by Sara Bennett
But when she would have gone further, he eased back and hurriedly stripped off his boots and breeches. He stood before her now, naked, apart from his glove.
“Will you take that off for me, too?” Briar asked, with surprising shyness.
Ivo hesitated, and then shook his head. “Not now, demoiselle.”
Briar did not insist. In truth, she was a little afraid of what she would see, and mayhap this was not the time for such things. He was watching her, suddenly uncertain.
“Do you think our friend at the hostelry will knock on the door tonight?” Briar teased nervously, to lighten the moment.
Ivo bent and slid his fingers along her thigh, seeking her center. He smiled. “He will be sorry if he does.”
She laughed and then gasped as he leaned forward and found her nipple through the thin chemise, biting very gently. The bud swelled, went hard, and she clutched at his shoulders, feeling the muscles move beneath his skin.
“Take me, de Vessey,” she commanded. “I need you now.”
He looked down into her eyes, his own half closed, blurred with desire. “You are very bossy, my lady. Do you always instruct your lovers so?”
She arched as his fingers moved in her again, her reply ragged. “Only you, Ivo.”
He smiled, and it transformed him into a younger, more carefree man. Her handsome, lusty warrior. Briar reached up and took that mouth with hers, and at the same time he slid himself into her, claiming her as his.
“Ivo,” she gasped.
He groaned and withdrew, thrusting again, deeper this time. Briar lifted her hips, eager for more, quickly spiraling out of control. Could any other man give her this, this sense of completeness? There was no other man…
Briar cried out her joy as Ivo pushed her beyond pleasure, and followed after.
Briar lay content by Ivo, her body throbbing still from their passion. Ivo stroked her arm, where it lay across him beneath his wolfpelt cloak, which he had pulled over their cooling flesh.
“Will you wed me, Briar?”
Surprised, Briar viewed the request hungrily. I want this, she realized. I want to wed him and be his wife, have his child, make him happy and be happy myself.
Happiness had not had much to do with any plans she had made over the past two years. Briar was not sure if she trusted it.
“Is that what you want, Ivo?”
She half sat up, to see his face, but it was closed. Reminding her that he, too, had his secrets.
“I want you. A marriage between us will give me the right to protect you and the child, to care for you. It will bind us together, Briar.”
She shook her head, her hair spilling about them. “No more than we are already bound,” she said seriously.
He touched her cheek. “There are reasons why being a de Vessey may not be such a good idea,” he said, as if to himself. “And yet I would call you wife, Briar. I would that our child takes my name.”
Warmth flooded her at his answer. “Very well,” she whispered. “I will wed you, Ivo. I will be your wife.”
He took her in his arms, and his mouth grew hot and eager on hers. They had made a new pledge, thought Briar, as desire built between them once more. And it had nothing to do with vengeance or hate. This was a vow to each other, and it was built upon trust and responsibility and caring. And hope.
Sweyn drew Mary closer to him, the darkness itself like a cloak about them. Their horse moved cautiously through the silent streets of York.
“Will my sister wed Ivo?” she asked him, her voice soft and uncertain. Mary had been deep in thought until now, and Sweyn had left her undisturbed.
“Did she say that?”
Mary rested against his chest, trusting, comfortable. And he allowed it because it felt so good.
“Nay. She told me she was with child, and the father is Ivo.”
Sweyn was silent, almost as surprised as Mary. Almost. Ivo, a father? Well, it happened to most men. But most men weren’t Ivo. Sweyn knew his friend would not abandon this girl, even if he was not besotted with her. To leave her in such a plight was not in his nature.
“And your sister is happy about this?”
Mary considered. “I think so, or she would be, but she fears the future. You see she has been betrayed before.”
“Ivo would never betray her, Mary.”
She glanced around at him, trying to see his face.
“She will be well taken care of,” Sweyn added reassuringly.
He could see Ivo now, several years into the future, with Briar and a gaggle of children. Aye, his life was like a tale, already told. If, that was, Ivo could best his brother, Miles. If he could do that, then the story would end well. If not…
Sweyn turned the horse into the lane off Stonegate. The future was not so clear for him. He supposed he would go on doing as he had always done. Moving from place to place, from woman to woman. As if in rejection of his thoughts, he tightened his hold on Mary’s pliant form, and the sweet scent of her hair made him dizzy.
“My sister thinks I am still a child.” Her gentle voice came to him from the darkness. “But I am not.”
“No, you are not,” he retorted. He knew well enough, from the feel of her in his arms, that she was all woman.
Mary seemed pleased with his answer.
“I would like a husband one day, and a babe,” she said, her voice carefully, painfully casual.
“Aye,” Sweyn replied bleakly, “I feared that you might.”
Chapter 11
The afternoon shadows were long, reminding Briar that very soon winter would be upon them. They gave a grim cast to this part of York, making it seem far more desolate than it would have been on a fine and sunny day. These buildings had been burned during the last siege of York, either to prevent occupation by the enemy or in one of their raids. Some of them had since collapsed or been demolished, and those that remained standing looked most unsafe.
Briar ran her gaze down the line of abandoned dwellings, until she came to the one she wanted. It was still there, then—or what was left of it, for as they drew nearer she could see that a good part of it had also been burned. Charred wooden beams rose against the gray sky, dark and gaunt, like clutching fingers.
“This is it?”
Ivo had been watching her. He was unobtrusive in his care of her, helping her to mount before him on the horse, making sure she was warm enough, comfortable enough, but nevertheless he was always there to lend her his hand when she needed it. As soon as she had expressed a wish to visit her father’s old home, he had agreed to take her.
If Ivo had been her gallant knight before, then he was doubly so now that she carried his child. To Briar, who was so used to looking after herself, such a state of affairs seemed strange and confusing. And very pleasant, too. She could get used to it, and that worried her.
After leaving Castle Kenton, she had always made certain she did not become too fond of anything. In case she lost it. Now Ivo had asked her to wed him. He had spoken to the priest and they only needed to set the day. But Briar hesitated.
The truth was, she did not feel as if she could entirely trust him. And he knew it. Although it had been Briar who demanded Ivo make a commitment to stay, who had needed him to say yes, it was now she who hovered uncertainly on the brink of the rest of her life. And Ivo had not pushed her; he stood back and waited.
Mayhap he knew her better than she thought.
At night, her dreams were full of him leaving without telling her, or vanishing into the night, back to his home in the south. Or dying upon some lonely battlefield somewhere. Despite all his promises, Briar was finding it very difficult to believe that he would really stay. She could not help it. Filby had abandoned her, Odo had fallen ill and was as much as dead, her father had taken his own life. Her dealings with men, so far, had led her to the conclusion that they were never there when she needed them.
“This is the house your father and Lady Anna lived in, the last time they were in York?” His voice broke
through her musings.
Briar blinked around at him, unscrambling her wits. “Aye, this is it. My father built it especially for her—as a gift. I stayed here once or twice, but mostly I remained at Castle Kenton. Jocelyn and Odo spent more time here than I. After my father died the house lay empty for a time, and then it was burned by King William’s men, or the Danes—I forget which. It will fall down one day. I don’t think anyone wants it. They see it as being tainted, like him.”
And me.
“Such things will be forgotten in time,” he said, as if he believed it.
She didn’t bother to answer him. They both knew that her father must remain a traitor, even in death, until the king forgave him. And that seemed unlikely. So Briar, as his daughter, would remain outcast, forgotten. A creature of the shadows.
Did Ivo really want such a wife? Even a man in his position must have some ambitions. Taking a traitor’s daughter to wife could hardly further his career.
She opened her mouth to ask him, but he spoke before her, and the moment was lost. Briar was not sure whether she was sorry or not. Mayhap she was a coward, but despite her own doubts, she did not want to hear Ivo’s.
“Have you seen enough, demoiselle?”
“I would like to walk through it.”
Ivo eyed the building uneasily. The burnt part was mostly to one side, while the remainder appeared reasonably sound. Briar firmed her lips, and gazed at him with big eyes, managing to look mulish and pleading at the same time. She hid a smile when he gave a long-suffering sigh.
“We can look inside without danger, can’t we, Ivo? And you will protect me, won’t you?”
His eyebrows rose cynically. “Very pretty, Briar, but I do not believe that meek pose. You need more practice.” He began to dismount. “Come then! But do not move away from me, and if I say we must go, then go we must.”
“Very well, Ivo,” she murmured, eyes brimming with laughter. He swung her down and she took his hand, and together they moved into the abandoned building.
’Twas hard to believe this was once an elaborate gift, Briar thought wearily. The shrine her father had built to Anna. The air was acrid. Smoke and damp and neglect caught in her throat. Briar had been here rarely, but she well remembered how the candles had shone and the people had laughed. As usual, Anna had been at their center, glowing and beautiful, for such attention was her milk and bread. And her father had been so happy, in his quiet way, because Anna was happy.
Aye, she had thought at the time, this is love.
To put someone else above one’s self.
Could she do such a thing? Was she capable of it? Not of putting her sisters above herself, for she had done that often enough, but a man. In particular, Ivo. Could she ever love him that much, enough to set him higher than herself?
Aye, there was the test.
Her doubts caused her to pull away from him despite his warning. She set off on her own, making her way farther into the shell of the building. Light shone dully through a hole in the wall, the outline jagged. Birds twittered in the sagging roof high above, where they had made snug homes in the moldering thatch.
Here, where there had been joy and laughter, was only emptiness.
Does that mean I should not put my reliance in love? That it does not last?
The warning rang in her head like a bell, but she ignored it.
Anna’s love had been false, just as her father’s happiness had been false. Briar’s memories of the past were brittle, a false fairytale. What she and Ivo would have must be solid and real…
“Demoiselle?” Ivo was standing close behind her and she had not even heard him come up. “Have you seen enough of this place? Whatever there is left of your father, you will not find it here. Let me take you somewhere warmer.”
His breath was hot against her nape. Briar shivered and leaned back against him. He was so solid, so safe, and it was frightening how easily she had grown used to him being there. Dangerous, too. For in Briar’s world nothing was certain, and she had learned not to rely upon anything or anyone.
Do I dare do so now?
“Do you remember my mother, Ivo? Not Anna, but my real mother?”
She spoke quickly, to still her own fears. Perhaps sensing her inner turmoil, he rubbed his hands over her arms, slowly, as if to warm her through the cloak. As if to comfort her.
“I remember her a little. She was small and hot-tempered, like you.”
Briar smiled and rested her head on his chest, content to listen.
“Once, when I hurt myself at training, she tended my bruises. I remember her scolding me, but I knew she didn’t really mean it. We both understood that. I remember her kindness—small matters she dealt with, to ease my homesickness.”
“And yet my father did not love her, not as he did Anna. He married my mother because it was agreed between their parents. He married Anna for love.”
“Did Anna love him?” He sounded curious.
“Perhaps, in her way. I don’t think she was able to love anyone very much, but because he gave her everything, she responded to him. I believed at the time that it was love. Now…you have made me see the truth, that she gave her body freely.”
Ivo continued to smooth his hands over her arms. Briar felt the warmth from his touch, and the comfort, the offering of his support without words.
High above them, through the crisscross of charred roof beams, the sky looked bleak. This was a grim and depressing place. It spoke of too many lost dreams and shattered lives. Ivo had been right, there was nothing for her here.
“Let us go,” Briar said.
It was in that moment they heard the footsteps, the grate of boots against fallen stonework and timber. A dark shape appeared at the far end of the building, silhouetted against the jagged hole in the wall. And stood, watching.
A tall man.
Part of Ivo’s battle-trained mind took note of the details, even as he was making swift plans for Briar’s safety.
He moves with the easy grace of a fighting man, a soldier…No, not a follower. He moves with the confidence of a leader of men.
He set Briar aside, freeing his sword arm, and glanced behind him. Accomplices? Nay, there was no one blocking their escape, if such a thing became necessary. Although Ivo had enough confidence in his own skills to doubt he would need to run. Still, there was Briar to consider, and their child.
He reached for his sword, feeling the green stones pressing into his flesh.
He had never had so much to lose before.
“Hold, Ivo! I did not mean to startle you. I have been enjoying your conversation. How goes it with you?”
He sounded almost merry, as if he were greeting an old friend. Only he was not Ivo’s friend, he never had been.
Ivo’s fingers tightened convulsively on the hilt of his sword. He felt dizzy, disoriented, as though the ground were tipping beneath his boots. Like icy water the past rose up to meet him, cold fingers covering his mouth and nose, making it hard for him to breathe.
“Miles.” He didn’t know whether he spoke the word, or if it was just so loud in his head.
The tall dark shape stepped forward into the light, and it was no longer just a bad dream. Miles. He looked thinner, older. As if recent times had been hard for him. His clothes were still fine, but they appeared frayed, and not as clean as they could be. Miles had been running and hiding from his enemies, and it did not suit him.
The sensation of walking on, and breathing in, frigid water was passing. Miles was here and he was real. And Ivo knew, with a twist of nausea in his belly, that if he was to get Briar to safety he must not let Miles guess what she meant to him.
“I did not think to see you here in York,” he said calmly, knowing his lack of emotion would annoy his brother. “Last I heard you were in Normandy.”
Briar glanced warily back and forth between the two men. “Who is this, de Vessey?” she asked bluntly. “Another mercenary?”
Miles turned to look at her with sudden intere
st, his cold gray eyes lighting, and Ivo felt his heart stop. ’Twas not a good thing to draw the attention of Miles de Vessey, not if you were a woman.
“This is no one, demoiselle. Do not concern yourself.”
Miles laughed quietly, mockingly. “No one? Brother, you do me a grave disservice.” He turned back to Briar and bowed low. “Let me introduce myself, lady. I am Sir Miles de Vessey, the brother who is not disgraced.”
Wide-eyed, Briar turned to Ivo. He knew he looked white and strained, but he hoped there was nothing more to be read in his face. Their safety depended on him playing a part of indifference. Briar return to Miles with a practiced smile, suddenly very much the great lady. “’Tis good to know one of the de Vesseys is still in favor, Sir Miles. Tell me, what do you here?”
Miles cast an indifferent look about him and shrugged. “I was passing and I saw you enter. It hardly seems the sort of place for an assignation—though I doubt my brother has ever made an assignation with a woman in his whole life. I was curious.”
“This is my father’s house,” she said bluntly.
And that told Miles who she was.
Ivo saw it in the narrowing of his cold eyes, the twist of his lips. Aye, he knew her, but would he make use of the knowledge? Miles had many schemes spinning in his head, but he always had room for another.
“I have been in this hall,” Miles said. “I was in the service of Lord Fitzmorton, so I knew your father slightly. And your mother, the Lady Anna. A most beautiful woman.”
If Briar was surprised by his quick understanding she did not show it. “Stepmother,” she corrected him haughtily, her polite smile fading.
Take care, thought Ivo, while his own tongue felt frozen. Why was it Miles had this power over him? A combination of regret and fear and guilt and hate. Regret, because Miles could so easily have been his friend, was still his flesh and blood, and Ivo could not help but remember it. Fear, because he knew of what Miles was capable, guilt because he always felt as if it was his fault that his own brother loathed him. And hate, because of what Miles had done to him ever since they were children.