Chapter 5 #3
Briar did not think so. Her sister may still hope, but every day Briar saw Odo growing more drawn and aged.
As if the years were being sucked from him by whatever had taken his mind.
She thought it would be a release for him when he died.
Jocelyn would be the one to suffer; Jocelyn would be destroyed all over again.
There is danger in loving a man so completely.
Briar knew that was so, and she did not intend to give any man her heart.
Is it something you can stop from happening? Is it something you can control?
The question made her uneasy. She had never been so uncertain of herself before she met Ivo de Vessey.
She had always seen her way clearly, chosen her path carefully.
Now the candle she had lit—her candle of vengeance—was no longer bright enough to light her through the dark maze.
She felt lost; she felt a tremendous urge to place her faith in Ivo de Vessey.
How could that be a good thing?
Ivo lifted the goblet and drank the contents down. The wine was good and he wished he could drink enough to cloud his thoughts, and to send Briar away.
From his place beside Ivo, Sweyn nodded at the room full of important men.
“They all come when Radulf calls.”
It was true, they had all come. Some to do him homage, some just to gaze on the famous King’s Sword, and others because they feared his anger if they did not.
He was more hated than he was loved. Did Briar hate him?
Ivo asked himself. Was that why she had meant to take him to her bed?
As some sort of revenge? Or was she like so many others, wanting to possess Radulf in the hope that some of his power would come off on her.
Ivo did not think so. Briar was a woman of strong passions.
When she hated, she would hate with a single-minded determination, and from what he had heard of her past, she had much reason to hate.
Aye, if he were a gambling man, like Sweyn, he would bet on hatred.
Ivo understood hate, he knew how it could corrode and destroy, but he was also sure that hate could be turned around.
Healed. Briar had opened his heart again—surely it was for a reason?
If a man could capture her fierce heart, would she bind herself to only him?
Ivo realized that the room had fallen silent.
There was a group about Radulf, but he dominated them, standing head and shoulders above them.
But that wasn’t the reason for the hush.
Just now Radulf did not look best pleased.
A short, stout man cringed before him, as if he feared that Radulf was about to tear him limb from limb.
“My Lord Radulf.” His voice was shaky as he swept a deep bow.
“My lord, I only meant, my lord, that it might be as well if Lady Lily were here, my lord. TTie people trust her. My lord.” The little man was clearly wishing himself anywhere but before the black stare of Radulf.
“They need to know for themselves that she is hale and hearty.”
“Hale and hearty!” roared Radulf. “Why in
God’s name should she not be hale and hearty? She is at Crevitch with our children. She cannot come jolting all over the country, just because some peasants think she should wipe their noses!”
The vassal stammered something completely incomprehensible, bowing so low he was almost touching his own nose on the floor. “I meant no offense, my lord,” he added in a squeak.
“Then do not speak it!”
Still bowing, the stout little man eased himself away.
“Our lord is in a quandary.” Ivo spoke quietly, not wishing Radulf to overhear him and deal him the same fate.
“His lady is safer in the south, locked up at Crevitch, but without her visible presence her lands in the north will continue to seethe. And while the north hovers on the brink of war, Radulf cannot go home to her.”
Sweyn chuckled. “I see his problem. Will he send for her, do you think?”
Ivo shrugged. “If he cannot make peace soon, he may have no choice. The king will want to know what is amiss, and ‘tis doubtful he will scruple to bring the lady north.”
“Women are not as fragile as we think, although it pleases some men to treat them thus.”
“Perhaps it would be better if it were the truth,” Ivo retorted. “If they said aye and nay and did what they were told, I for one would be much happier.”
Sweyn measured his friend with sparkling blue eyes. “You speak of one lady in particular?”
“Aye.” Ivo glowered.
“Is she not biddable enough for you?”
“She plays a deep game, but soon enough I will have all her secrets from her.”
“Perhaps her sister will be easier to unlock?”
As he spoke the words, Sweyn’s smile faded and he shook his head. It was as if the thought of Mary unsettled him in some way.
“What is it?” Ivo asked curiously. He had never seen Sweyn unsettled by a woman before.
“She is young, untried.” Sweyn hesitated, and then laughed at his own thoughts. “I grow strange, my friend, pay me no mind. You know that I am never serious—life is a jest, to be enjoyed and gambled upon, and women are sweetmeats to make its passing more palatable.”
But the words were spoken with an effort, and full of self-mockery. As if Sweyn made fun of himself.
“Take care, Sweyn, that you do not fall headfirst into my lady Mary’s dark eyes and drown!” He. frowned. “At least she seems sweet and gentle. Her sister is a frustrating baggage. Hot tempered, stubborn...”
And just as her songs had tugged at his heart, the brave tilt of her chin made Ivo want to ride out and slay dragons for her.
“Has she told you yet what game she plays?”
Ivo shook his head. He had told Sweyn he knew that they had once been the daughters of an important man, but not who that man was.
Sweyn had shrugged and said it mattered not to him, as long as Ivo did not involve him in anything treasonous.
Ivo had forborne to answer, for that may well be the case.
“While I was waiting for you at the market today, Mary told me where she and her sister lived.”
“And?”
“Does the address interest you?”
“You know it does. Tell it to me, Sweyn.”
Sweyn rubbed his brow. “I have so many things to think of, I may have forgotten it. What will you give me to remember?”
Ivo glowered at him. “Tell it to me or face me tomorrow in the training yard.”
“Now I am afraid,” Sweyn mocked, ostentatiously loosening the muscles of his shoulders and rolling his arms. “I am half inclined to refuse to tell you, just so that you have to fight me for it. And you would, Ivo, we both know that.” He grinned at his friend’s angry expression.
“Do not strike me down. I will tell you where your songstress lives.
“Tis a place by the river. The houses are old Viking dwellings, and they are falling down, although the one they have chosen seems sturdy enough.
Still... ‘tis not a good place, Ivo. The staithes are close by, and such locations are rife with cutthroats.”
Ivo shook his head in disgust, his hand clenching on the hilt of his sword.
Briar, in such a place? He had the wild urge to ride there right now and bring her to safety.
But he knew if he did such a thing she would refuse him, and abuse him, and enjoy doing so.
Frustrated, he ground his teeth, and then a thought occurred to him. He turned to stare at his friend.
“How do you know about the state of their abode, Sweyn?”
Sweyn’s gaze slid from his.
Ivo blinked. Could there be a hint of color in the Dane’s tanned cheeks? Could Sweyn actually be blushing? Now it was Ivo’s turn to play teasing games.
“You went there, didn’t you? You wanted to see for yourself whether or not they were safe? Ah, Sweyn, what of your boast that no one woman would ever be enough for you?”
Sweyn lifted his eyes, and for once they lacked their laughing sparkle. Indeed, Sweyn looked confused, and Ivo felt almost sorry for him.
“‘Us true, Ivo. One woman would not be enough. That is why I cannot think of having her, I dare not think of having her. This madness will . pass. I know it will pass.”
Ivo nodded with mock solemnity. “Of course it will pass, my friend. It is like a fever—you either survive it or you don’t.”
If it were possible, Sweyn appeared even more miserable.
“Ivo!”
It was a voice he knew. “Lord Henry!” Ivo turned to greet one of Radulf’s oldest and closest friends. Broad of shoulder and strikingly handsome, Henry was also the owner of a clever and diplomatic tongue, and accordingly spent most of his time at court.
“I have news for you,” Henry said to Ivo, when the greetings were done. “And you will not like it.”
“Then tell me quickly, my lord.”
“Your brother, Miles, is come to York. I saw him near Bootham Bar two days ago, but he slipped away before I could stop him.”
Miles!
For a moment Ivo couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel.
And then it was as if a great dark cloud fell over him, taking his breath and filling him with despair.
Miles, his brother, who hated him and wished him dead.
Who, all his life, had given Ivo nothing but misery.
The last time they had come close to meeting, Gunnar Olafson had been there to shield him from Miles’s malevolence.
Now Gunnar was in the south, and Ivo was in York.
And so was Miles.
“But there is a warrant for him—he is to be arrested for his treason at Somerford.” Sweyn was speaking the words Ivo was thinking.
Miles had, under Lord Fitzmorton’s orders, overtaken the manor at Somerford and threatened the overlordship of Radulf and, through him, King William himself.
Lord Fitzmorton had managed to wriggle his way out of trouble, but he had used Miles as his scapegoat, blaming him for most of what had occurred.
Ivo had thought, at the time, it was convenient that Miles had vanished so completely. Fitzmorton would not want Miles de Vessey questioned, in case he told the truth about the affair. Although, if he did tell the truth, it would be the first time!
Lord Henry was speaking. “Nevertheless, warrant or no warrant, I have seen him.
Lord Fitzmorton may claim all he likes that, after Miles left Somerford, he vanished from sight, but I do not believe him.
Miles is too clever, too valuable for Fitzmorton to lose him entirely.
And he knows too much. Fitzmorton will have sent him up here, to his lands in the north, to wait until the king can be persuaded to pardon him.
‘Tis a misfortune for us all that Radulf has also come north.”
“Miles will be certain to make Ivo’s time here dangerous and uncomfortable,” Sweyn said with a frown. “I have never known two brothers less similar.”
Ivo just shook his head. Miles, here! After what had happened in the summer, he had hoped his brother had taken ship to Normandy or perhaps France.
Was Miles to follow him about forever, like an evil shadow?
He would never be safe while Miles lived, and he had known that for a long time.
But knowing something and acting upon it were two different things, particularly when it was his own brother.
Hate him or not, Ivo had an aversion to killing members of his own family.
And yet it may come to that.
“I will have to find him and make him leave. He will not go, so then I will have to fight him. And if we fight, he will try to kill me, so I will have to kill him.”
When he looked up, he caught the tail end of the glance Sweyn and Lord Henry had exchanged between them.
They thought that Miles might kill him. He could see the fear in their eyes.
Aye, he told himself bleakly, mayhap Miles would triumph.
He had always triumphed before. But whatever the outcome, Ivo sensed the day of battle was fast approaching.
“You saw him two days ago?” he asked Lord Henry, while his stomach churned.
“Aye.”
“Does Lord Radulf know?”
“I have told him, but at the moment he has other matters on his mind.”
Ivo nodded grimly. “Then ‘tis up to me to deal with Miles’s evil. I will see to this, Lord Henry. Leave it with me.”
Henry gave him a searching glance, and then nodded, content that it was so. “Good man!”
When he had gone, Sweyn said hopefully, “Perhaps Miles has taken fright from York. Perhaps seeing Lord Henry has hurried him onto a ship away from England. Far away.”
“I pray ‘tis so, Sweyn. I pray ‘tis so.”
But Ivo knew it wasn’t. He sensed Miles’s presence, like some foul miasma. Aye, he and his brother would have their day of reckoning, and soon.