by Sara Bennett
“I am a fool, demoiselle. Your opinion of me cannot matter if you are dead by Miles’s hand. Better you look upon me with loathing than I never see your smile again.”
Briar stared at him in dismay. “Ivo? You make me uneasy with such talk. Tell me what you mean?”
Dark eyes moved intently over her face. As if, she thought, he were fixing her in his mind, remembering every little detail, as if he expected never to see her again. Briar’s fear grew, trembling over her skin like butterfly wings, until she barely felt the cold outside for the cold inside herself.
At last he seemed to make up his mind.
“Come,” he said abruptly, and held out his hand. “I will take you to Lord Radulf.”
Radulf!
Briar could not hide her shocked surprise. Radulf, her enemy, the man she had hated for so long, had wanted to revenge herself on for so long. Could she go there now, and look upon him, without all those old memories surfacing? But Ivo needed her, and he was waiting. Ivo, her husband to be, the father of her child, was in some desperate trouble. Ivo, the man she loved above all others, even above herself.
Which was the more important? Her old memories and longing for revenge—the past—or Ivo, her future?
Briar reached out and placed her fingers in his.
Chapter 13
Lord Radulf was surrounded by important men. Some were allies in his fight with northern rebels, some were vassals, and some were simply there to hear what he had to say.
Ivo recognized a dozen or more as he passed, his hand firm on Briar’s arm. Lord Henry clapped him on the back, and gave Briar an interested stare. Ivo drew her protectively closer, feeling the tension in her body thrumming through her, as if she were one of the strings on Mary’s harp.
She was afraid. This was not safe ground for her. But despite that, she straightened her back and lifted her chin and prepared herself to face her father’s old enemy.
Ivo admired her more than he could say. She was beautiful and brave, and she deserved to be held close and dear, to live a long and happy life. She deserved to be cherished, to have her children about her. But Ivo also knew, with an impotent sense of rage and frustration, that if Miles got hold of her, he would kill her. Kill her despite all her courage and fiery temper. Aye, Miles would kill her and enjoy doing it, and he had come so close to doing it today.
Today, when Ivo had finally accepted that he was no longer able to protect her without help. As much as he wanted to do this alone, he could not afford his pride. It was a risk too great.
Miles almost took her from me.
The rage was deep inside him, a core of molten fury, but he held it back, kept it in check, surrounded it with ice. There would be time enough to let it free when he came face-to-face with Miles. This time, he swore to himself, Miles would not win. This time he would be ready for all his tricks.
But for now Ivo needed to bind Briar more tightly to him, and right soon. And he needed someone to stand behind him. Someone with a great deal of power, someone who was not afraid of anything or anyone.
Lord Radulf was that man.
Radulf would watch over her, if Ivo should perish—and the doubt was there, that little niggling voice, no matter how hard he tried to shout it down. For every other time they had met, Miles had won. Aye, it was possible he might die, and if he did, then Radulf would make sure that Briar did not wander starving in the hedgerows as she had done these two years past. The thought of leaving her worse off than he had found her was far more painful than the thought of Miles ending his life.
Radulf glanced up from his conversation. When he saw Ivo and Briar, his gaze sharpened, and then he simply waited for them to reach him.
Briar saw a man with dark hair and eyes similar to Ivo’s, but other than that they were not at all the same. Whereas Ivo’s face was angular and fierce, Radulf’s was battered and brutal.
This was the great Lord Radulf, the King’s Sword. She swallowed in her dry throat. Aye, here was a man to scare children up and down the countryside. Mayhap the legends were true…
Ivo spoke. “My lord, this is Briar, once Lady Briar, daughter of Lord Richard Kenton.”
Radulf nodded to Ivo, but he watched her. And while he watched, he stroked his chin with one long finger. There was a ring upon his hand, a heavy red and black ring.
“Lady, I knew your father,” he said at last, in a voice low and husky, and she waited, heart thumping, for the accusations to begin. “I deeply regret what happened to him.”
Surprised, Briar faced him in silence. She had been ready to retaliate, to accuse him in turn of destroying her father and her family. Now he had made her think again.
For so long she had believed one thing, but gradually Ivo had turned her mind to other possibilities, and clouded her certainties with doubts. Nothing was as simple as she had believed it. Just as the fairytale love affair she had thought existed between her father and Anna wasn’t real. Anna had never loved him, she had used him, and he had clung to her despite all.
“You knew my stepmother,” she said, and the words were harsh and uncompromising. Ivo’s fingers tightened a warning, and she added, “My lord,” with a reluctance that made Radulf’s lips twitch.
“Anna was my stepmother, too, lady. Did you know that?”
Briar had not. She stared, startled by the revelation, and not quite sure what to make of it.
“She married my father and destroyed him, although I take some blame for that. Do not mistake, I was not innocent in the matter. She cast her lure, but I was quick to take the bait. My father never forgave me. He was blind with love for her, and did not want his face pushed into the reeking truth. Aye, lady, my life was a ragged thing, until I met Lily.”
He smiled, and it was a smile at once sweet and sad, and suddenly he did not look so much brutal as tired.
“’Twas Lily who gave me the strength once and for all to break with Anna, for even though I had not seen her for many years, she had remained a part of my mind. Hatred for her, and myself, had worked on me, eating into me.” He leaned closer, as if confiding in her. “I know what hatred is, Lady Briar.”
Briar tried to meet his eyes and could not. He knew. He had looked into her heart and read it so well, as if she had told him exactly how she had spent the last two years of her life. Radulf knew. And it was a terrifying thought…but it was also a relief.
Her own voice came out a little hoarse, but still strong. The loss of that final strand of her dark plot had not diminished her, if anything it had strengthened her and set her free.
“I have learned there were many who had reason to hate Anna, or wish her out of their way. She played with the emotions, my lord, and sometimes that is a dangerous thing to do.”
“Aye, Anna enjoyed danger,” he said, thoughtful, frowning a little. “Some men are more vulnerable inside than others, and because of that they are more likely to strike, to kill rather than to wound. But I did not hurt her, lady. I did not need to. I had Lily, and I had put Anna’s evil behind me. You must look elsewhere for your murderer.”
Ivo shuffled his feet, and Radulf glanced at him questioningly.
“You have someone in mind, de Vessey?”
“Miles, Lord Radulf.”
Radulf stroked his chin, and the red stones in the black ring dazzled in the candlelight. “You see Miles in the role of Anna’s murderer? Would he kill a woman?”
Ivo’s face turned grim, but there was resignation there, too. As if the extent of his brother’s evil was so well known to him, it had ceased to surprise him.
“Miles would cut a woman’s throat as easily as he would snuff a candle, my lord. If she threatened him, or he felt he had made a mistake in joining with her, then he would kill her. If he was tired of her, or she had made him angry, or inadequate in some way, then he would kill her. My lord,” and his voice was so heavy with bitterness that Briar tightened her grip on his hand, “if a woman failed to smile at Miles when he smiled at her, he would kill her.”
“He has cau
sed you great suffering,” Radulf said, and there was understanding in his voice. “’Tis time you dealt with your brother, Ivo.”
“I know it, lord. That moment is fast approaching, and I think even had I wanted to, I would not be able to avoid it. I must fight him, and this time the fight will end with one of us dying.”
Briar made a little sound, but neither man glanced at her. They were intent upon each other, and the words Ivo had just spoken.
“I think I would prefer it if you lived, Ivo,” Radulf said with grave humor.
“So would I,” Ivo agreed, “but Miles is cunning, and he has no conscience. He has always beaten me before.”
Radulf grew intent. “But not this time. You are ready for him now, Ivo, and you will give no quarter. You will destroy him.”
Ivo nodded, but Briar felt his uncertainty like a dark cloud about him. Jesu, did he really think he would die? Was that why they were here, so that he could give her into Radulf’s keeping? Suddenly she knew it to be true.
“I would ask something of you, my lord,” he was saying now. “I wish to wed the Lady Briar as soon as possible. I need to keep her close, and I can only do that if she is my wife. But if I do wed her, if I show him by doing that how much I treasure her, then Miles will hunt her even harder. And if I am dead, my lord, if I can no longer protect her from him, then I beg that you will take her into your care.”
“Ivo,” Briar whispered, longing for him to stop speaking as if he were already cold and in his grave. It would not happen, it would not! Not if Briar had anything to do with it.
Radulf smiled. “I know that desperate feeling well, de Vessey. Aye, marry her on the morrow. We will have the wedding here, and then we can make a celebration of it. That should show Miles you expect to live a long and happy life, and do not even think of failure. Does that suit you, Lady Briar?”
“I will not wed just to be safe, my lord,” Briar said, her face stiff with the effort not to cry.
“Briar,” Ivo murmured, and turned her to face him, ignoring the interested stares of Radulf’s men. “Miles hates me, and he knows you are my weakness. Wed me, please. Let me protect you and the babe. Let Lord Radulf protect you. I need to know you are safe.”
She gazed unflinchingly into his dark eyes. “Will you tell me what is between you and Miles, if I agree?”
He didn’t want to, she could see he didn’t want to, but he would. Resignation drained his face of emotion. “Aye, demoiselle, I will tell you all. I swear it. I should have trusted you before. Between us there can be no secrets.”
Secrets.
He was right. No secrets. And yet Briar had kept one vital secret from Ivo all this time. Filby. He knew who Filby was, she had told him, but he did not know the whole story. She had not trusted Ivo enough to open up her sore heart to him. Could she really demand honesty from him and not give him the same?
She was a woman despoiled. She must in all honor give him the chance to step away from her, if that was what he wished. Though it broke her heart and made her babe fatherless, she would not wed Ivo if he did not truly want her.
They were all waiting for her to speak, but it was to Radulf she turned.
“I would beg some moments alone with Ivo, my lord, before I answer.”
Radulf nodded. “Very well. There must be a chamber free for your use in this large house. Sometimes it feels very empty to me, but then I miss my wife. Girl!” he called out, impatient with the servants, or himself. A maid came scurrying forward for his instructions.
“These two require privacy, see to it.”
The maidservant had lit a candle, but its yellow light did little to hold back the shadows.
Filby.
Tears filled her eyes. Not for remembered hurt, although that was certainly there. Tears of self-pity, and for what Ivo would think of her. Until now he had thought so well of her, despite her foolish mistake where Miles was concerned. Briar was vain enough not to want his admiration eroded by such a one as Filby.
“Demoiselle.”
That wonderful voice, the heat of him at her back, his strong hands coming to rest upon her waist. Briar had not comprehended how much she had missed his care and concern until he had withdrawn it from her, and now it was back in full force.
Or was he just being kind?
She had not understood until now how very kind Ivo was. He smiled at shy Mary, and took time to bolster her confidence; he indulged Briar with her swordplay, when he could have put an end to it with one thrust of his blade. He made certain she was safe, and when she was ill he held her and bathed her brow.
Aye, he was kind. But was kindness what she wanted from him now? Did she want a marriage based on kindness? Or would guilt and unhappiness destroy them?
Briar knew she would rather know the truth now, that he had not really wanted her, than marry him and live in dread ever after…
“What is it you need to tell me, Briar?” he asked her gently, his breath warm against her chestnut hair.
She turned and looked up at him, trying to be brave, trying to be calm. “I will speak, Ivo, but afterward you must promise me that if you do not wish to wed me, that you will tell me so?”
He laughed shakily, as if he had never heard anything less likely. “Aye, never fear, I will tell you so.”
“This is something,” she began, but to her dismay her voice wavered. But no tears; she would not cry. She would not gain his consent through pity. “Do you remember Filby? My betrothed?”
He frowned. “I remember he would not help you when you needed help most desperately.”
“When word of the gravity of our situation reached me, I believed I had no option but to beg Filby for his help. I went to his gate and pleaded with him to support us. We had been abandoned and he was to marry me. I believed he would come to our rescue. I could not understand why he was suddenly so cold.”
Ivo was watching her, and a sour smile twisted his mouth. “He was concerned for his own skin. Go on.”
“When he refused to help us, I thought…I believed that if I gave myself to him, then he would feel obliged to help. He would owe it to me. And mayhap he would remember what he had felt for me, before my father turned traitor against the king. So I offered him my body, and he agreed.”
Ivo’s eyes were burning like black stars. Was his anger for Filby, or herself? Briar flinched beneath their stare, turning her face away so that she would not see the expression in them.
“I did not enjoy it, do not think that. It was not like you and me. He took me without care or consideration, not brutally, I will say that, but without feeling, as if I were no longer a person to him. Afterward I thought ’twas the way of all men. And I believed that, although I had been humiliated and soiled, at least Filby would have to help us. He would have to.”
She bit her lip, waiting until the tremble in her voice had subsided again.
“But he didn’t help us. He sent me away instead. And then, when he came to Castle Kenton, to take our home from us, he offered to let us remain there as his prisoners. But I knew what he meant to make of me, and that I could not stay. So we left.”
His breath sounded quick and shallow. When Briar dared at last to look at him, she saw that he had closed his eyes, and his skin had paled. He appeared to be suffering under some terrible affliction. Jesu, was he ill?
“Ivo?” she cried, and reached out. But she did not quite dare to touch him. She did not know if she still had the right. The tears clogged her voice, and made it difficult to speak. “I am so sorry, Ivo. If you do not want to wed me now, I will understand it. I will do as you wish. Ivo, please speak to me. Ivo…?”
He opened his eyes. They blazed with black fire. He was so angry! That was the terrible emotion he was struggling with—anger. Swallowing, Briar stared, wondering if he meant to kill her on the spot.
“Do you know what I wish, Briar?” he said, and he leaned forward so suddenly that she jumped. But he only took her hands hard in his. “I wish Filby were not already dead,
so that I could kill him over and over again for what he did to you. And then I wish I could turn time back and come riding to Castle Kenton with my friends, Gunnar Olafson and Alfred, Sweyn and Reynard and Ethelred, and save you and your sisters from the past.”
He wasn’t angry with her, Briar realized, relieved. Of course he was not! He was angry with Filby, and her heart soared with joy. She gave a hic-cupping laugh.
“You cannot save me from the past, Ivo, though that would be my wish, too. If I had seen you come to save me, two years ago, everything would have been different.”
“I know,” he whispered. He drew her into his arms, gently, yet both of them trembling with emotion. “Ah God, I know it.”
“You might not have liked me then,” she began, tentatively. “I was very arrogant, Ivo.”
He smiled into her hair. “I would have loved you, demoiselle, just as I do now.”
Briar clung on to him, weeping softly, until Filby had finally been cried away. Ivo does not want to abandon me. He is angry at Filby. It does not matter to his pride that I gave away my body in good faith to such a man. He cares only for me, that I was hurt. Me!
He loves me.
Briar pressed her lips to his throat, and Ivo groaned softly, drawing her yet closer.
“Ivo?”
“Aye, Briar.”
She kissed him again, then took a deep breath. “I have told you my last remaining secret, Ivo. You know them all. I have no more. Now you must share yours with me.”
Ivo tensed but did not let her go. If anything, he held her tighter, clinging to her now, as she had clung to him.
“Ivo? You have said that you love me, Ivo. You must tell me. Whatever it is, it cannot be as bad as Filby.”
Ivo sighed, opening his eyes to stare into nothing, into the past. And Briar could tell that it was more dark and bitter than any she could imagine.
But she was right, she knew it. The time had come for him to share with her the darkness of his soul.
“Mary?”
Mary looked up, wane-faced and miserable.