by Sara Bennett
Sweyn peered around the room, wondering who it was Briar was staring at. The woman was dangerous, and he wished Ivo luck in taming her. Aye, all women were dangerous. He was better off alone.
“They’re both bonny, but for my money, I’d have the taller one.”
The voice drifted in Sweyn’s direction, cocky and confident, and Scottish. Sweyn gritted his teeth. He hated the Scots. In his experience all they did was fight and fornicate, and they never knew when to stop on either count. He had just spent some of the worst weeks of his life chasing them off Lord Radulf’s estates and back over the border, and now here was another one, lording it over the locals in York.
“I like tall women,” the voice went on, as if everyone was panting to know his preferences. “I like to look right into their eyes when I’m on top of them.”
Sweyn ground his teeth. His head was muzzy with drink and now a rush of hot blood added to the mixture. He knew, even as he began pushing his way through the rich sea of fine cloth tunics and silken gowns, that he was making a mistake. He had never fought for a woman before, he had never even been jealous before.
But this was about Mary. And Mary was special.
Amazed, he paused, stood gazing at nothing, forgetting where he was.
Aye, she is special. She’s different from all the others. I don’t know why or how, but she is. And no amount of my wishing can change how I feel about her…
“I wonder if her fingers are as nimble on other instruments.”
Sweyn groaned. That was it! He could take no more. Like a maddened bull, he thrust his way into the group around the Scot and grabbed the man up by the scruff of his neck, and shook him hard.
Women screamed. Men cursed and backed away. The Scot choked and clawed at his hands, but Sweyn kept shaking him.
“Do not speak about my lady in that way,” he said, drawing out his words, giving the Scot a good, hard shake on each one. “Do you hear me, you foul-mouthed beastie? Do you hear me now?”
The Scot nodded desperately, his face turning blue.
“Let him go, Sweyn.”
Someone put a hand on his shoulder. Ivo, Sweyn realized through the fumes of drink and rage. His friend’s fingers were very strong, and they pressed down hard, and then harder again.
“He has learned his lesson, and we do not want to attract too much attention. He might be someone important.”
Sweyn blinked, and then promptly dropped his burden. The Scot landed with an oomph as Sweyn walked away.
“What were you doing?” Ivo had followed him to the far side of the room.
Sweyn turned his face away and shook his head. He had run mad, that was the only explanation. The words spilled out of him.
“She wants me to make her a woman.” He tried to laugh, but the sound cracked in the middle. “Me! What do I know of faithfulness and…and love, Ivo? I have never looked for such things before, not even within myself.”
Ivo appeared to be as much at a loss as Sweyn, although he didn’t seem to need to ask of whom Sweyn was speaking. “Be careful,” he said at last. “Be very sure before you make any decisions, my friend.”
Sweyn groaned and sank his head into his hands. Careful? It was far too late for careful. He was already up to his neck and gasping for air. Odin help him, he loved her, and unless he could think of a very good reason why, Sweyn knew that sooner or later he was going to do just as Mary asked.
The final song was finished. Despite a fight that had broken out in one part of the hall, Briar and Mary had managed to sing it perfectly, together. Pleased, they soaked up the applause, which was long and loud. And then the acrobats came running, darting amongst the crowd, turning somersaults and climbing onto each other’s shoulders.
Mary laughed and clapped her hands as one of the acrobats pretended to look under a woman’s skirts, causing her to squeal in outrage. A moment later, the humor had drained out of her again, and she looked so sad that Briar reached out to touch her cheek.
“What is it, sweeting?” she asked gently. “You are unhappy. Tell me, Mary, what ails you?”
The girl sighed and shook her head.
“Please, Mary?” Briar whispered. Why would no one let her help! Once she had always been the one her sisters turned to, now they kept their troubles to themselves. How could she help if they would not tell her?
“I am grown, Briar. I can mend my own broken toys.”
Briar gave up. She turned again to the crowd, now enjoying the acrobats’ performance. Miles. The name slipped into her mind like a cool breeze on a hot day, and just as tempting. If she spoke with him, asked him about Ivo, where was the harm? Assuming she could find him in this crush.
“Wait here,” she said, over her shoulder to Mary, and started to make her way in the direction she had last seen Miles de Vessey.
Luckily most of the guests were entranced with the attempt by the acrobats to climb, all five, upon each other’s shoulders. While the motley column swayed back and forth, Briar was able to find her way to the back of the hall without being accosted or complimented on her singing, or asked if she was really the daughter of the traitor, Richard Kenton.
She glanced about her.
Miles was not here, but there was a doorway, curtained by a tapestry, which led into another chamber. Perhaps he was in there? It seemed unlikely, but where else could he have gone so abruptly? Briar lifted aside the tapestry and peeped through the gap. Shadows, nothing but shadows in a small alcove which contained nothing more than a bench and a table. She turned to go.
“I enjoyed your singing, lady.”
Miles.
“Come in, I have been waiting for you.”
One of the shadows moved, took the shape of a man. Miles stepped closer, and Briar could see his eyes, pale in the gloom and fixed on her. He had changed his clothing from earlier, the green tunic he wore now was clean and well made, his breeches of fine stuff, and his boots soft leather. His jaw was freshly shaved, accentuating that attractive leanness she had already noted.
There was a resemblance to Ivo. In the shape of his chin, mayhap, and the way he held himself, in his handsome smile, but Ivo was bigger, broader, and not so good-looking nor so cool-tempered. Miles, with his gray eyes and lean face, was the more attractive, and yet there was something about him that repelled Briar. She did not know quite what it was, and even as she thought it, she dismissed it as unfair. He was different, that was all. She should not, she thought guiltily, judge every man by one.
Her guilt made her step into the alcove with him.
“Is my brother here tonight?” His voice was softer, more intimate, as if they were preparing to exchange secrets. Which was what Briar had been hoping to do. Why then did she feel so uneasy in his presence?
“Ivo is not my keeper, sir,” she said calmly enough, pretending his gaze did not make her nervous. “I do not know where he is.”
Miles smiled Ivo’s smile, but it lacked Ivo’s warmth and sense of mischief, it lacked Ivo’s chivalrousness and protectiveness. If she were handing out counters, Ivo had them nearly all. “I can see he is not your keeper. You are a lady with a mind very much of her own.”
She smiled back, pleased he should realize it. Ivo still did not understand that she could take care of herself. Finally she could set a counter in Miles’s pile.
He leaned closer, and confided, “You asked me about Lady Anna. I did not tell you all.”
“What more is there to say, Sir Miles?”
He hesitated, glanced at her, and away again. “I am ashamed to say, lady. Will you tell Ivo? He already thinks badly of me. And yet he is my brother, my only brother, and I love him. Do you know what it is like, Lady Briar, to be at odds with your own brother?”
That deep sadness had crept back into his handsome, austere features. He had the look of a priest; how could she not trust a priest. Despite her instinctive caution, Briar felt an answering empathy. She loved her sisters, and presently felt out of step with them, and the sense of loss and frustrati
on was uncomfortable. How much worse for Miles and Ivo, who had clearly suffered some terrible fissure? At least, Ivo had cut himself off from his brother, though Miles seemed willing to repair matters.
“He is the only flesh and blood family I have left.”
Jesu, there were tears in his pale eyes. Despite herself, Briar’s own eyes filled.
“And ’tis all over a misunderstanding,” he went on, his voice turning bitter. “A foolish thing. But Ivo will not speak with me, he will not let me explain to him…” He took a breath, pulling himself together. “Well, what is the point of mulling over it? Nothing can be done.”
Impulsively, Briar put her hand on his arm. “Perhaps there is something we can do, Sir Miles. Perhaps I can talk to Ivo for you.”
He looked at her sharply, and suddenly he had all of Ivo’s intensity. “Would you, lady? Would you do that for me?”
His eagerness was heartwarming, and Briar smiled, forgetting any doubts she may have had. “Aye, I would. But first you must tell me what it is that keeps you and Ivo apart…”
Miles stiffened, looking past her to the tapestry. Light spilled through the narrow gap where the cloth was not flush against the doorway. “I do not want Ivo to find me here with you. It will be another mark against me, in his eyes. Can you meet me tomorrow? Can you meet me at the house of your father?”
It seemed an odd request, but he was staring at her so fiercely, so pleadingly. As if he had put all his hopes in her.
“Will you trust me, lady? I want so much to reconcile with my only brother. In his heart, I know that Ivo wants that, too. We need someone like you, someone who cares for him, to help us take the first step. Will you do that for Ivo and me, Lady Briar?”
Briar already knew that she would, but she pretended to consider. Ivo would be cross with her, but surely he would understand when she explained to him that she had only wanted to help? And he would be pleased with her, wouldn’t he, when he was friends again with his brother? It would all be worthwhile, then.
She nodded her head.
“So, you will come? Tomorrow?”
“Aye, Sir Miles, I will come to my father’s house tomorrow.”
He smiled with relief, and took her hands warmly in his. “I thank you, lady. Ivo cannot thank you, yet, so I will do it for him. And I thank you with all my heart—”
“Briar?”
It was Mary’s voice, beyond the tapestry. Briar pulled away, moving toward it, saying, “My sister is looking for me…”
“My brother will not let you come and meet me, if you tell him of our plans. He will stop you, lady. Be aware of that.”
“Sir Miles—”
Just then Mary lifted the stiff cloth aside and peered into the alcove at them. She frowned, eyes going suspiciously from Miles to Briar. “Briar? I want to go home now.”
“Of course.” Briar shot a warning glance over her shoulder at Miles. “Thank you for your compliments, sir.”
Miles bowed, his gray eyes like quicksilver. “Remember what I have said, lady.”
“I will.”
Mary was still frowning when they returned to the hall. “Ivo is looking for you,” she said. “I told him I would find you. I saw you go into that room, but I did not tell him so. You were very sly. What are you playing at, Briar? He is to be your husband, and yet you go off with other men.”
A lecture from Mary! Briar felt bemused. Who would have thought it? Clearly her younger sister was growing up.
“You don’t understand,” she began, but Mary wouldn’t listen.
“No, I don’t! And I don’t want to. You are so lucky, Briar, and yet you play with fire. I do not want to know why you would want to spoil all the good things that have fallen in your lap. Mayhap you don’t deserve them.”
“Mary!”
Mary pulled away from her outstretched hand, flushed and angry and upset. “Ivo is waiting for you. Go to him, Briar. I will be there in a moment.”
Briar stared at her sister’s back, more bewildered than angry. When had Mary grown a temper? And why had she exploded with it now, almost as if she were…jealous?
With a sigh, Briar went to find Ivo.
He was standing by the door—no doubt planning to escort her home. Of course he was. How could she have thought he would have forgotten her? She was carrying his child, and he would smother her with attention if it kept her safe. Fate had brought their lives into collision, and whatever this feeling was that kept them together, it was strong. Ivo, despite his odd behavior since he saw Miles, would never hurt her. Briar owed it to him to force a reconciliation between him and his brother.
It was the least she could do for him.
She looked as if she had been telling secrets. There was something about the expression in her hazel eyes, the flush of her cheeks, the curl of her lips. Ivo realized he didn’t trust her, and it frightened him. His belly clenched.
“Where were you, Briar?” He tried to ask her gently, but his voice came out harsh and demanding. Like a captain ordering his troops.
She ruffled up, shooting him a sideways glance. “I was speaking to my admirers, Ivo.”
“Are they many?”
“Aye, legion!”
“Briar—” He had gone too far; his fears for her safety had eroded his good sense. It was Miles’s fault. Miles had always managed to destroy his equilibrium. Now he was working on corroding Ivo’s feelings for Briar, and he was not even there.
“Do you not think I sing well, Ivo?”
She looked so cross, and yet there was a vulnerability in her eyes that broke his heart. His woman had suffered, and it made him so angry and determined that it not happen again. He forgot for a moment what Miles’s presence meant to his ability as Briar’s protector, and concentrated on soothing her feelings.
“No, demoiselle, I do not,” he began.
“Oh!” She glared up at him. “At least your brother knows how to compliment me properly.”
His heart went cold. He felt it turn to ice in his chest, and knew his face was white. Whatever she saw in him frightened her, for she backed a step, catching her breath. But in a moment she had lifted her chin, trying to be brave.
“What do you know of Miles, demoiselle?” he asked her, and his voice was deadly quiet.
If you tell my brother you are meeting me, he will stop you from coming.
Briar knew now that Miles had spoken the truth. Ivo would never allow her to meet Miles alone. But her curiosity was now too strong for her not to do so. There was something putrid, something foul between Ivo and his brother, and it was time it was brought out into the open air.
“Demoiselle?” He was waiting, and his black eyes burned.
“Nothing,” she retorted. “I know nothing about your brother. I only meant that he was chivalrous.”
“Miles is nothing to do with you. Leave that matter alone.”
“Leave what matter, Ivo?” she cried, and to her shame her voice broke. Now he had made her cry! She turned her back on him and walked out into the night. She would walk home, alone with her hurt. She would never trouble him again. Aye, he could drown in his own bad temper.
“Demoiselle?”
He had followed her, his voice warm in the darkness, almost tentative. Was he sorry? Had he come to apologize? Briar slowed and stopped, but did not turn around.
“Demoiselle, when I said I did not think you sang well, you misunderstood me. ‘Well’ is too mean a word for your voice. You sing like an angel. Each time I listen to you, it is as if my heart overflows and washes me clean.”
He meant it. Briar felt emotion well up within her, and the easy tears trickled down her cheeks. How could she doubt him? How could she deceive him, even if she meant only good by him? He needed her help, aye, but she should not go about it behind his back.
Briar turned, stiffening her own back and preparing to tell him about Miles…
He slid his arms about her and held her against him. Just held her. As if she were the most precious thing in his
life.
Briar could not remember being held in such a way, not since she was a child. And she liked it, she liked it very much. ’Twas a fine thing to be strong, to be the shield behind which everyone else sheltered, but there were times when even the strong needed to be held and comforted. And Ivo seemed to understand that. There was no weakness in leaning against his big body, no shame in it.
For he needed her as much as she needed him.
“Ivo?”
Sweyn was approaching, and Ivo sighed. He looked a moment into her eyes, as if trying to memorize her face, then he turned to his friend. Briar noticed that Mary was also there, wrapped in her cloak, standing a little behind the Dane. As if she were using him as a shelter against the wind, Briar thought with weary amusement.
“Mary is tired,” Sweyn said. “Will we take them home now?”
Ivo nodded. “Aye. I will leave that to you and Lord Radulf’s men.” He glanced at Briar as he spoke, adding, “We have more men at our disposal, so you will be safely guarded until we can wed.”
Extra men? Briar wondered at it, but she had more important things to speak about.
“Will you not take me home, Ivo?”
He stroked her cheek, gently, sadly. As if he were saying goodbye. The thought terrified her.
“I have something to do, my lady. Do not worry, I will see you tomorrow.”
“Ivo…?”
But he had turned away, moving back into the hall.
“Where is he going?” Briar demanded of Sweyn, making the question an order.
Sweyn hesitated, before answering, “He is seeking his brother, lady. They have unfinished business.”
Doubts assailed her once more, but she forced them back. Unfinished business could mean anything. And Ivo had looked so sad, as if more than anything in the world he wanted to find Miles and make up the rift between them. Briar hugged her arms about herself, shivering in the cold. She would feel the same, if she were at war with one of her sisters. She would be grateful to anyone who could help her repair the damage. ’Twas as well she had not told Ivo after all. Aye, she was doing the right thing by agreeing to meet Miles tomorrow.