Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “His own?” Stuart spat. “If I were his own, he would have given me the title I deserve. Instead, he gives it to that barbarian Viking. Your sire had to take me in. It was his duty to do so. He had no love for me.”

  “Yea, he knew. We would plan it while in my bed,” Serilda gloated, ignoring Stuart’s hiss for silence. She skirted around her lover to face Della. “As soon as you wed with him and produce his heir, you will come to yer tragic end. I will be Lady Strathfeld and you will be a corpse.”

  “Serilda, silence!” Stuart warned before looking properly apologetic.

  “You will never be a lady, Serilda. Murderous whores can never be ladies,” Della proclaimed. “You are a fool to believe he would marry you. The best you can hope for is to be his mistress.”

  “Yea, it would seem I am surrounded by a company of fools.” Stuart laughed, clearly liking the idea that the women argued over him. Giving Serilda a gentle push toward the door, he ordered, “Serilda, go attend Cedric. I promised him you’d see to his pains. Then ready yourself to depart.”

  The midwife left, pouting, “His pains are hardly worth lifting my skirts fer.”

  Stuart waited a long moment in silence. He paced the room thoughtfully before coming to sit on the edge of the bed. When another door slammed, he said, “You are quite right to believe that I will not marry her. She was merely a necessity. I don’t care for her.”

  “You had my father killed.” Della balled her hands into fists, wanting to punch the smirk off his face and the self-satisfied gleam out of his eyes.

  “Also a necessity,” Stuart admitted. “I did it for you, for us. Everything I have ever done has been for you. Your father sold you to a barbarian. I sought to free you from that bondage. You needed a friend. I was your only friend. You needed a husband who would not harm you. I offered to be that husband. I waited for you, but you had little faith to wait for me. I find the murderer of your mother and you spurn me for it. I have done everything in my power to make you happy. I loved you and you betrayed me by bearing the brat of that Viking inside you!”

  Her blood ran cold until a numbing pain made its way over her limbs. “You kidnapped me. You murdered innocent people. Do not say you did that for me. I never asked it of you.”

  “You did ask me to marry you, to be your husband. You begged me to save you from the marriage bed.”

  “I was a child.”

  “You still are a child, foolish cousin.”

  “I never asked you to kill for me.”

  “I did what I had to.”

  “You kidnapped me.”

  “Nay, I rescued you! Why must you insist on seeing everything as it is not?” Stuart’s pacing turned frantic and he started mumbling to himself as he shook his head. “Nay, you will see soon enough. Serilda will deliver my message for Brant and he will come alone. When I present his head to you, you will see that he is dead to you and that you do not care. Then after Serilda cuts the child from your body, we will wed. And you will see. You will…”

  Della slowly nodded her head, but Stuart’s words rambled on. She realized yelling at Stuart would not aid her cause against him. Angering him would not see her and her child safely home. She did her best to hide her distaste as she said, “You may be right. I feel as if my head is beginning to clear with the logic of your words. He has woven a spell around me. He has poisoned me with his pagan ways. At the wedding feast, he gave me this drink. Methinks there might have been blood in it.”

  Stuart brought his head up sharply to stare at her, looking as if completely unaware that he had been speaking aloud. “You mock me.”

  “Nay.” Della widened her eyes with what she hoped was innocence, lowering her face so she looked at him from beneath the thick of her lashes. She’d never been one to play the docile maid, but she gave the performance all she had. Pouting, she said, “If only I could stand to comfort you, sweet cousin, but my legs still do not work. I have been selfish, have I not? You have been through so much and I have done naught but live in the comfort of Strathfeld. I should have waited, but it had been five years. Methought you had forgotten me. It’s your fault for not sending word to me that you still cared. I was jealous. And then I see you with that woman, Serilda. It makes my blood run cold to think you—”

  “Yea.” Stuart gave her a hesitant smile. She knew part of him desperately wanted to believe her, but there was uncertainty in his gaze, as if part of him still mistrusted her. “You will stand sooner than you think. But, if this is a trick, I will cut the legs out from under you.”

  “Nay, it is no trick.” She paused before suddenly lifting a finger in the air, as if struck by a sudden idea. “Quick, what note do you send? A ransom? Nay, it will not work. He is too smart to come alone to such a demand. Methinks you would want him to come alone. It would be pointless to kill your future knights, and you would not want them to witness your victory for they are stupid and would not understand. Nay, it would not do at all to have the others there. And just ask Cedric. Lord Blackwell would not part easily with money. He would not pay a ransom for me.”

  “Nay, he will come.” Stuart shook his head. “He knows of the child—”

  “Nay, he knows nothing of the child. The king took him away before I discovered it. If Serilda would have told me the truth, the ransom would work for then he would know I carry his heir. Nay, don’t ask for ransom.” Della narrowed her eyes in deep thought. Stroking her lips to hide their trembling, she said, “Bring me a quill and some parchment. He knows the look of my hand and Edwyn can confirm it. I will send him word to meet me—alone. He believes himself to be in love with me. He will come. His pride will make him. Besides, he thinks I am his property and he will want his property back.”

  “But you just said that he would not part with the money to ransom you.” Stuart furrowed his brow in doubt.

  “Stuart, you know as well as I that his love is naught more than male vanity. I would wager male vanity is quickly put aside for a gold piece.” Della saw Stuart desperately wanted to believe she’d changed. “And if not his love, then his anger will bring him to collect me. He will not think kindly of his property disappearing.”

  Stuart pondered the logic of her answer. Suddenly, he smiled at her cunning. “Yea, cousin. It would seem you are indeed free from his spell. Write your missive.”

  Della nodded, grateful that he hadn’t seen through her lies. Stuart hurried from the room to gather a quill and paper. Already she composed in her head what must be carefully worded. For, unless she warned him, both Brant and her unborn child would be lost.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  My Lord Husband,

  If those words of love you have whispered to me bear any truth, then meet me where the large oak bends to the east. Roldan will point you in the direction. Prove your love and come alone, I will explain everything then. Until dusk this eve, my love.

  Della

  Brant’s hand trembled as he grasped the missive in a clenched fist. The crumpled parchment weighed heavily, like a sword he could barely lift. Forcing his hand to relax, he watched a maid walk by with a bundle of clean linens draped over her arm. He recognized the woman, but didn’t know her name. The pug-nose servant eyed him curiously as she passed, but didn’t stop in her duties.

  The parchment had been tacked onto the head table of the main hall and had only his name on the outside fold in the tight, feminine script of his wife. Along the crease was a dried blot of candle wax and a faint impression that Brant knew to be his wife’s wedding ring. He looked about the manor for sign of anyone watching. There was no one, save Isa, in the hall.

  “Isa, did you see who placed this here before you found it? Did you see anyone unusual?” Brant swallowed hard, as he again read the ominous message. He tried to find hidden meaning within the words and could not. His hand trembled and he crushed the missive once more in his fist.

  “Nay, m’lord, there was only the missive and since I cannot read, methought only to get you.” Isa craned her neck to lo
ok at the parchment. Her eyes were lined in worry, but they did not follow the words. “Is it about m’lady?”

  “Nay, it’s from m’lady,” Brant mumbled. He thought back to the night he whispered his love to an unresponsive wife. She hadn’t acknowledged it until now.

  But, why now? Why after disappearing for days with no word?

  Brant blinked heavily to hide his anguish. Had she truly only run away to escape him? To mayhap think of what she wanted? And why would she involve Cedric, she had no connection to the man. Brant shook his head. The questions were no different than the ones he’d asked himself since learning of her disappearance. The eve before he’d searched endlessly with Roldan, unable to find a trace of her.

  Brant had even examined the tunnel closely. There was no indication of her having gone through, however there was no proof she hadn’t. Edwyn knew nothing. The servants knew nothing. Even the guards, who had been left while Gunther, Roldan, and the others investigated the raid, knew nothing. She had disappeared and now he cursed himself for not caving in her secret tunnel.

  Della had said one might need the passage to escape. Had she meant to escape him? Were the clues all there, just waiting for him to figure them out? He wasn’t sure he liked where the facts pointed.

  “Isa, find Gunther and Roldan. Have them meet me by the gate.” Brant didn’t wait for a reply as he made his way to the stables. He hadn’t slept for nearly a sennight and the exhaustion only fueled him on. His heart pounded in low, hard thuds and his gut hurt terribly. A cold breeze whipped his long tunic about his legs, but he barely felt it.

  “M’lord!” Rab ran toward him. “M’lord!”

  “Nay, Rab, not now.” Brant held up his hand to stop the boy from coming closer. “I have no time for childish games.”

  “Nay, m’lord. It is not a game,” Rab insisted. He jogged next to Brant, trying to keep up with the larger man’s gait. “Please, m’lord.”

  Brant stopped at the entrance to the stables. Yelling into the darkness, he barked, “Boothe, my horse!”

  “M’lord,” Rab pleaded, his voice cracking in near hysteria as he pulled at Brant’s sleeve.

  “Begone, Rab,” Brant said, as he had for the last several days when the boy tried to approach him. He knew the boy was close to Della, but did not have time to coddle him like a babe.

  Rab flinched and began to walk away. Suddenly he turned, mustering up his courage. “Nay, I must speak with you.”

  Brant lifted a brow. If he hadn’t been so tired, he would’ve found much amusement in the lad’s show of strength. “All right. Be quick.”

  “It’s about Serilda. She was here.” Rab took a brave step forward and stopped. “I saw her sneak through the manor. Methinks Edwyn hides her in his chambers, fer she is still in there.”

  “Edwyn? And Serilda?” Brant inquired skeptically.

  “Yea.” Rab nodded. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I stood guard and watched the door until just now when I saw you. She is still there. She ne’er came out.”

  “Boy, I have no time for this.” Brant turned to go. What did he care about the midwife?

  “But, m’lord, Serilda is in love with Sir Stuart. He visits her. I have seen him swim across the moat. When I tried to tell Edwyn, he laughed at me and said I imagined it, but now Serilda hides in his chamber. And Sir Stuart, when you played that game, he said that he would take what was his. Was not Lady Blackwell his?”

  Brant hardened at the reminder. “Who told you that?”

  “I was hiding under a table. No one ever notices me.” He kicked at the dirt. “I meant no harm. I just wanted to watch. Methought you would fight Sir Stuart over m’lady.”

  “Go on.” Brant turned the full force of his attention to Rab.

  “And Lady Della told me a secret the day she left. I was the last one with her.” He kicked the dirt again. “I promised not to tell what it was.”

  Brant froze and suddenly wondered why he hadn’t thought to talk more in-depth to the boy. Every time the child had tried to approach, Brant shooed him back.

  “But I know, m’lord, that she was not thinking of leaving Strathfeld. She told me there could be a plague between these walls, but if e’en one person remained within them, she would not leave. She said she would ne’er leave here, leastways, not without me.” Tears came to his eyes. “She ne’er lies, m’lord. Not to me. She would ne’er leave me behind.”

  “That was her secret?” Brant asked, confused. A small flame of bittersweet hope kindled in his heart despite the hollow pain that resided there. Although everything pointed against it, mayhap she hadn’t left him willingly.

  “Nay, the secret I promised not to tell.” Rab clenched his lips tightly together, as if the secret might slip out.

  “Rab, I’m your lord and your leader. You swore your allegiance to me. Do you remember what we said about the field of battle? When you are fighting, there can be no secrets between the men and their leader. If there are, people die.” Brant shook. It took all his strength to keep from grabbing the boy and shaking the secret out of him.

  After deliberating, for what felt like an eternity to Brant, Rab nodded. “Yea, I remember.”

  “Lady Blackwell is a smart woman. She knows this also, and right now we are in battle over her. She knows you must tell me and will not be angry. If she does get upset, I will take the blame. I will tell her I tortured it out of you.” Brant took a deep breath. Boothe came from behind with his horse.

  After some considering, Rab agreed, “Yea, m’lord. You are right.”

  Brant took the reins and motioned Boothe away. Gunther and Roldan approached in the distance. “Tell me, Rab.”

  “She carries a babe. Yer babe.”

  Brant wasn’t sure if it was joy or fear that took hold of him. A child? My child? Della carries my heir within her belly? Why would she not tell me?

  “We ride?” Gunther asked.

  Brant stared blindly at the child. Rab paled and took a step back. When Brant turned to Gunter and Roldan, he noted their weary but willing expressions. “Yea, we leave at once.”

  “Do I ready the men, m’lord?” Roldan asked.

  “Nay, we ride alone.” Brant swung onto his stallion, nodding at Rab before urging his horse toward the front gate.

  “Bring her back, m’lord!” Rab yelled.

  Brant stopped outside the castle only long enough to gain Roldan’s directions to the oak tree. None of them wore armor, not having taken the time to put it on. The only weapons they carried were the swords hanging in fleece-lined scabbards, their daggers, and their grim determination to see the countess back safely. Overhead, lightening burst, streaking across the sky to light their way, followed by the booming sound of thunder.

  * * * * *

  Time wore on until Della had no idea how long she stayed in the cottage. Hours felt like days and days like years. The longer she remained within the walls, the dingier the place appeared. Stuart didn’t let her out of the room, not even to relieve herself. Serilda served as her handmaid, though the woman was hardly a dependable servant.

  It was impossible to judge the number of days that passed by the meals they served her, for the food was scarce and unpalatable. She was weak from the lack of nourishment and sleep, but clung to the faint hope that she would someday see Brant again. It gave her strength like nothing else could.

  Stuart did not order her legs pricked with the witch’s powder again and she was slowly able to walk. But her body ached, and she was never left completely alone, not even to sleep. If Stuart was not with her in her chamber to keep her in distressed company, then Cedric or Serilda were just outside her door. Any little sound she made, whether it was to stand or simply turn over too loudly on the cot, they were in her room eyeing her like she was trying to escape.

  Unable to rest, Della spent hours staring into the orange flames of the fireplace. They reminded her of her fiery husband. She replayed every moment with him in her mind, until each detail was remembered and every memory
was emblazoned on her heart. When she closed her eyes, she saw his piercing blue gaze and the slight curl of his half smile.

  The more she thought of him, the more she knew she had been wrong about everything—her view on their marriage, her esteem for her cousin, her blind hatred of his people. Brant had been nothing but understanding and kind, and she’d repaid him with every cruel insult she could think of. He’d given her space after her father died, had taken care of her and, when she was ready for him to be, he’d been a gentle lover. And how did she repay him? She’d banished him to Blackwell for it.

  Although the image of him was always in her heart, she forced it from her mind. She could not think of him when Stuart was near. Her cousin would see the sadness and would know she longed for Brant. If Stuart suspected the truth of her heart, then she would not be able to save her husband or their child.

  Another chair had been brought in and placed next to the table. As Stuart set yet another trencher of unsavory food before her, Della couldn’t help but eye the excessively molded cheese in disdain. She strained to smile, though the motion was tight and felt as if it might crack her face. Her forced pleasantry drained her senses and she was frightened she might make a mistake.

  “Stuart?” Della looked at her cousin.

  He took a seat across from her, smiling as if they dined like royalty. His eyes glimmered with an innocent light, which still amazed her with its clarity. He nodded gallantly at her, permitting her to speak. “Yea, Della?”

  “Did you deliver the missive?” Della refused to look into his eyes for too long. The brown orbs were so familiar and it pained her greatly to gaze into them. They were the same eyes he had turned to her as a child and she wanted to hate him, but she could not find it completely in her heart to do so. There was a deep past between them, so many tears and so much pain. Della wanted to reach into his soul and find the scared, half-starved little boy who’d come to her so lost. She hoped to see a glimmer of that lonely child within the man. Everything between them couldn’t have been an act, could it?