Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Brant glared at his long-time friend. “Nay, I want her locked in her chamber, tied to her bed until she births this child. I want her kept prisoner. I want her forever out of my sight. And then I want her hanged for treason.”

  “Blackwell,” Gunther tried again.

  “I will be leaving at dawn to ride with King Guthrum. I will be back with the news of my child’s birth,” Brant finished.

  “But the king bid you home.” Gunther insisted with a look of warning to lower his tone. “Please, let us retire to chambers where this may be discussed in private.”

  “I would rather be on a political campaign for the rest of my life than to live one minute more in this woman’s cold presence,” Brant argued. He ignored his friend’s plea for privacy, beyond caring. “Gunther, I am asking you as my long-time friend. Don’t naysay me now. Not in this.”

  Gunther sighed and looked apologetically at Della. She didn’t move, Brant’s grip still on her hair and neck. Gunther said, “Don’t be unreasonable, m’lord.”

  “Unreasonable?” Brant let go of Della. “You dare to call me unreasonable when you saw with your own eyes her treachery?”

  Della frowned meaningfully at Gunther, bringing her hand protectively to her stomach. The man nodded at her in understanding before saying, “Brant, you are too angry.”

  “Blessed Saints!” Brant yelled. “Roldan, see to it!”

  Gunther turned to Roldan and nodded. Roldan in turn motioned sternly to the table of soldiers.

  “I said see to it, Roldan. You do not need this man’s permission.” Brant waved his arm toward Gunther, his face purpling in his outrage. “Take m’lady to her prison.”

  The soldiers stood up and moved cautiously forward. They looked to each other, as if unsure what to do.

  “Now,” Gunther yelled. “You have your orders!”

  The men sprang forward, grabbing their lord about his waist and tackling him to the rushes. Brant fought their grasp, landing a few good punches to some of the men who were unlucky enough to be close to his fists. But the dozen soldiers were too much for the ealdorman, and they quickly had him subdued under their combined strength.

  “Gunther,” Brant shouted in disbelief. “What treachery is this?”

  The servants gasped in chaos and more came from the kitchen at the commotion. The men not involved hung back, unsure what to do. None of them were armed. Della lifted her hand to hold any would be rescuers back, thankful that they obeyed.

  “Secure his legs,” Gunther ordered, before pointing to the stairwell. “Carry him abovestairs to his chamber.”

  “Gunther, I will see you hanged for this betrayal.” Brant yelled viciously. Curses, Saxon and Norse, flew from his lips. The men bound his strong limbs together with rope and hauled his massive body abovestairs as instructed. Brant kicked and hollered profanities the entire way.

  When her husband was out of sight, the hall burst into an uproar. Gunther waved the knights back and harshly ordered the servants to bed.

  “You all saw how he is changed. Lord Blackwell has been ensorcelled by the witch, Serilda,” Gunther explained before promising to give a much better account of all that had happened later. He turned to the countess. Della nodded at him. With a rueful smile and a solemn shake of his head, he held out his hand. “M’lady.”

  Della took his hand and smiled sadly. She brushed the skirt of her stained, damp gown the best she could and then rubbed the back of her neck. “I should have known he would fight me.”

  “I have kept my end of the bargain, now it is yer turn.” Gunther slipped her hand onto his elbow. He guided her to where the men disappeared with the still-yelling Brant. “And may all the gods be with you.”

  “Mine or yours?” Della asked with a wry grin.

  “Methinks you will have need of them all,” Gunther answered as he led her abovestairs to face their outraged captive.

  * * * * *

  Della pushed open the door to the bedchamber she shared with her husband. Pausing, she stepped back to let some of the men out of the room before she entered. Brant was tied to the bed, his arms and legs each strapped to a corner. Though he glared ferociously at her, he was still ravishing to behold and her heart did little flips in her chest. Della bit the inside of her lip, so happy to be home, to see him alive, yet nervous about what she was going to say to him now they were alone.

  She had quickly changed into a simple, dry gown before coming to join them in the room. The blue wool was thick and warm. Her hair still hung damp around her shoulders, but at least now she wasn’t freezing. Unable to hold it back, she smiled at him, unfazed by his irritated expression. As all the men finally left, she shut the door behind her.

  Going to his side, she laid her hand soothingly on his forehead, trying to smooth away the crease of his frown. There was a cut on his head from the effort it took to get him abovestairs and she wiped the blood with the edge of her tunic sleeve. Her tone gentle and tender, she said, “You are bleeding.”

  “It is your blood that will spill in the end, treacherous woman!” Brant snapped his head away from her light touch.

  “Quiet.” Della refused to be baited into another fight, but would also not back down. She stood from the bed and placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t make me call the men back to have you gagged. You will hear what I have to say to you, even if it takes me all night to say it. So, the sooner you stop being mean, the sooner I will have the nerve to speak.”

  Brant glared at her, but kept his mouth shut. He worked his arms against the constraints of the rope, but they held tight.

  “Where to begin?” Della thought aloud. She’d rehearsed the words endlessly in her head on the way home, but now they would not come to her like she’d planned. “Foremost, I’m sorry to have to bind you like this. But, in many ways, it’s your own fault. I asked nicely to speak with you belowstairs, but you would have none of it.”

  “You had best keep me bound here, for the second I’m untied, I’m going to kill all of you.” Brant’s whisper was deadly. His muscles tightened into hard bulges. “I shall see you hanged.”

  “I said to keep quiet! We both know you will do no such thing. Must you always have your say first?” Della shivered, forced to concentrate past the sudden arousal she felt from watching his body. Sighing in frustration, she began to pace. “You are a fiery tempered oaf. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  Brant narrowed his gaze at the insult, but kept his mouth shut.

  “All right. I am sorry for blaming you and your people for my mother’s death. I was wrong. But, before Stuart abducted me, I came to realize I did not blame you for the crime. That, in fact, I could not blame you.” Della took a deep breath as she paused. Her heart pounded at the distant memory and she blinked back tears. “The man you have in custody, William, is responsible. He admitted as much to me. Then I heard him arguing with Stuart. He said that my uncle, Lord Grayson, paid to have my mother, his sister, killed. He worried she carried a male heir. My uncle wanted Strathfeld. He’d squandered his fortune and was close to losing his land.

  “I know I was harsh to you, but you must understand. My brother was alive when they cut him out of her. They gave the child to my uncle to dispose of. He put on a mask so I would not know it was he who slit,” Della paused, taking a deep breath, “who killed him. But he was there watching the whole time. They tied me to the bed so I would not see him behind me.

  “In doing this, my uncle thought to secure this land and title for his son. Soon after my mother’s death, Stuart’s mother died and he came to live with us. While they thought I was unconscious, I heard Serilda whispering about Stuart’s mother. Lord Grayson strangled his wife and told everyone it was an accident. Stuart was there when it happened. My uncle must have forced his son to Strathfeld to befriend me. Only, after Stuart got here, he came to like it. He always said he was the happiest when he was here. Methinks in some way, he did come to love me, but didn’t know what love was. His father didn’t teach him to love.
Stuart could never please the man.

  “Lord Grayson died before he could complete his scheming and Stuart continued on as he had been raised to do. After the news of our unexpected betrothment came to light, he had Serilda tend to my father’s wounds with poison.”

  Della clutched her hands nervously together when he said nothing to her. Then she realized he was listening. She continued to pace back and forth. “It wasn’t even the Vikings who attacked my mother. It was the foreigners from the south. I don’t know why my father told me it was the Vikings. Mayhap it was something they found later. But they were looking for the wrong men. I don’t know why my father was convinced, but he was distraught, and Lord Grayson helped in the search. In fact, my uncle did most of the investigating. And William is just as responsible. Aside from my uncle, he was their leader.”

  Della turned pleading eyes to her husband. “I must make you understand. They tortured her for pleasure. They could have just killed her and been done with it, but they tortured her.”

  “If this is true, he will be hanged for the crime.” As he spoke, Brant’s words were low. He still hadn’t moved.

  Della took a deep breath and forced herself on. “I wish to forget what happened. Forever. But if I must tell you everything, I will. I want there to be no more secrets between us. No more deceptions of any kind.”

  “Della, untie me,” Brant said calmly.

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “I have more to say to you and I cannot guarantee you will listen unless I make you. And you must listen.”

  Della went to the bed and sat beside him. She laid a tender hand on her stomach. “I swear on all that is sacred to me—my mother, my father, our child. I did not plot with Stuart to have you killed. I did not plot to kill our unborn child. From the missive I wrote, you should have figured that out, but I understand why you doubt me and I forgive you for that doubt. I have said many harsh things and I hope in time you will be able to forgive me.”

  Della prayed he understood. Looking at her stomach, she rubbed it gently. Tears fell from her tired eyes, for what had almost happened, and for what she’d almost lost. Unexpectedly, Brant’s strong fingers clasped her side. She gasped in surprise. He’d managed to free a hand. Pulling her, he swept her onto the bed so she rested on his restrained arm. His fingers curled around her throat, holding her down, but applying no pressure.

  “Tell me why I should listen to you.” Brant brought his face close to hers. She trembled in his arms as his warmth invaded her throat. Her pulse raced beneath his strong fingers. His hard length pressed her into the bed. “Tell me why I should believe you.”

  The fingers around her neck tightened slightly, but not enough to cause her harm. She swallowed, looking deep into his clear blue gaze. She shook with insecurity, even as her insides seemed to melt at his nearness. She ached with longing, wanting to stay forever in his arms, and she filled with the fear that he could not love her nor forgive her.

  “Because,” Della whispered.

  “Because, why? Because you have been so truthful in the past?”

  “Nay.” Della pleaded with her eyes for him to understand, begging silently for him to believe her, to trust her. “Because I love you.”

  “What?” Brant froze above her.

  “I said you should believe me because I am in love with you. I have been since I first saw you, only I was too blinded by hatred to realize what I felt. And you were just so… aggravating. But I fell in love with you. I love you still.” Della inhaled sharply. Her body continued to quiver at his nearness. She’d said it, finally.

  “I don’t believe you.” Brant looked like he wanted to trust her, but couldn’t. “You claim to have sent the missive to warn me, but how is throwing my words back at me a warning to me. You are a deceitful wench.”

  “Your words?” Della repeated, confused. “Stuart must have switched missives. Nay, the missive I sent said that if the words of love you declared were true then to come alone. You never declared words of love to me. Thus you should have known I was lying. You should have known it was a trap. That’s why I sent you to the tree where my mother is buried. Surely, Roldan told you as much. I told you to ask him. So you would know that danger awaited you.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yea. That is the tree where she first laid eyes on my father. She loved that oak. It is where he buried her. My father carved their initials at the base. It is still there, I saw it tonight. It was so, in the afterlife, they would be able to find each other again.” Della blushed. “Methought Roldan would have told you and you would have concluded that, in being a trap, you would eventually find me if you went there. And you did.”

  “Roldan said naught about it.” Brant shook his head. A look of amazement came over his features. “I didn’t show him the letter. I only asked him how to get there.”

  “Wait,” Della furrowed her brow. “If Stuart sent the missive I wrote, then what words did I throw back at you?”

  Brant smiled down at her, caressing his finger against the pulse at her neck. “That day, when you thought to have caught Serilda and I in the bath together—”

  “I already know naught happened between you.” Della liked the way Brant’s fingers felt against her throat. “Gunther told me.”

  “Yea, Gunther,” Brant mused, frowning a bit.

  “Do not be harsh with him. I made him help me. And the others believe you to be under the spell of a witch. You didn’t look like yourself when you came back.”

  “Hmm.” With a preoccupied smile, he continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “The day you thought to have caught us, Serilda was applying healing draughts to me. I feared I had lice from Blackwell Manor and methought to be rid of them before I infested the whole of Strathfeld. Blackwell Manor was a sty and made me appreciate the cleanliness of your keep, wife. Or, let me amend, the keep of the cleaning spirit.”

  Hope curled within her at his lighthearted banter. “Pray tell, what words did you think I threw back?”

  “Now it is your turn to be quiet, wife,” Brant said. “I am coming to that.”

  Della nodded.

  “After Serilda left, I told you how I felt. You did not answer me. Why?”

  “You did?” Della wondered what he’d said to her that day. “I was so tired and I fell asleep before you left. I had been ill every morn and night for several days, as you well witnessed. When I awoke, I found you feasting belowstairs with that harlot on your lap. Tell me, what did you say?”

  “You didn’t hear me? It never occurred to me that you fell asleep and did not hear me. You rarely sleep.”

  “What did you say?” she insisted, pleading for an answer.

  “I said I love—”

  Della sprung up, effectively cutting him off with her lips. She kissed him, unable to hold herself away a moment longer. Pressing into his warmth, she never wanted to let him go. He loved her. She could never have imagined such a wondrous feeling. He loved her.

  Brant chuckled and lifted up, pulling her mouth unwillingly away. “I love you.”

  “As I you,” Della said. “You believe me? You believe all that I have said?”

  “Yea.” Brant’s voice was husky as he nodded and she could see in his eyes that he meant it. It was more than she had ever hoped for. “And do you know what else I believe, lady wife?”

  “Hmm?” Della ran her hand over his whiskered cheek, only to move down over his neck. She loved the feel of his skin, wanted to feel the press of it against her for all time—that and his love.

  “I believe we both are badly in need of a bath.” He kissed her nose.

  Della’s chuckle joined his. “That is easily taken care of. But what of the lice? Are they gone?”

  “Yea, I had Blackwell Manor burned to the ground soon after I left it. Methought it would be easier to build anew then to fix what was there.”

  “Oh, no,” Della laughed harder, looking guiltily at the chamber door.

  Brant raised his brow in question.

 
“I had to promise that I would talk you into giving Gunther permission to live at Blackwell in your stead for his loyalty and his help this day.”

  “Gunther is the one who burned it down for me,” Brant interjected. “No doubt he thinks to get a new manor out of the bargain.”

  “Are you angry? I was desperate to have you believe me and could think of no other way to make you hear me. I was afraid you would leave and never come back. Edwyn really has Strathfeld well in hand and Gunther is not needed here as seneschal. And, if he is there, then you…” She touched his face, pushing back the long locks of his hair. “I could not have survived it if you were to leave me.”

  “Methinks it is a good idea,” he said thoughtfully, only to laugh when she panicked at the thought of him leaving her. “I mean entrusting Blackwell to Gunther. You are right about Edwyn, and Roldan is competent with the guards. It would make much sense to give Blackwell to Gunther…after I punish him for his treachery.”

  Della froze at Brant’s mischievous smile. “What would you do to him?”

  “Methinks I will not have to punish him much at all. I will make it conditional upon his receiving Blackwell that he brings us home a wife. That will be punishment enough.” Brant leaned down to kiss his wife more fully.

  “Punishment?” Della said against his parted lips, pretending to be offended.

  “Yea.” Brant fingered a lock of her damp hair. “But if it is given by those pink lips, I would gladly die by such punishment, for it is most sweet.”

  “It would seem your fire has melted my ice after all.” Della rubbed her hands through his dirty hair, moaning softly as his fingers rested possessively on her stomach. She placed her hand over his, leaning up to sprinkle his face with kisses.

  “Wife?” Brant asked in between kisses.

  “Yea, husband,” Della answered, completely enamored by him and awed by the strength of his gentle presence.

  “Do you think you could untie me now?” He chuckled against her mouth.