claimed to enjoy.
“I like it when you kiss me and I cannot breathe. I like the way you felt last night. I liked it when your finger…” Her voice trailed off shyly. She was unable to force the words.
“You liked it when I dipped my finger inside of you to test your softness,” he continued for her in a low, sexual voice. His head rolled back on his shoulders at the words. “I liked it also. Should I tell you how you felt to me?”
Her heart pound wildly. Della felt empowered by the nearness of him. He was so strong, yet so gentle. Loosening her gown so the front fell forward, she then pressed the exposed curve of her breasts to the heat of his back. She enjoyed the way his breathing quickened when she rubbed sensually against him. Her fingers slid along his waistband, pulling at the ties she found in the front. The material loosened, but did not fall from his hips.
She stepped away from him just enough to explore his firm buttocks with her eyes. The moonlight hit him just right, allowing her to see the tight, hard mounds of flesh. He was like a healing draught one could get addicted to and she reveled in that addiction. Running her hands over his lower back and onto his firm cheeks, she felt the strong muscles flex in her grasp. She moved her fingers over his hip and around to his front. Her groan joined his as she found the length of his erection. The material of his braccas was hooked over the thick tip. She lifted them and they fell silently to the ground around his ankles. Touching him, the smooth, hard length pulsated in her hands.
Brant moved his hips to thrust his arousal into her hands. She stroked him several times from behind, amazed at the strength she discovered. Then, letting go, she went around to study his serpent from the front.
“Do all men look as you do?” She peered at his erection as it stood tall and proud against the moonlit night—just like its arrogant master. It was longer than she’d imagined and appeared a thick, solid limb of scalding flesh. She touched the tip of it with her finger.
“Yea, more or less.” His body jerked almost painfully. “Ah, your touch is such sweet torture. I would gladly endure it for an eternity.”
“I lied. No more,” he moaned. “I can take no more of your tormenting caresses.”
“Tell me how I feel to you.” Della breathed shyly against his ear, not forgetting his words. He pressed her into the seclusion, not pausing as he pulled her bodice. The delicate blue gown ripped and fell forward, fully exposing her hardened nipples. Then he brought her up against the large trunk and kneeled to lift her skirts.
“Your center feels like warmed cream.” Brant bunched her dress around her waist. His fingers moved with a deft precision born of sudden urgency, cupping her mound as he ran his middle finger to separate her folds. He stroked her gently, testing her softness. Then, bracing his weight against the limb of the tree to trap her, his mouth sought the valley between her breasts. Kissing passionately up her throat, he confessed to her as his finger continued to stroke, “Your sex is like hot silk, so moist and slick against my finger.”
His lips devoured her neck, pushing her harder against the tree. His chest grazed hers and she arched her back in pleasure. A sweet, low moan escaped her lips as she gasped for breath. He held the back of her head captive by her hair. Forcing her chin into the air, he bit lightly at her ear. The hand between her thighs continued to stroke her—a mindlessly precise rhythm.
“The taste of your skin excites me. It drives me mad with lust and all I can think of is embedding my sword within you.” His words fanned scorchingly across her exposed skin. “I long to feel the warmth of your sex caressing me, accepting me into your depths. I want to conquer you.”
Della thought she would swoon at his sinfully delectable words. If it was a sin to enjoy such things, she knew she was forever damned. She would never have the will to refuse him.
Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice Page 21
