Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Seeing that he watched her closely, she busied herself by tearing the green and white mold off the cheese. She set it aside on the trencher, forming a small pile. Deciding she was too squeamish to eat, she set it down and picked up her goblet of sour ale.

  “Yea.” He took a contemplative bite of bread, frowning slightly at the pile of torn cheese mold. His gaze hardened and his mouth formed into a grim line of hatred. “It was delivered this morn.”

  “How did you do it? What if he does not see it?” She didn’t want to seem overly anxious so she took a small bite of the exceedingly salty venison. The meat was dry and hard to chew. Della looked for a way to spit it out without being obvious. Finding nothing, she was forced to swallow the offensive morsel with a gulp of the sour ale.

  “Serilda used the secret entrance. She said it was easy, for none of the men were about the bailey yard. Methinks they must be looking for you.” Stuart suddenly frowned and fingered his goblet. “Do not worry your pretty head about the details. I will protect you. It will be over tonight.”

  “But what if Brant, uh, Lord Blackwell is not back from the king’s campaign? We should give him more time.”

  “He is back. Cedric watches the castle.” Stuart took another pensive bite. He narrowed his eyes as he watched her for any sign of disloyalty. She concentrated on keeping her face icily calm.

  Della nodded slowly and forced a smile, praying he could not read the pain in her heart. “You have thought of everything. So, when do we leave for the large oak?”

  “We?” Stuart laughed. Leaning over, he patted her hand, which had fallen indifferently from the food to the table. “Oh, Della, do you think I would put you in harm’s way? I love you too much for that. I am sure everything will go as planned, but I will not risk you.”

  Della tried not to visibly gag. She pulled from his grasp and moved to take another bite. Her hand trembled violently and she buried it in her lap. “But methought you wanted me to see—”

  “You will not see him alive again.” Stuart interrupted her with a silencing wave of his hand, leaving no room for argument. “I merely said you would see his severed head. I would not force you to watch anything as atrocious as a beheading. I know well how such things have hurt you in the past. Your heart is too soft for this world, so I will protect you from it.”

  All I need protecting from is you, dear cousin.

  Della cringed inwardly, drawing her emotions as far away from him as she could until her mind and body became numb to the pain he caused her. She hated how he claimed to be protecting her. Acknowledging him with a curt nod, she suddenly wished she had been more conscientious of the secrets she told him as a child.

  Stuart looked at her side of the trencher. “Of that you may be certain.”

  “Then you will face him alone?” Della leaned over, trying to draw his attention away from her uneaten meal. He had already threatened to force feed her if she continued to starve herself.

  Breathless, she waited for him to answer her. If Stuart was to fight Brant, fair and alone, there was a small hope they both would come out of the fray unharmed. Her cousin would be no match for her husband with the sword and Brant, being merciful, might let Stuart live so she could get him help. Even now, she did not wish her cousin dead.

  “Nay, I will send Cedric and William. They are warriors and know naught else. I am a nobleman of cunning and wit. There is no need for me to fight. Battle is for the mindless drones who cannot think for themselves. This is a new age we are upon, Della. There is no need for leaders to fight.” Stuart rose from the table, stretched his hands over his head and yawned. “Yea, they will go. I will stay with you, for you might have need of me as Serilda works.”

  Della shivered, getting his meaning. Tears threatened her eyes and she rubbed them viciously with the back of her hand. She forced herself to yawn so she might hide her face. They meant to take her husband and baby at the same time. “William?”

  “You have not been introduced to him.” Stuart dismissed. “There has been no need for it.”

  Della nodded, afraid to ask why. She said no more as she turned solemnly back to her meal. Under Stuart’s probing gaze, she took a bite and then another until he finally left her alone in the chamber. When he was gone, she vomited into the corner, sobbing silently. Then, falling to the floor, she hit her fist against the dirt, unable to fight, unable to push her body up.

  May God be with you, Brant, and my heart also.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Della sensed, without looking, that the evening would be wet and gloomy, just like her soul. She rubbed her stomach, trying to keep from resting her hand protectively over her child when Stuart was around. His eyes were always on her and a few times he’d even asked about it. She put him off the best she could with a halfhearted smile, but could tell he was suspicious. He refused to leave her alone and there had been no chance of escaping within the last hours of waiting.

  “Stuart?” Della inquired, disturbing him from his preoccupation with the fire. They had both been silent for so long, her voice cracked.

  Stuart turned to her and smiled pleasantly. He rested against the back of the chair, his feet upon the table. “I was thinking of the time I convinced you to pour a bucket of water on Edwyn from the wall. Do you remember?”

  “Yea, you had been at Strathfeld for only a few years. You said he was afraid of water and I was to help him with that fear, going so far as to help me haul the bucket up the ladder. Then you put a clump of mud in it and I doused him in muck instead.”

  Stuart laughed and his feet landed with a thud on the floor. “You were so mad at me you swore you would never talk to me again.”

  “Yea, Stuart, I remember it well. You pestered me for hours until I was forced to forgive you and I only relented to quiet your persistence.”

  It was only one of the many pranks her cousin had played on her and the other hapless inhabitants of the keep, but the jokes had been the harmless antics of youth.

  “And, if I remember correctly, Edwyn did not get mad at you either.” Stuart sighed, his mind on the past. He chuckled to himself.

  “Nay.” Della watched him carefully. His eyes were distant, frighteningly so. “But my father was livid when he found out all we had been up to. He came home a few days after it happened.”

  Stuart’s eyes clouded at the mention of the late Lord Strathfeld. “Yea, you were about seven years, were you not? Your father locked you in the tower and sent me away to my training.”

  “I was eight,” Della said. She remembered the night her father sent him away. Stuart had already been in his teenage years. She’d cried endlessly at the unfairness. It was also around the same time she’d taken complete control over the duties of the manor. To cheer her, her father thought to put her in charge of the keep. Della wondered if the responsibility had done more harm than good, though she’d been grateful to be kept busy. “And he did not lock me in a tower, only my bedchamber until you were gone.”

  “Your father hated me. He banished me from the only place I was happy as a child. My father didn’t want me. I could never please the man before he died.”

  “My father claimed it was not for the pranks that he sent you to your training, but because it was time for you to learn to be a man. You would not become a man hanging about a girl child all day. He did not hate you. In fact, you were only gone from Strathfeld for a short time. You came back oft to visit us and methinks your father bid you home on several occasions.”

  Stuart growled in the back of his throat, obviously not believing her. He stared back into the fire.

  “Stuart, I need to go outside. I need to walk.” Della spoke softly, drawing him gently back to the conversation.

  “Nay. It’s not a good idea for you to be out.”

  “Cousin, you don’t understand.” She hoped the heat coloring her features would be mistaken for a blush and not apprehension. “I have to get out of this chamber. I have to walk outside. In private.”

  “Nay,
I see no need. If you must stretch your legs walk about the chamber. You will not be here much longer.” Stuart waved his hand in the air to dismiss her request. “The feeling should have completely returned to them. I didn’t order Serilda to prick them again.”

  Della tried not to scowl, wanting to spit in his smug face. He acted as if he bequeathed her with a gift. “I must relieve myself, dearest cousin. Please don’t make me go in that dirty chamber pot again. Serilda does not wash it. She hates me and I must have some fresh air. Please.”

  “Oh.” Stuart sat up. “I do not think I like you calling me dearest cousin.”

  “What would you have me call you then?” Della asked, surprised at the admission. “Lord Grayson?”

  “Dearest husband,” Stuart corrected. “Yea, let us pretend that we are already married. It will make the eve go by faster.”

  Her gut twitched as he stood and moved toward the bed. He smiled down at her, holding out his hand. She looked at it warily, unable to force herself to take it. Her eyes watered.

  “Stand,” he ordered.

  Her gown was dirty, tattered, and stained to the point it no longer looked to be blue. The bruise on her cheek was still swollen and her tired eyes undoubtedly red. Yet he smiled at her as if he pictured her as the grandest of ladies in the most favored of places. Della wondered if he even really saw her.

  “Stuart,” Della began, only to be cut off by his hush.

  “Stand,” he commanded again. His voice lowered.

  Della held out her shaking hand to him, unable to control her trembling.

  Stuart, what has happened to make you so crazed? For surely madness affects you.

  “You shiver at my touch,” he whispered when she didn’t speak. He lifted a finger to run along the length of her collarbone. “Do you know I have dreamed of possessing you since I first saw you? I knew then you would grow to be my wife and I waited for you. I bided my time until you were grown into womanhood.”

  Nausea fought its way up from her stomach, choking her. She coughed. Part of her still cared for her cousin, but not in the way that he did for her. She’d been a fool to think of marrying him, naive in her beliefs of what a marriage should be. Brant showed her there could be more than family alliances and the merging of property and fortune. “I shiver because of the draft.”

  “Still my shy little Della.” Stuart chuckled. “Mayhap the barbarian did not poison you as much as methought. Could it be his tastes in the marriage bed are exaggerated?”

  Della watched him carefully and didn’t answer.

  “I went to see your father on your fifteenth birthday. I asked him for your hand.” Stuart’s fingers had reached the opposite shoulder and began the languid journey back. He leaned closer. “He refused me.”

  “He did not tell me.”

  “I asked him again, each year after, until your seventeenth birthday. He refused me each time. I told him he would never keep us apart. I told him I would run away with you if he did not allow it. That is when he asked me to leave Strathfeld and never come back. He said he would kill me if he saw me near you again. I wasn’t allowed to write to you.”

  “I swear he didn’t tell me.” Della tried to turn her face away, but Stuart grabbed her by her jaw. His grip bit into her bruises, forcing her to be still as he leaned forward to kiss her. She gasped, turning her lips from him as his hand traced along her cheek to cup her neck. His lips were cold and she felt the tip of his tongue brush her cheek. “We cannot.”

  “Why?” Stuart demanded in outrage. His grip tightened. “Am I not good enough for you? You would give yourself like a whore to that Viking—”

  “Nay, it’s not that.” Della’s mind raced for the right words. She stood frozen in place, too afraid to move completely away, of saying something he would deem inappropriate. The smallest insult would surely set him off. “It’s you who are too good for me.”

  Stuart’s surprise was audible as he pondered her reply. The heat of his breath hit against her neck. Finally, he leaned away and nodded in agreement. Giving her one last painful squeeze, he dropped his hand and took a step back.

  “Stuart?” Della released the breath she’d been holding. “May I walk outside now?”

  “Yea, let us stretch your legs. Serilda should be arriving back anytime.” His expression saddened. “Methinks it might be awhile before you are able to walk again.”

  Her insides crumbled in despair and her breath quickened of its own accord. She could not control the shaking of her limbs. Until that moment, she’d somehow managed to remain calm. But as the minutes passed, she felt more and more helpless. Then she realized, with no small amazement, that she’d waited for Brant to save her. It hadn’t occurred to her that he wouldn’t.

  “It will be all right, Della. After tonight you will no longer feel the pain of that heathen child in your belly.” He picked up her hand and laid it on his arm. His arm flexed under her hand, but the press of his muscle left her feeling hollow and cold. He walked toward the door, escorting her out of the room, through a dingy front chamber and out into the small yard.

  The outside light, though diffused in softness, hurt her eyes. Della squinted until she grew used to the brightness. Moist earth squished under her feet, causing her to slip in the dampened soil.

  The cottage stood alone in a small valley, surrounded by nothing but forest and prairie. An overgrown garden grew near the front door, but looked to be unattended for several seasons. The air was thick with the threat of rain, though the darkest clouds were still far off. For a moment, Della just stood and breathed deep, cleansing pants of air.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the tree line. It was too far to chance running away. Already she felt a twinge in her abdomen and knew that Stuart would overtake her if she were to try.

  A humid breeze stirred around them, sticky and moist. Her linen gown molded to her skin and the wayward strands of her hair stuck to her face. However, the air was fresh and Della found herself gratefully taking another deep breath. It was a blessing compared to the dank smell of the cottage.

  Sighing, Della tried to slip her arm from Stuart’s grasp. He didn’t relinquish his hold. “Stuart, I should have some privacy for what I am about.”

  “Nay, methinks it’s still too soon to risk—” His mouth snapped shut and he quickly turned his head to the sound of two approaching horses. The grip on her hand tightened as he pressed her more firmly against his arm.

  Brant!

  Her heart soared in hope only to have it fall again as she recognized Cedric and not her husband. He galloped to them, swinging off his horse to land on the ground with a heavy thud. Seeing her, Cedric gave her a mocking bow and quick smirk before turning to Stuart.

  “You are late!” Stuart growled. His grip on Della’s hand loosened somewhat as he jerked her forward, forcing her with him toward the dismounted knight. “What news do you bring from the castle?”

  “We are here now.” Cedric spat next to Della’s feet. She jumped out of the way, pulling as far back from the man as she could manage. She watched the tree line, hoping to see Brant hidden within it, but found nothing.

  “What are you letting her out for?” another man interjected. “She should be tied to a bed.”

  Della turned sharply toward the voice. She could not see the man’s face for he was hidden behind his horse. A chill worked over her spine at the sound.

  “William’s horse lagged behind,” Cedric complained. He ignored his riding companion’s growl. “I told you that nag you stole would slow us down.”

  Della watched carefully as the man, William, came into view. He was large and dark, with a pointedly devious gaze. She felt the blood run from her face and her stomach lurched. Terrified, she tore her arm from her cousin’s grip. Stuart let her go. Suddenly, a rush of memories flooded her, memories from the night of her mother’s death. She backed away from them.

  Della remembered William’s face. He had been there. He’d spurred the other men on, leading them and encou
raging them. How could she have forgotten it? She remembered his long black hair, how it framed the hard plains of his face, giving him a demonic cast in the orange firelight.

  Black! They all had black hair and looked like foreigners from the far south! They were not Vikings. Why would my father tell me they were Vikings? No wonder they were not caught. They looked for the wrong men.

  “Della?” Stuart asked, at her horrified gasp. He studied her face grimly. Reaching his hand to her, he curled the tips of his fingers as if to beckon her forward. Della denied the offer with a terrified shake of her head. She felt like a small child, cowering in the corner of her nightmares. Stiff and helpless, a flood of horror gripped her heart and pumped fear into her very being.

  “He was there,” Della whispered when she was able to utter a sound. She continued to back away. Her eyes stayed fixed on William, afraid if she blinked he would disappear and would never be caught. She pointed at the evil man. “You are the one. You tied my head to the post. You made me watch.”

  William glared at her, his expression confused. Her breathing quickened. How could he not know? Not immediately remember? Had his deeds over the years been just as bloody? Had they not marred his soul as they had hers?

  Slowly, a smile of recognition crossed William’s face. He nodded in remembrance before calmly stating, “The child we let live.”

  “You made the others… You murdered my mother. You killed her. You raped and burned her.” Tears rushed down her face. Bile rose in her throat as the screams from the past echoed in her ears. She turned her desperate, pleading gaze to Stuart. “Stuart, it was never the Vikings. It was him. He did it. You must—”

  “You have grown well, child,” William broke in with a delighted laugh, his voice crackling in darkness. He didn’t look as she imagined a villain would. His face was broad and proud, scarred only a little by pockmarks. His teeth, though a few were missing, were only slightly yellowed. But his eyes were deadlier than she could have ever recalled. He watched her closely and her panic only made his eyes glow in pleasure. “Methought I should see you again. You look like your mother. You have her eyes, as did I for a time—until they rotted.”