He breathed deeply as he saw her icy temperament returning. “Which one do you wish to know about?”
“All,” she answered with a firm nod. Then, when he lifted an eyebrow in amusement as if to say, that would be impossible, she pointed to his chest. “This one.”
Brant looked briefly at the thin scar that ran across the right side of his upper chest. “Sword in battle.”
“And this?” She pointed to a small mark right under it.
“I don’t remember getting it.” Brant grew apprehensive. Wars and battles were not exactly something he wished to discuss with his wife, especially in light of the horrible atrocities she’d witnessed as a child. The things he’d seen were not stories for delicate women.
“This?” She touched a thin scar on his forearm.
“Blade.”
“This?” A strange puckering on his leg.
“Mace.”
“This?” A healed gash at his side.
“Spear.”
“And this?” A cut on his firm stomach.
“Sword in practice.”
“Hmm, and this?” She moved her hand to his hip.
“Lance.”
“Is there a weapon with which you have not been hit?” she queried with a dubious shake of her head. “It would seem your body should have fallen apart by now.”
“Yea, methinks it has at times.”
“Do they still pain you?”
“Only some—like the club to my back.” He lifted his leg and touched his inner thigh. “And here, where a lance hit.”
Della leaned closer to his hand and narrowed her eyes. “I see naught.”
“Look closer,” he chuckled.
Della’s mouth fell open as she realized what he was doing and she hit his chest. “I don’t think you have a wound there, m’lord.”
“Then why does it hurt so?”
“You complain much.” Della wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her.
“Mayhap the wound is internal,” he persisted. “Will you check?”
Della reached to touch him. Stroking him boldly, she said, “I don’t feel a thing wrong with you.”
“Then put your hands above your head. I have a few more questions.” Brant smiled, remembering where he’d left off.
“Well?” She lifted her hands over her head, quirking a brow.
“Do you regret marrying me?” he asked in all seriousness. He hadn’t forgotten her refusal to answer him the night before. His heart held quiet, waiting an eternity for her to speak. He didn’t know why the answer was so important to him, but he needed to know.
“Don’t.” Della shook her head. The smile faded quickly from her eyes to be replaced by her frozen resolve, but the ice again melted as he rubbed his member against her.
Why do you refuse to answer me?
Brant decided to leave the question alone for the time being. “Have you a scar, m’lady?”
“Only one that I can think of.”
Brant moved himself to her opening. “Where?”
“My leg.” She arched into him.
“How?” With each question, he inched deeper and deeper into her depths.
“Stuart and I were racing horses. I tried to jump a low branch and fell.” Her eyes remained closed.
Brant frowned, but didn’t move from her. Her cousin was not someone he wished to discuss at the moment, but her words only reminded him how she kept referring to Stuart as her only family. Mayhap it wasn’t meant as a slight to him, but an affirmation of all she had lost. He thought of Edwyn’s tale of her mother. And again, mayhap it was meant as a slight against him. “Do you love Stuart?”
“Yea.” Her answer tore at him. “But only as a brother. We grew up together.”
His desires diminished some at her answers. She lightly moaned, blindly urging him forward with her hips.
“Do you ever think you will come to love me?” The words were spoken before he had a chance to stop them. But, having said then, he could not take them back.
Della’s eyes shot open, her mouth tightened in a scowl. “Don’t ask those things. Why can you not leave well enough alone?”
“Are you refusing to answer?” He kept his face blank, forgetting what they had been doing.
She chose her response carefully. “Nay, I am not refusing. But I don’t like the question.”
Still, Brant didn’t move, feeling as if his entire being descended into hell. Her hesitation could only mean one thing. She didn’t think she ever could.
“Methinks that,” she hesitated. “Methinks there might be some tender feeling in time. We are married and I believe we should make the best of it, for it is a long time we may be together.”
Brant nodded. At least she didn’t spout curses at his head and denounce their marriage as a sham. He knew he should respect her for her honesty, but he didn’t find himself liking it.
“Brant?” Della inquired, uncertain.
“Yea?” He realized he was still in her, though the pleasure had lessened from the lovemaking. Thrusting fully in her, he stopped the game. He didn’t want to hear any more of her honesty.
Why did he have to ask her about love?
Why did she answer him?
Even as Della thought it, she knew the reason. If she didn’t answer, he would know the truth. He would know she thought to be in love with him. So, instead, she’d given him a small version of the truth.
Della felt her body accept him, though she’d lost most of her passion. Her heart ached for that which she could not have. She watched his face as he moved inside of her. And, as they silently found release, neither of them acknowledged the barrier that had built up between them.
* * * * *
Almost a sennight passed and Brant didn’t make love to her again. Having never been with a man before, Della didn’t know if it was normal. Could it be that a man’s desires were exaggerated? And, if they were, why did she still want to touch him? She’d always heard men were the ones who demanded their marital rights, never the wife.
He didn’t seem to be sleeping with any mistresses and each night he came back to her bed, kissing her on the cheek like a stranger and then turning from her to sleep. When he said goodnight to her, she was sure it was the most he’d said to her all day. And when he slept and she could not, she sat in bed and studied him.
Della tried to busy herself with chores, but her heart was not in them. She was distracted and ended up being more of a hindrance than a help. Many of the servants grew exasperated with her efforts and encouraged her, none too gently, to find work elsewhere. In the last sennight, she’d weeded her garden until there was no more soil to churn. She’d overseen the shearing of the sheep, which if truth were told, the chore was done too early. She’d ordered the manor deeply cleaned, until every surface shimmered. She’d instructed the dying of cloths and the weaving of new bed linens. And she’d set some of the maids to brewing more mead when it was not needed. The stables, the workshops, the chapel, all of them were attended to. There was not much else with which she could busy herself.
Della had even schooled Rab until the boy revolted and hid from her teachings—not that he was available much these days. Brant stayed true to his word and let the boy help the men on the exercise field. It was a task Rab would much rather do.
This was why she now found herself walking aimlessly about the castle grounds searching for something to occupy the time. Restless, she began to curse her highly efficient home. Why had she made things run so smoothly? Why had she made it so she wasn’t needed anywhere, for anything?
Even Edwyn, having all but finished the stone wall, was busy instructing the seasonal dredging of the moat and could not be bothered. Roldan, Gunther, and the other knights were on the practice field exercising—as was her husband, as far as she could tell.
The sun shone bright over the bailey, the day warm. She thought of Brant and her feet turned toward the loud shouts of the soldiers. Passing close to the exercise field, she saw h
er husband supervising some of the men who sparred without weapons. His tunic was off, his exposed chest sweaty. Next to him was Rab, his face beaming at Lord Blackwell in boyish awe.
Brant noticed her and nodded politely before turning back to bark an instruction at the men. Getting into the fray, he showed one of them a fighting technique. He didn’t look at her again. His cold indifference was an effective dismissal and she didn’t continue toward him.
Argh! If I don’t get out of here, I will scream.
Suddenly the walls of the bailey were too confining. Brant would not talk to her. The servants shooed her from every corner. Della felt unwanted in her own home.
If no one wants me about, who would notice if I was to leave?
Della made her way to the private chamber in the bailey wall, slipping easily past Edwyn’s room. No one in the manor, except for Edwyn and herself, knew of the secret entrance she had built into the castle. For some reason, she’d never even told Stuart of it.
At first, she hadn’t thought building a tunnel under the moat would actually work, but it had. The builders had been contracted from far away to complete it and, when they were done, she hadn’t thought to tell anyone. That was years ago and the workers, honest ones the whole lot, had been paid well for their silence. She liked having it as her own secret tunnel. It made her feel more secure knowing there was a way to escape the castle that didn’t include swimming, since she didn’t know how.
It had been a long time since she’d used the passageway. Often she had escaped outside the castle walls just to look at her home from a distance. At sunset, the castle was marvelous—its towering form reaching into the blue and purple heavens.
Making sure she was not followed, which didn’t seem to be a problem since she was not sought after, Della pulled up a secret latch. It was cleverly hidden in the stone wall. The opening shifted slightly as a mock panel fell back. Grabbing a torch, she pushed the panel all the way open.
The underground corridor was narrow and damp. The tapping of the servants sounded as they dredged over the stone ceiling. She closed the panel. The door didn’t secure as well as on the inside of the walkway, but after careful consideration it had been determined that no one would notice the flaw unless they knew to look for it.
Della briskly made her way down the passage, ignoring the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling. She always worried that if she tarried too long, the torch would dim and eventually would burn out. For that reason, the walls had been marked with various grooves so one could find their way if trapped.
The corridor turned, marking that she was almost to the end. Her lonely steps echoed dismally and she tried to quiet them so the servants above would not hear. They had never been able to test the passage to see if it was soundproof.
Coming to the end, Della pushed at the ceiling. The wooden boards fell away with a gentle shove and light streamed in from above to puncture the dimness. She snuffed the torch and laid it on the passageway floor. Bracing a foot against a stone that jutted out from the wall, she lifted herself to peek out into the surrounding forest. Birds and insects chirped. All was serene.
Della hoisted herself out, smiling as she saw the castle. Strathfeld, the old Roman fortress she’d built into a home. Not allowing herself the pleasure of staring too long, she covered the entrance with leaves. She was free.
Chapter Fifteen
Brant stretched his arms above his head. The sun began to set in the distance and by the men’s tired grumbling, he knew it was time to dine. He hadn’t seen Della since she’d walked past the exercise field several hours earlier. It wasn’t unusual, though, for Strathfeld was a large place. She could be anywhere in the keep.
“Enough, Blackwell,” Roldan grouched.
“Yea, enough exercise this day. Let us rest.” Gunther’s tired yawn joined the rest of the men’s. “You have worked us all hard this last sennight. What says you we leave off on the morrow for a day of leisure?”
“Fine,” Brant agreed unwillingly. His assent cheered the men as they made their way quickly to the main hall. He’d been pushing them all rather hard, but it was only to exhaust himself before going to bed. Though he found that no matter how hard he pushed his body, at night when he rested beside Della, it was all he could do not to touch her.
Every time he thought about reaching for her, the memory of her face during their last coupling made him stop and keep away. Although he waited, she never reached out for him. He didn’t wish to bed an ice maiden and he didn’t know how to thaw her heart.
“They fear you will change yer mind and make them stay longer.” Gunther laughed halfheartedly when they were alone. He leaned over and picked up a discarded practice shield.
“Yea.”
“What is ailing you, Blackwell?” Gunther probed. “You have been pushing all of us hard these past days. If I didn’t know better, I would say you are readying us fer battle.”
“It’s always wise to be ready for battle.” Brant flashed a quick smile, one he didn’t feel.
“Yea, but you have been pushing yerself most of all. I should think with a beautiful new home and a lovely bride to share yer bed, you would be avoiding the likes of us—mayhap lazing about in that bed.”
Brant just grumbled, shooting the man an irritated scowl.
“Wedded bliss not like you pictured?” Gunther turned serious. “Are you thinking…?”
“Nay, not divorce. A man would have to be a fool to give this up.” Brant threw his hand in the air to encompass the castle.
“Ah, then she is an unpleasant lover. Can’t she be taught? Methought she had melted toward you, but mayhap that is why she is called Della the Cold.”
“Do not call her that.” Brant’s fist tightened in warning.
“Nay, not me, but others,” Gunther said, unaffected. “You cannot quiet all the tongues.”
Brant didn’t answer.
“So is she unpleasant?”
Brant stopped walking and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Nay, she is quite hot-blooded.”
“Ah,” Gunther laughed, suddenly realizing what was wrong. “You love her.”
“Nay,” Brant denied too quickly.
“Methinks you do.”
“You do not believe in love.” Brant swore under his breath.
“Nay, I have ne’er said that. I have oft said love is the ruination of a man. I have oft said I wish ne’er to find it. But I have ne’er said I do not believe in it.” Gunther laughed harder. “Yea, I have e’en seen it oft enough. To me it would be like a bloody curse.”
“Nonetheless, it is not love we are in. She thinks that she can mayhap come to care for me in time.”
“Perchance she is mistaken. You are not the easiest person to whom one can confess. Just ask the many men we have taken in battle.”
“Nay, I don’t frighten her and she doesn’t lie. I have seen the truth in her oft enough.” Brant sighed, eyeing the entrance to the hall wearily. He didn’t feel like going in, but he had no choice.
“Then you must win her heart, Brant,” Gunther said. “You are a knight after all. If anyone knows how to fight for what he wants, it’s a knight.”
“When did you become so sentimental?” Brant glared at his friend in irritation. But, even so, he thought Gunther might be right. Maybe all Della needed was more time. There was no reason to continue to punish his body when she came to lie willingly next to him each night. Gunther gave him an impertinent grin, his mouth opening to speak. Brant quickly stopped him. “Nay, Gunther, don’t answer. I’ve had enough of your counsel this eve.”
Gunther laughed heartily, swinging the shield from his shoulder and placing it by the entrance to the hall. The smile still lining his mischievous lips, Gunther began to sing a loud, bawdy tale as he left Brant alone.
* * * * *
The moon showed in the distance, faint against the setting of the evening sun. A cool breeze drifted over the forest, carrying a bit of stickiness to the air. Della didn’t mind it as she s
tretched her hands above her head. The grass beneath her was soft, as was the sounds of the forest. Insects hummed and she heard cattle mooing in a nearby field as they grazed. The wind picked up, causing the leaves to rustle overhead.
Sighing, she knew it was time to go back. She’d waited long enough to see the sun set over the castle. Inside the walls, they would be gathering together for the eve meal and it would be noticed if she were not there to attend them.
She stood and brushed the foliage from her hair and gown. Patting the coiffure at her neck, she tucked a few wayward strands back into place.
“Della?” The voice startled her as it came out of the darkness.
Della quickly turned, squinting to see who it was. “Stuart? Is that you?”
“Yea.” Stuart stepped from the trees. It was hard to see him, except for the shadowed impression he made. “Methought you were a night apparition. What are you doing out of the castle? Are you alone?”
“Yea.” Della suddenly felt uneasy.
“I have been camped outside the walls. I didn’t see the main gate open. How did you escape?”
“I would not say I escaped.” Della forced herself to relax. “I just came out for a walk.”
“How did you get out of the castle?” His voice edged with an unnatural eagerness. “Did you fly?”
“Nay.” She sighed heavily. It looked as if her secret was out. “Promise you will tell no one?”
“Yea.”
“I have a secret passage that goes under the moat. I used it.”
“Who knows of this passage?”
“Only three of us,” she answered, ignoring the nagging urge to say nothing. “You, me, and Edwyn.”
“So your husband doesn’t know?”
“Nay.” Della took a step toward him. “Stuart, please don’t hate him. I so wish for you to become friends with him. You are both my family now.”
“He will never be my friend,” Stuart said vehemently with a toss of his head.
“Nay, don’t harden your heart,” Della pleaded. “I know he had you thrown out, but you kept pushing. What else could he do?”
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