by Sara Bennett
“You must not trust him again, Ivo. No matter what he tells you, no matter what he says, you must not believe it. You must never soften to him. He is evil through and through, and for such as he there is no redemption in this world.”
Ivo’s eyes were alert and fierce, staring into hers. “He has maimed me, murdered my beloved sister and had me disgraced, and now he has turned his attentions to you. It is enough. I will not risk your life, Briar, that is why I have asked Lord Radulf for his help. I do not trust myself alone, but I trust him.”
She stroked his cheek.
“I have wondered often why he wants me dead. It may be as you say, and he hates me because he cannot be me, and yet…Perhaps, until I am dead, he will never be free of our joint memories. I know him better than any other person, and while I live he cannot pretend to be other than what he is. I am his conscience, Briar, and while I am alive, I will always be watching him and judging him and reminding him of what he is.”
Briar nodded slowly, tracing the shape of his lips with her fingertips. “He is so much lesser than you, Ivo, and he would resent it, and in time resentment might grow into a hatred so intense it becomes unstoppable.”
“I will have to kill him,” Ivo said quietly. “My brother, my own blood. I will have to fight him and win. He must die, for your sake, and the sake of our babe.”
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth, slowly, gently. Worshiping her. He tasted the salt of tears and the warmth of her love. She came into his arms, willingly, and it was as if there were no boundaries dividing them. No secrets.
He was free. And it was a heady thought, after all these years.
The rain was light outside, but here inside their cozy dwelling by the river, it was warm. Briar drank down the brew Jocelyn had concocted for her, and felt her stomach settle. Her nausea was passing, or mayhap she was just growing more resigned to it.
Ivo had brought her back to her cottage, but there were men to guard her. He had not wanted to let her out of Lord Radulf’s house, but she had insisted.
“We are not wed yet, Ivo. It will be soon enough then for you to manage my life. But for now, I will go home, thank you, and prepare myself to become your wife. Besides, I have my sisters to tell. I want to spend my last evening with them.”
And she had had her way.
Odo sat by the fire, silent, staring into the flames with his lopsided face as if he were a foreigner in a foreign land and they were all strangers. Against the door, two of Radulf’s men sat, trying to look alert as they did guard duty. Mary was asleep by the fire, her face peaceful. Earlier, she had glowed with happiness, exchanging foolish grins with Sweyn, as if they were all alone.
“He loves me,” she had whispered to Briar.
And Briar had finally pushed aside her doubts. Sweyn was a good man—he must be, if he was Ivo’s friend. Mary would be all right, and she was strong. Briar had not realized how strong her sister was, how quickly she had grown up since they arrived in York.
’Twas just as well perhaps, for soon Briar would have a family of her own to take care of.
Mary had been overjoyed at Briar’s news, but a little sad, too. “But does that mean you will leave York now, Briar? That you will go south with Ivo?”
Briar had not thought that far ahead, and did not intend to. Time enough later to worry about where they would finally settle. And somewhat to her own surprise, she comprehended that although she would miss her sisters, it was Ivo she wanted to be with, needed to be with. Wherever Ivo was, that would be her true home.
Tonight Ivo had been required at Radulf’s hall, to drink ale with Sweyn and pretend to commiserate over his soon to be vanquished single days. He had gone for Sweyn’s sake rather than his own, and to discuss with Radulf plans to trap Miles into coming into the open. Radulf had begun to turn York inside out in the search for Ivo’s brother, but as yet there had been no sign of him. However they had discovered the men Miles had hired the night he rode at Ivo in the laneway. They were part of the castle garrison, and were to be punished for lending themselves out to a felon.
“You are fortunate in your Ivo.” Jocelyn met her eyes now with a smile. She had hugged Briar tightly when she was told of the impending wedding. “You see,” she had said. “My plan was a good one after all. You made the man so crazy for you, he wants to marry you.”
“How am I fortunate in Ivo, sister?” Briar asked dreamily. She presently felt so content that she felt as if she might actually float. How had it happened that the most terrible mistake of her life had turned into the best decision she had ever made?
“He wants to wed you, and not just because of the babe. He wants to wed you because you are Briar. The man is wild for you. I see it in the way he looks at you. I have seen looks like that before. Possessive, wanting, barely restrained. Aye, sister, you are fortunate indeed.”
Briar turned to her in surprise, for Jocelyn’s voice had been trembling. She did not doubt Jocelyn was pleased for her, but mayhap her happiness had brought back memories of Jocelyn’s own early days of marriage. Days that could never now be repeated.
“Is that how Odo once looked at you, sister?” she asked quietly.
Jocelyn smiled. “Once, aye.” And then her eyes went hard. “Trust me in this, Briar, when I say you must take hold of your good fortune with both hands. Do not hold yourself back. Do not be afraid to give yourself wholly to him, to take what he offers you. Sometimes your time is much shorter than you imagine.”
It was a warning, but well meant. And yet Briar, lying upon her bed later, wondered at her elder sister’s strangeness. Had Jocelyn really been thinking of her own happiness, when Odo was whole? Odo had loved her, Briar was certain of that, and Jocelyn had loved him. Then why had her sister’s eyes been so angry, so unsatisfied? As if she felt she had been duped of her full share.
Am I holding myself back?
Briar didn’t think so. Ivo knew about Filby now, and she knew about Miles and Matilda. Briar’s need for vengeance had vanished, erased by other more important matters. She didn’t want to spend her life hating, or wasting her precious moments of happiness in dark thoughts. She had Ivo and their babe. Out of hatred she had found love, and it was enough.
Selfishly she didn’t want to think about her sister’s unhappiness. She didn’t want to begin imagining what pitfalls lay ahead.
Miles.
The name was like an ill omen. One day Ivo’s brother would appear and try to destroy all her happiness.
Jesu, let Ivo win.
If Ivo had been as unscrupulous and evil as Miles, then he would easily win, but he was not like that. Of course, if he was another like Miles, then Briar would not love him so dearly.
But Briar didn’t want to think beyond tomorrow, her wedding day. She opened her eyes wide into the darkness: Tomorrow, when she would wed Ivo, who had come into her life like a tempest, tossing and turning her about until she did not know up from down. Winning her over despite her own stubbornness.
She loved him.
And it felt as natural to her as breathing.
With a smile, Briar curled up and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would see her joined to Ivo before God and the law and Lord Radulf. But in her heart she knew she was already his.
Dawn was breaking over York on the day of Ivo and Briar’s wedding. Bleary-eyed and cold, the guards at Micklegate Bar looked up at the thunder of hooves approaching from the south. They kept watch day and night at the stout bar that gave entrance through York’s solid walls, and the punishment for dozing off on duty was banishment for a year and a day.
One of them shouted out a warning.
A large troop of men had appeared on the road. They were tough men who looked as if they had ridden far, and they carried a banner at their forefront, an azure banner with a sword upheld. Lord Radulf’s banner, the famous King’s Sword.
“Open up for Lord Radulf!”
The head guard frowned, standing firm. “Lord Radulf is already within.”
“We ar
e here to join him. Open up for Lady Lily, wife of Lord Radulf!”
The guard blinked, uncertain, and then one of the riders urged their horse forward. It was a woman, heavily cloaked, but beneath the furs he caught a glimpse of her famous beauty. He bowed low, and then turned and shouted orders for the bar to be opened. Shortly afterward the cavalcade passed through into the city of York.
Radulf was dreaming.
He was at Crevitch, and it was summertime. The green fields stretched before him, and he rode his black horse, bare-chested beneath the sun. Lily sat before him, soft and warm, her laughter a balm for his soul. She looked up at him with her gray eyes, and he bent to kiss her, whispering, “My love…”
And she promptly vanished into the chill York dawn.
Radulf awoke in his lonely bed and groaned miserably. Another dream. Another disappointment. When, when could he go home!
“My love?”
He opened his eyes. And she was there, leaning over him, her silver blond hair brushing his chest, her long fingers stroking his cheek. Gray eyes full of love, and sparkling with tears. The dream and reality suddenly merged, and Radulf sat up.
“You are real,” he managed hoarsely.
Lily laughed. “I am real, Radulf. I missed you so. I have come north to be with you, my love.”
“Mignonne,” he groaned, and took her into the shelter of his arms. “I have longed for you so.”
“Radulf,” she murmured, after a time. “Radulf! You are squashing me.”
He leaned back with a reluctant sigh, and she smoothed his rough cheek, her fingers tender.
“My lands? The rebels? Tell me what has happened.”
“All is well again, for now, but other matters have kept me here in the north. Ivo de Vessey’s brother, Miles, is on the loose and must be tethered, and Ivo is set to wed Richard Kenton’s daughter, Briar.”
Lily opened her mouth to demand more, but he stopped her with a kiss.
“What of our children?” he murmured against her lips. “How are my daughter and my son?”
Lily smiled. “They are both safe and well. Strong and healthy, and very arrogant, as befits children of such a sire. I have left them in Gudren’s care.”
His mouth teased hers, his body tense with need, and yet he held back. “You are weary, Lily. You must rest. ’Twas selfish of me to want you here with me—you should not have come.”
Her arms circled his neck and she smiled into his eyes. “Then I am selfish, too, my lord, because more than anything I wanted to be here by your side. Can it be that now I am here, in your bed, you plan to play the martyr with me? If that is so, Radulf, then I am not at all happy with you and I will turn around and ride home again—”
With a soft growl, Radulf caught his wife to him and tumbled her down into his bed. Lily gave a sigh of pleasure, and did not offer any resistance.
Chapter 15
Briar did not think she had slept at all, but she must have, for the sudden banging on the door made her jump awake.
Mary also sat up, her dark hair cascading all about her. “Who is’t?” she gasped, as the two guards sleeping on the floor just inside the cottage struggled to draw their swords.
“I am come from Lord Radulf!” a voice outside informed them.
Mary pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at Briar. Briar crept gingerly out of bed, wincing from the cold, and moved toward the door. The two guards gestured for her to stay back, and flung it open, swords at the ready.
The morning air crept in. The faces of Lord Radulf’s men looked pinched with cold as they stood waiting, one of them holding a largish cloth-wrapped bundle.
“’Tis a gift,” the hard-faced soldier explained. “To the Lady Briar, from the Lady Lily.”
“Lady Lily?” Briar looked bewildered. “But is she not still in Somerset?”
The hard-faced soldier smiled, and suddenly he did not seem so very hard. “She arrived in York at dawn, lady.”
The bundle was placed on the floor inside the room, and the door was closed firmly. Mary came and stood beside Briar, both women looking down at it in some bewilderment. “What can it be?” Mary asked uneasily.
Briar did not know, but a stab of guilt reminded her that she had wished Radulf and Lily only ill until a short time ago. Perhaps Lily had discovered it. But that was silly—Lily couldn’t read Briar’s mind. Mayhap it was a gift for the home she would make with Ivo?
She bent and slowly, cautiously, undid the ties, and rolled open the cloth to reveal the contents.
It was a gown. Made of the finest velvet, and colored a deep, luscious green—Briar’s favorite color. The skirt and bodice were embroidered with small gold and silver beads, and in the gloomy dwelling, they glittered like distant stars.
“She has sent your marriage dress,” Mary breathed, reaching to touch the luxuriant cloth with a reverent finger. “Oh, Briar, ’tis so beautiful! You will look like a queen.”
Briar, stunned at the extent of Lady Lily’s generosity, gasped as her sister hugged her tightly in her excitement.
“’Tis a pity you have only your old stockings and shoes to wear with it,” Mary added, practically.
And wondered why Briar began to laugh.
There had been little time to prepare Lord Radulf’s York house for the ceremony, but with the roaring fire in the hall and the succulent smells of a banquet cooking, it did not really matter. The big room spoke of welcome and celebration, a haven against the threatening weather outside.
The priest spoke the words to bind them together, and Briar clung to Ivo’s hand, still a little dazed by all that had happened. And so quickly. Ivo was pale, with shadows under his eyes, but there was no hiding the steady glow of happiness in them.
Radulf and Lily watched on, and although Briar was introduced to Lily, she barely remembered what she said. Afterward, it was always Ivo’s words that she recalled, when he first saw her in her green velvet wedding gown.
“Demoiselle, you are an angel,” he had breathed, taking her hands and staring down at her in wonder. The gown did suit her well, seeming to capture the secrets in her hazel eyes and causing her chestnut hair to glow where it had been combed over her back and shoulders. “My heart is too full for words,” he had added, and ’twas true, for tears filled his dark eyes.
Ivo wore a deep blue tunic with a fine linen shirt beneath, and dark breeches and soft leather boots. With his height and breadth of shoulder, he looked like the knight he had always been, in his heart. A man to be proud of.
When the priest had finished, Ivo drew her to him, carefully, as if he were afraid this were a dream and he might wake up, and kissed her lips, chastely, as befitted the solemnity of the occasion.
There was a smattering of applause. Briar’s sisters were there, their eyes shining, and Sweyn, grinning, as well as two other big men, whom Ivo had introduced as Reynard and Ethelred. They all wished her and Ivo well, and the warmth of their smiles washed over her like a happy tide.
And then Ivo laughed, losing some of his awe, and picked her up in his arms, spinning her around to the delight of the guests, until Briar’s stomach dipped, and she whispered in a soft voice that he had better stop.
“Briar?”
Briar looked into the beautiful, gentle face before her. Lady Lily was everything the rumors promised and more, ethereally fair, with gray eyes that saw straight to her heart. Briar had already stammered her thanks for the dress when she arrived at Radulf’s house, but Lily had brushed her words aside.
“Someone did the same for me when I was wed,” she said, with a little smile. “In my case ’twas not done with the best of intentions, but still I felt special. I wanted you to feel special, too, Briar. I know what it is to be poor and put upon.”
Now the ceremony was over, and the feast had come and gone. The day was dwindling into night, and still no one wanted to leave. Ivo was reminiscing with his friends, and Mary was leaning against Sweyn as if she belonged there. Jocelyn and Odo had retired long since. Ti
red, longing only to fall asleep in Ivo’s arms, Briar had found herself a quiet place in a corner to wait until she could retire. It was there that Lady Lily had found her.
She sat down on the bench beside Briar. “Radulf has told me of your troubles,” she said softly.
“Oh,” Briar replied, and could think of nothing else. The familiar guilt roiled inside her as she remembered what she had planned to do to this woman and her husband. Of course, her plan had been doomed to fail from the start because, as Ivo had said, Radulf would never have taken another woman in Lily’s place, not even for a moment. Still, that did not make what Briar had meant to do any less wicked, or make her feel any more comfortable with her own conscience.
Lily was still smiling, but her gray eyes were flinty. “Radulf tells me you hated him for your father’s misfortunes.”
Obviously, Lily did not believe in creeping around the facts. A woman after my own heart, Briar thought wryly.
“My lady,” she said firmly, “I did hate him. ’Tis true. My father vowed revenge upon Lord Radulf before he died, and I believed that I must take on that vow as my own. For two years I hated Lord Radulf and believed him solely responsible for my family’s downfall. I know now that that belief was false. Lord Radulf was as bound up in Lady Anna’s sickness as my father. I do not hate him. I do not think, on this wonderful day, that I could hate anybody.”
Lily laughed. “I am delighted to hear it.” Then she sobered and leaned closer, her gaze intent. “I wished to give you some advice, Briar, something I have learned over the years. Trust your heart. The mind is so much more insistent, so much louder. But listen hard to the soft whisper of your heart, for ’tis the heart that speaks true.”
Briar smiled, for she had done just that. Followed her heart. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I will try to do so, always.”
“You will never regret it.” Lily glanced across the room to where Radulf was standing, and as if he had felt the brush of her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met in perfect understanding.