Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “You dare to question my honor? You, a faithless woman?” The leather dropped from his mouth, falling to the floor as he stood. Towering over her until she cowered on the bed, he sneered. “Where was yer honor when you took Blackwell to yer bed? Where was yer loyalty to my Lord Grayson?”

  “Lord Grayson? What does my dead uncle have to do with this?”

  “I have sworn my loyalty to the living Lord Grayson, rightful Ealdorman of Strathfeld.”

  Della frowned. He was calling Stuart, Lord Grayson? Stuart was only a knight.

  “I didn’t come to the manor with Blackwell, nor did I reside there under yer sire, but you would little notice a single soldier. The Vikings thought I hailed from the keep and yer sire’s men thought I was with the Vikings. No one questioned my presence. Why would they? What with the commotion of the raids.”

  Della saw the truth reflected in the man’s eyes. He was responsible for the raids, if not in whole, at least in part. And he’d shown her the Viking pouch. She refused to reveal her fear. “You killed those people? They were innocent.”

  “They were peasants. They had more use in death than they ever did in life.” Cedric chuckled, pleased with his actions. Spit flew from his mouth and landed on her face. Della grimaced, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “You should have seen yer face when I held up my satchel. It was most amusing. We didn’t expect you to come along that morn, but methinks I handled matters. And you believed the lie so readily.”

  “Where is my cousin? Send him to me at once!” Della straightened her spine, yelling up at him. “When he finds out what you have done—”

  Cedric slapped her with the back of his hand, effectively spinning her words into silence. She touched her cheek in shock. When he lifted his hand again, she flinched. The man laughed.

  “You would do well to remember that you don’t command me, m’lady,” Cedric broke in to her would-be protest as he withdrew his hand. He eyed her face and she knew a red handprint probably marred her flesh. It would turn into a bruise. His gaze traveled down to her breasts, ogling them as he lewdly continued. “Nor can you control what I do to you.”

  “You would not dare to lay another hand on me. If you do not fear my husband’s wrath, then fear my cousin’s. Do you think he will take kindly to your mishandlings?” Della tucked the furs under her chin. Pointing to the chamber door, she yelled, “Begone from my sight at once.”

  Again Cedric laughed maliciously. His whole body shook as he left without saying another word. Della’s gaze fell on the discarded piece of wet leather on the floor.

  What am I going to do? I don’t even know where I am.

  Cedric’s blow caused the throbbing in her head to worsen. Nevertheless, she gave herself little time to dwell on her sorry state. Forcing herself into action, she edged to the side of the bed and made sure her gown didn’t overly expose her body. She placed her feet on the floor and regally lifted her chin. When the door opened, she was ready to face Stuart.

  “Stuart.” She tilted her head in acknowledgement, watching him through cold, hard eyes. Balling her hand into a fist, she suddenly wished she knew how to fight with her hands.

  “Della.” He smiled his old, familiar smile and strolled into the chamber as if nothing was amiss. The look reminded her of the boy he’d been. His face was clean-shaven, his clothes laundered and pressed. When he smiled, the dimple in his cheek appeared to add an impish charm to his face. His eyes no longer brimmed with an insane red, but were clear and rested.

  “Stuart, you must help me,” Della beseeched him. For a moment, hope welled within her. Had she imagined the crazed Stuart? The one who had pronounced she was to love him and be his wife? This man standing before her could not have said those things. “Cedric is responsible for the raids. He killed all those people. You must—”

  “Cedric informed me you knew the truth of it,” Stuart interrupted with an understanding nod. When she tried to speak again, he hushed her like a child and she closed her mouth. “We did not expect that you would have gone to the site with the men. You had never ridden out before. You were never meant to see those things, only hear of it from Roldan. If I had known you would go, I would have found a way to detain you. I am sorry, Della. I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”

  “You knew?” Della refused to acknowledge his declaration of love. She had often told him the same when they were young, but not the way he said the word love. It was like a sleazy caress against her skin. His eyes were not the eyes of a friend. He was gazing at her as a lover would, like he knew her most intimate secrets. She wondered if his eyes had always been so daring. “Stuart, how could you? They were innocent people. They meant no harm to anyone, least of all you.”

  “Nay. They were peasants. Merely expendable peasants.” Stuart glowered when she didn’t return his sentiment. He moved as if to touch her, his fingers reaching for her sore cheek with a confused frown. Della flinched as he neared, jerking slightly. He lowered his hand and studied his dirty fingernails.

  “But they were women and children,” Della insisted, mindless of the warning echoes in her brain telling her to be silent. “They were innocent.”

  “I never imagined you would go out there, but it worked out nicely. It persuaded you to cast Lord Blackwell from your bed swiftly enough.” Though his tone was regretful, he chuckled at his own private joke. His voice was no longer soft and kind, as he continued, “Peasants breed like rodents. A few will not be missed from my land. They will always be there to serve us, the strong. Do not worry so, Della. You will be looked after. Those who died served me more in their deaths than they ever could in life.”

  “Stuart,” Della began again, gentler than before. Cedric had said the same thing and it was clear the traitorous knight had been fed the lies of her cousin. For a moment there was silence and Della thought she heard the soft pattering of rain against the thatched cottage roof. “They are not your peasants to command. They were people—Strathfeld’s people. They were not meant to serve you.”

  Stuart frowned. “I am the true master of Strathfeld, Della.”

  “This is insanity. I told you already. The marriage will stand. The king himself was at the castle to bless the union. It was Guthrum’s wish that Strathfeld and Blackwell Manor be joined and so they have. There is nothing to be done for it. You must go and find your own life. You must bring me home at once. Take me back to my castle.”

  “Soon, cousin, but first you must rid him from your heart. I hoped by bringing you away from him, it would be enough to release you from his pagan spell.” He sat on the chair that had so recently held Cedric, pondering her through thought-veiled eyes. “I can see that it will take more time. Mayhap when you see his severed head before you, you will be free of him.”

  “Nay!” Della lurched forward. As her weight settled on her legs, the limbs did not hold. She fell back on the bed. It was as if a thousand sewing needles pricked her skin at the same time. Rubbing them in confusion, she glared at her cousin.

  “Strange sensation, is it not?” Stuart laughed, unmoved by her emotion. “Serilda is indeed a talented woman. A bit of powder pierced into the legs at just the right spots and the muscles will be too tired to support you.”

  “Witchcraft,” Della swore, terrified.

  Stuart frowned, but did not answer. He bit at his lip, sucking air through his teeth to make a strange hissing noise before continuing with his insanity. “I see you still wear the barbarian’s ring.”

  Della looked at her finger and touched the bronze band lightly. Remembering Brant’s face as he’d told her the ring belonged to his mother, she was reluctant to part with it. She shook her head in denial, knowing what was to come. Grunting in frustration, her cousin stood and held out his hand.

  “Give it to me.” Not waiting for her to comply, he instead leaned over and jerked it roughly from her finger. Without looking at it, he dropped it into the small satchel at his waist. “I will give you a jewel as large as you wish—not some silly heat
hen’s ring of bronze and amber.”

  Eyeing the satchel helplessly, her heart pounded in a painful rhythm. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could say. This man was not the cousin she loved. This man was a stranger. The Stuart she knew was dead.

  “Serilda is outside. She will see to your head.” Stuart turned to go, only to stop at the door. “And to your cheek. You really must be more careful in the future. I’m sure that bruise was not there earlier.”

  “Nay,” Della answered, vehemently. “I don’t want that whore touching me.”

  “So be it for now.” He gestured with a sigh of indifference. “But, sooner or later, she will have to attend you.”

  Her flesh crawled as his gaze moved to her stomach and then back to her face. Della read the meaning in his expression, but she couldn’t believe it. “Just what do you mean? I do not need her help.”

  His amused laughter echoed so terrifyingly loud that Della imagined the rafters shook with the force of it. She edged away from him, no longer able to feign bravery. When he finished, he shook his head and refused to answer. With a gallant bow, he left her alone in the chamber, locking the door behind him.

  Terrified, she tried her legs. They failed her and she fell back into the small cot with a heartbroken sob. What was she going to do?

  Della hit the wall, trying to break through the rotted wood. It was stronger than she’d imagined. Her knuckles scraped along the rough surface. The wounds were superficial, though some did bleed. It didn’t matter. Even if she could break through the walls, she couldn’t crawl to safety before being discovered. She wouldn’t even know which direction to go.

  Lying back in the bed, she rested her hand over her eyes to block out the firelight. Despair welled within her and a tear trickled from beneath her fingers. Silently, she prayed for the protection of her child and the safe deliverance of her husband. But, as she thought the words, she wasn’t sure anyone heard them.

  * * * * *

  Brant shook his head, leaning back so his hair fell away from his face. A relentless rain pelted him and his troops. The knights huddled on their mounts, trying to stay warm beneath the thin cloaks they carried. Their horses’ hooves dragged sluggishly through the muck in steady thuds. The foul weather notwithstanding, it was good to be going home.

  Brant hated the politics he had been forced to endure, and no peace would be met between King Alfred and King Guthrum, though neither party admitted as much. The entire evening they were together had been filled with drinking and the silent measuring of each other’s resolve. The kings talked of many noble things and agreed on none of them.

  After the long meeting, King Guthrum gave Brant and his men leave to ride ahead. Guthrum’s political campaigning would take him away from Strathfeld. Although no war had been declared, Brant feared that soon one might be—if not a war with King Alfred, then a battle with his beautiful Della. He was not sure whom he feared most—a great army or his wife.

  They approached the isolated wall of Strathfeld and he reined his destrier on the stone path before the main gate. It stayed closed, shutting him out of his own home. The horse’s hooves pawed restlessly beneath him, sensing his displeasure. He motioned to a knight to hold up a banner. The man obeyed, waving the blue cloth before the wall.

  Frowning, he briefly wondered if Della locked him out. He’d known she would be angry at his hasty departure, but he didn’t fathom that she would be so bold as to openly defy him in front of his men. Even if she did, Gunther would not stand for it.

  He looked over the long line of drenched men-at-arms. With a grim sense of foreboding, he slashed his hand toward the knight, ordering him to drop the banner. The manor was eerily quiet. He studied the wall, but saw no guards, no signs of attack. Taking his stallion by the reins, he galloped along the edge of the moat, around the side of the outer bailey wall, trying to gain a watchman’s attention with the sound of pounding hooves.

  “Edwyn!” Brant yelled into the wind several times. The man probably couldn’t hear him in the stormy weather. Spurring his horse back to his men, he sat astride his steed and pondered the length of the wall. Instantly, he thought of Della’s secret entrance, but knew that it would be a shame to have to make its presence known to the men if it were not necessary.

  After several baffled minutes of staring along the dreary stone not knowing what to do, he heard the bridge begin to lower. The wood creaked slow and steady as it neared the ground. The sound was unnervingly loud in light of the abandoned wall. His gut clenched with apprehension, as he led his knights forward. Straightening his shoulders, he bravely faced whatever was ahead. He almost hoped it was an army and not an angry wife. An army he could well handle.

  Brant laid his hand on his sword and several of his men did the same. Through the mist of the heavy, gray droplets, he recognized Roldan’s form shadowed on the other side of the bridge. The man waved him forward.

  Brant urged his horse forward carefully, scanning the manor for any sign of life. The bailey yard was empty of both people and animals. When finally the ealdorman pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted with no incident, he let his body relax and released the hilt of his sword.

  “M’lord.” Roldan rushed to Brant’s side. His wan expression apologized for the delay. “Please, quickly come inside.”

  “Is aught amiss?” Brant held the horse’s reins, not moving to go indoors. His chain mail clanked quietly. The rain was breaking, making it just clear enough to be bearable. “Where are the guards? Why are they not at their posts? Where is Gunther? What has happened here?”

  “It’s Lady Blackwell,” Roldan said bluntly, when it was obvious his lord was not to follow him in.

  “What is it?” He tensed, glancing around the yard in vain, as if he could will her to appear. “Has she gone ill?”

  “She is gone,” Roldan said. “Cedric reported a raid to some of the men, who in turn reported to Gunther. When we went to check it out, there was naught there. We rode back as fast as we dared, but Della and Cedric were missing when we got here.”

  “When?” Brant again searched the inner bailey, eager for any sign of his wife, for any hint that Roldan was mistaken.

  “Yestereve.” Roldan motioned the riders toward the stables and started to grab the reins from Brant’s hand. “Gunther is out searching e’en now.”

  “Nay.” Brant refused to give up the horse. He gripped the leather straps tight.

  “I was about to send riders to search fer you. Edwyn is writing missives e’en now, for we did not know where you were or when you would be back. Methought it best to send most of the men with Gunther—hence the empty wall.” Roldan motioned to a passing soldier and ordered, “Bring my horse at once. I ride with the ealdorman.”

  Brant lifted his face to the darkening sky. Searching for his wife would be hard in the black rain of night. Any tracks would’ve melted away and no doubt Cedric would be long gone. His heart beat erratically in his chest and he, who was generally not afraid of anything, felt his hand tremble in fear.

  Afraid of naught except the idea of losing my Della.

  Brant swore under his breath, waving the knights who had ridden with him inside to rest. Then, swinging his tired body back onto his horse, he didn’t wait for Roldan to mount. Brant tore from the castle as if pursued by demons with Roldan trailing quickly behind him.

  * * * * *

  Della scowled at Serilda, who in turn glared back at her maliciously. Their eyes waged a silent war until the midwife finally turned away first to wipe her fingers on her dirty apron. Huddling underneath the matted fur coverlet, Della’s body still quaked from where the woman had touched her. Stuart hadn’t even left during Serilda’s forced examination, choosing instead to hold down her arms. Her cousin’s eyes roamed freely over her exposed thighs and stomach and when she’d tried to kick Serilda, he had threatened to call Cedric to hold her legs. Della had let the woman examine her.

  Stuart followed Serilda’s silent beckoning and they retreated to th
e far corner of the chamber. Della tried to hear their fervent whispers, but could only make out the tones of their voices, not the words.

  “It is true then, Della?” Stuart glared at her. “You carry his bastard in your belly?”

  “It is not a bastard. We are wed.” Della protectively cradled her stomach. “So you see this is pointless. Even if you kill the father, the child will live and he will be the heir to Strathfeld. You cannot kill us all and still be ealdorman.”

  Stuart chuckled, though his eyes were filled with disgust as he looked at her protective hand. “Foolish cousin, to believe there are not ways to rid a woman of a child. You just cannot see the greater scope of things. You were always foolish though, cousin.”

  Della had begun to see what others did in him. She’d spent much of her life feeling sorry for him, when he was indeed the animal people had called him. He’d murdered innocent people and now planned to murder her unborn child. He was no better than the men who had attacked her mother. He was right in calling her foolish. She had been a fool—a fool for believing in him, in defending him, in wanting to have married him.

  “As was your sire,” he continued in a contemptuous whisper.

  “My father was a great man.” Della gritted her teeth. “How dare you speak ill of him. He was thrice the man you could ever wish to be.”

  “Yer sire was a fool,” Serilda chimed in with a sneer. “Why else would he trust me to tend his wounds with poison?”

  “Serilda!” Stuart sliced his hand through the air for silence, stepping in front of Serilda to hide her from Della’s view.

  “You knew of this, Stuart?” A wave of queasiness drifted over Della. “How could you? My father took you in, raised you as his own son.”