by Sara Bennett
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head, tears sparkling in her lashes like pearls. “Where is Briar?”
Sweyn moved closer, carefully, as if he were afraid of what she might do. Or was it himself he was afraid of? “Ivo has taken her to Lord Radulf. All will be well, Mary. Ivo will take care of your sister, never doubt that. He is an honorable man.”
“But why are they gone so long?”
Sweyn sat down beside her. “They are arguing. You know what they are like. Or else they are making up their argument, with kisses and cuddles.”
Some of the anguish left her eyes as she considered that. Then it returned. “I should have stopped her from going to meet Ivo’s brother. What if he had hurt her?”
Sweyn brushed her cheek with his thumb, feeling her soft, silky skin against his own rough flesh. “Stopped Briar?” he teased her gently. “Can any of us do that, Mary?”
She met his eyes, a steel determination in her own he had never seen before. “I could, Sweyn. I am stronger than I thought.”
Sweyn looked into her sweet, serious face and knew in a single instant that he was doomed. His carefree, roving days were done. Over. For all time.
The words formed in his throat and he tried to hold them back, but it was like sweating chain mail. If he did not speak them, he would choke.
“I love you, Mary.”
She stared, as well she might, and for a terrible moment he wondered if she would reject him. And then she gave a brilliant smile and said, “Are you sure?”
He nodded, jerkily, feeling light-headed with relief. “Aye. I don’t understand why this has happened now, after all these years, but I love you, Mary.”
She reached up and cupped his face, smiling into his blue eyes.
“Then all is well, Sweyn.”
“I hope so, Mary,” he said, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “You have turned me into a new man, and I am not sure about him yet. But I know one thing, my lady. I will not take your innocence without a priest’s blessing.”
Mary sighed and shook her head with mock disappointment. “Where is the adventure in that, Sweyn?”
“The old Sweyn would not have hesitated to bed you, lady, but the new one will not. Take it or leave it, the choice is yours.”
Mary smiled, a slow and very satisfied smile. “I will take it. Now please kiss me, and properly this time.”
Sweyn laughed, and some of his old arrogance was in it. “Oh, I will kiss you properly, Mary. I will do that.”
Bending his head he captured her mouth with his, drawing his last and forever love into the heady world of passion.
Chapter 14
She did not know what she asked.
Ivo leaned back, so that he could see the yellow candlelight reflecting in her hair. Her eyes were so deep, like a forest glade, somewhere to take shelter and to rest. If only that were so, Ivo knew he would remain here with her forever.
But she was watching him; she was waiting.
Briar had made it sound so simple a thing, for him to tell her his secrets. But it was not. There was nothing simple about it. Ivo rarely shared those most painful of memories with anyone. The past was messy, and his was messier than most.
“Ivo,” she said gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, where the bruise was fading to a dull shadow. “When I was a little child you came to my aid. You picked me up and held me in your arms, and I loved you. I followed you about, do you remember?”
He half smiled at the memory. “I do, Briar. You were beautiful then, too. I gave you my heart, and you have it still.”
“Then do you really think I would harm your heart? Do you really believe I would do that, after you have given me so much? What could be so bad that it would make me turn from you now?”
He tilted his head and kissed her fingers, but the bleakness had returned to his eyes.
“My brother hates me,” he said, as if with an effort, and drew her close against him so that he could rest his chin upon her soft hair. “I don’t know why he hates me, but he always has. I used to think that it was my fault, that I had done something wrong, and I tried harder to be a better brother because of it. But it didn’t matter what I did, he found fault, he derided me, he looked at me with the eyes of loathing. I learned at an early age, that no matter what I did, Miles would still hate me.”
The words were coming easier now, as if a door had opened inside him. Ivo let them flow, forgetting where he was and who was listening, letting himself journey back into his boyhood.
“Miles is the elder son, and our father loved him. I was never favored above him, I was never given more than he. There was no reason. He could have made so much of his life, and instead he had made it his ambition to torment me. Sometimes it was as if my mere presence was enough, and he bitterly resented me for it. Perhaps he wanted to be the only son, perhaps it was as simple, as impossible, as that.
“I was told once that, when I was a babe and he was a boy, he took me up onto the roof and held me over the drop to the ground. ’Twas only my mother’s threats to tell our father that made him spare me. Afterward, she kept a closer watch upon me, and our father told Miles that if anything were to happen to me, he would send him far away and I would inherit all. But there were still accidents. Small things—a cut here, a fall there, a knock—nothing that could be proved as being done on purpose. One of Miles’s tricks was to ride at me with his pony, and miss me by a hairsbreadth. After a time I learned to stand perfectly still and pretend not to mind. He did not intend to knock me down, not then, he feared our father still. His pleasure was all in frightening me, terrifying me, making my life a misery. I learned to be brave from an early age.
“Perhaps that was one of the reasons I was sent away to be a squire in your household.” He squeezed her gently, feeling her living warmth in his arms. She returned the pressure but said nothing, afraid perhaps to interrupt him now that he had begun.
“Though I missed my home, after a time I grew to love being in the Kenton household. Your family was so different. No one was favored above any other; no one was hurt for just being themselves. And there was no Miles.”
“I am glad you were happy,” she murmured, her voice husky. “I am glad my family gave you that, Ivo.”
They were silent a moment, remembering. And then Ivo sighed, and said, “But then my father died, and I returned home. And my happy days were done. Miles was waiting for me, and now there was no one to rein him in.”
“But why, Ivo? Why does he hate you so?” Her eyes were wide, compassionate, as she leaned back in his arms to look up at him. Briar, the pampered daughter, the beloved of her father, would never have understood, although she may have sympathized. But this Briar had suffered too—he had seen it in her eyes that first night. She had been hurt, and she had survived. Just like Ivo.
Mayhap that was why he loved her so much.
He drew her gently back against his chest, smoothing the fingers of his gloved hand through her hair, soaking up her warmth as if he were frozen. She had opened his heart once, when he had thought all chance of love was dead. Perhaps she could do it again…
“When I was eleven, Miles and I were mock-fighting with our wooden swords. I could beat him, and he hated me all the more for it. And the more he showed his hate for me, the better it felt to beat him. The old soldier who watched over us at such times took sick, and in the confusion we were left alone. That was when Miles thought it would be a good idea to use real swords.
“I was not afraid of him when it came to swordplay—I was bigger and stronger than him already. So I agreed, and we found our swords, and we began to fight. But it was no longer a game, Briar. It was no longer practice. Miles was fighting me in earnest, and I realized I was not as good at defending myself as I had thought. He beat me back, and when I held up my sword to block him, he sliced not at the blade but at my hand upon the hilt. I lost three fingers.”
“Jesu, Ivo…”
“I was half fainting
with the pain of it, sure he would kill me now. But instead he lifted me up from the ground, and called for help, as if it had been an accident. I was in agony, swooning, blood soaking into my clothes and dripping onto the ground. I looked up into his face and he was smiling. Now, he said, there can be only one knight in the de Vessey family.
Briar, face pressed to his chest, was trembling violently. “He was a monster.”
“Aye, he was. But he was content afterward, he left me alone. He thought he had won, at last.”
“But he had not?” She asked the question eagerly, and despite himself, Ivo smiled.
“No, he had not. I healed. Everyone doubted I would ever wield a sword again, but that only made me all the more determined to do so. I practiced and my mother had a glove made, of steel and leather, that helped me to grip the hilt of my sword without it slipping. And in time I could fight just as well as any man, and better than most. When Miles understood he had failed, he was furious. And he became even more determined to best me, to hurt me, to wound my mind and my heart, as well as my body.”
“Because you conquered him, Ivo. You were too strong for him, and he hated you for it.”
Ivo felt her tears on his skin, warm and wet, like a benediction.
He could stop now, he thought, and she would never know the worst part. But he would know, and suddenly he could not bear it. He wanted her to hear all, he wanted to rid himself of the taint of his brother. More than anything, he just wanted to be free.
“I had a sister. She was my sister, the child of my mother and not Miles’s mother. She was older than me but younger than Miles, and he seemed fond of her, or perhaps he was just indifferent. Whatever he felt, he had never tried to hurt her as he did me. Her name was Matilda, and she was sweet and gentle and serious. A little like your sister Mary.
“When my mother died, Miles decided Matilda should wed. She was fifteen years, and old enough. He took me aside and told me what he had planned for her, and when I wept and begged him nay, he laughed. He had discovered my weakness, you see. He had known that he could threaten and hurt me all he wanted, but I would always survive and grow stronger. He had realized it was more painful for me if he turned his evil attentions to those I loved. And I loved my sister.”
Ivo’s voice was bleak, as though he stood on the brink of an abyss. His chest ached, and even the feel of Briar in his arms could not stanch the agony of his memories.
Get it over with. Say it, and then you will know if she loves you enough to stay…
“He had found a man who was rich and powerful, someone whose suitability no one could object to on those grounds. Indeed, it was a good match for Matilda. But this rich and powerful man was brutal. He was a man who knew only how to kill and had lost the ability to love, if he had ever known it. Matilda was too young and gentle to deal with a man like that, and she begged him to change his mind. But Miles was now the head of the family, and he insisted. She fought him with tears and pleadings, but he stood firm. He probably enjoyed that.”
Briar had gone still in dread, and yet still she hoped the outcome of his story would be different. He heard it in her voice when she asked, “Could you not have stopped this marriage, Ivo?”
“I tried. We ran away. We got several leagues before Miles caught us and took us home. He ordered his men to hold me and he beat me until I was unconscious, and while I was helpless, he forced Matilda to marry her brutal husband. He told me, when I woke and she was gone, that he had threatened her with my death if she did not comply. So he used our love against each other.”
“She sent me messages,” he went on, absently stroking Briar’s long hair. “She said it was not so bad. But I heard from others that her husband treated her like an animal, worse, for he believed his animals to be of some use and so he kept them in good health. Matilda was nothing to him, once he had her. He saw her gentleness as weakness and tried to beat it out of her. When she could stand it no more, she ran away and came home, seeking sanctuary.”
“Thank God…”
“Miles wouldn’t allow it. He was angry, and he sent word to her husband to come and fetch her. Matilda was frantic. She begged me to help her. And I tried, Briar. I tried. I made plans for her to go into hiding, and I had horses ready. But her husband came too soon. When we heard him at the gate, I saw the look in Miles’s eyes and I knew if we fought he would kill one of us. I told Matilda she should give herself up. I thought, as long as we lived, I could save her. But she screamed that I had forsaken her, and ran and locked herself in her bedchamber and refused to come out.”
Ivo’s gaze blurred, and he had to swallow the lump in his throat to continue. After all these years, the anguish, the guilt, were as fresh as ever.
“Miles laughed and said that would not save her. So then I fought with him, Briar. I did my best. But there were too many of them. Miles always had his loyal followers—the dregs of the district, those willing to do anything for coin. He laughed again when they held me, so I could see when Matilda’s husband came for her. Miles set him onto her, urging him to do his worst. He didn’t need any urging, he was like a maddened bull. He smashed at the door with his fists and his sword, roaring, while Matilda screamed out her terror. When he finally broke down the door, he was so full of rage and bloodlust, that he couldn’t stop. He killed her in front of us.”
“Oh, Ivo, oh, Ivo,” Briar whispered brokenly into the warm skin of his throat. Her hands clung to him, but he didn’t take comfort from that. She would soon be pushing him away.
“Miles explained it to me, when I could listen again. It was simply bad luck, he said. A husband had a right to take his wife home, and if Matilda had not refused, then she would be alive now. So, he told me, it was her fault, really. And mine, for making her believe I could save her when…when I could not. When I was just too weak to help my only sister. And she had seen it, at the end, and hated me for it.”
Briar wiped her eyes and shook her head.
“If I’d been able to get her away sooner, perhaps I could have saved her,” Ivo whispered, speaking the words that had been with him for so many years. “If only I hadn’t forsaken her at the end, if I hadn’t told her to go with her brute of a husband. She looked at me in such a way, with such betrayal in her eyes. And I did betray her. I know it now, but at the time I thought only of saving her life. But now I know that there are worse things than dying.”
Her eyes flew to his. He saw the very moment the doubt appeared in them. As he turned away, Ivo felt as if his heart had quietly broken in two.
“I am not fit to be a brother or a husband or anything else. Think twice before you promise to wed me, for though I might swear to protect you, I cannot know what I will do when it comes to the point. Miles might come and I might fail you. Fail you, as I failed Matilda.”
Her step behind him, her hand on his arm. “Ivo,” she whispered, her voice shaking with tears. “Ivo, you will not fail me. You have never failed me. I trust you with my life, just as Matilda did. It was neither your fault nor hers that such a tragedy happened. How can you blame yourself for it?”
“Nay!” he said, and his voice broke with emotion. “She is dead because of me.”
“She would not blame you—”
“You do not know the rest, lady. Let me tell you the rest,” he blurted out, bitterness curdling inside him. “After I had left my home, Miles squandered all he had, and was forced to hire out his knightly services for money. One day I arrived to take my place with a baron hiring men, and found my brother also there.
“He begged me to forgive him. He said he wanted the past forgotten. He said his heart was sore because of what had happened to Matilda. And I believed him.”
“You wanted to believe him, Ivo,” she said quietly, her fingers stroking his sleeve. He could feel her trying to see his face, but he turned it into the shadows.
“It was all a lie,” he went on bleakly. “He just wanted to destroy the only thing of value I had left. He tricked me, and lost me my knighthood.
He lied, and I believed him. I betrayed Matilda all over again.” His voice rose and broke.
“He lied, Ivo. Aye, he lied.”
“I should never have believed him…”
“You cannot help your nature.” She slipped her cool fingers under his chin and gently but firmly turned his face toward hers. The tears were hot on his cheeks, and he tried to pull away, but she would not allow it. She gazed up at him, compassionately, lovingly, understandingly. Ivo went very still.
“Ivo, you think the best of people. You want to believe in them. You wanted to believe that Miles had changed, because you are yourself a good man. Evil is as foreign to you as cowardice. It defeated you because you could not comprehend it. Oh my love, Matilda came to you because of who you were, who you are. Do not condemn yourself and her because a single moment of fear made her say things that were untrue.”
She stretched up and kissed his lips, her own so gentle.
“You are a good man, Ivo, and that is the reason that Miles hates you. Because you are good, and people love you, and they will never love him.”
Suddenly the strength went out of him. He sagged, and she caught him in her arms, steadying him. Ivo gave a ragged sigh, and dropped his head to her breast, and she wrapped him close, rocking him gently as if he were a child.
“I nearly died then,” he muttered. “I wandered in the forests with the outlaws. If Gunnar Olafson hadn’t found me, I would have died. He gave me back a life. But, lady, you have given me back my heart.”
For a long time Ivo lay his head against her, savoring her comfort, feeling the bitterness leaking out of him. It was not something that she could repair in an hour, or a day, or perhaps not even a year. But Ivo knew she would make him whole, one day. And the knowledge gave him a wonderful sense of peace and tranquillity, something he had not felt since he was a young squire, in the Kenton household.
After a time Briar took his face in her hands, lifting him so that she could look into his eyes. He blinked at her as if he had been sleeping, and she shook him gently, to catch his full attention. Her voice when she spoke was deadly serious.