Chapter 6 #2
Ivo took his eyes from Briar with an effort. Tall and slim, dark-haired and dark-eyed, Mary was pretty enough in a timid and unassuming manner.
She had none of the fire of her sister, and she was nothing like Sweyn’s usual doves.
The fact that he had given Mary more than a single glance was astounding, for Sweyn liked his women buxom with come-hither eyes and easy smiles.
He was not a man for hard work when it came to women, and Mary looked like a lot of hard work to Ivo.
He smiled at her kindly—people, he thought, would always be kind to Mary. “Sweyn is here. We thought ‘twas best for someone to stay with you, while your sister and I are away. But Sweyn will not come inside—he asked me to tell you that he is quite happy to remain on guard outside.”
In fact Sweyn had been adamant, and the ex-pression in his eyes had turned almost hunted.
The girl looked thoughtful, and a little disappointed. Ah, thought Ivo, does the wind blow that way then?
“Then I will leave him there, if that is what he wishes.”
Ivo smiled. “You will be safe, Mary. Sweyn is good at protecting pretty ladies.”
Briar’s sharp tongue sliced at him.
“Do not think to beguile my sister. She is far too fine for a disgraced knight.”
Ivo’s body stiffened as he felt the wound reopen. Disgraced, aye, that was what he was. She had cut him in the reminding, but he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing it. Briar, the firebrand, spat flame at all about her, but Ivo was determined to make her burn for another reason entirely.
He took a stride into the room, ducking his head beneath the lintel, and closed the door behind him. Inside, the dwelling was bigger than he had imagined, and the ceiling was not pressing down upon his head.
With the light quenched, Briar was able to see him.
Her heart flopped like a fresh-caught fish.
The bruise on his jaw was fading, but if anything he appeared even more dangerous. There was an added gravity to him today, as if he had come bearing bad news.
He is leaving again.
The words froze her, and she stared at him, waiting for the pain to ease.
But all he said was, “My name is Ivo. Why do you not use it?”
Briar felt relief pour through her, making her dizzy. He was not going away. He had not come to tell her that.
Ivo seemed unaware of her inner turmoil, as his gaze wandered over her in a leisurely way.
He took in her skimpy chemise, only coming to her knees, and her bare legs showing below it, and her bare arms, and her long, damp hair.
More quickly, he took note of the pot bubbling over the coals, and the clothing, wet from yesterday, steaming to the side.
It was a very domestic scene, a place of women, and safe for a man like him. Or so he would think.
Briar actually saw him relax. His shoulders loosened, his hand dropped away from the hilt of his sword, and his serious air vanished as his wide mouth curled into a smile.
Aye, she thought, annoyed now, he has set aside his vigilance because he sees no need for it here.
Two women, alone and undefended? He would think himself far the superior if it came to a fight.
The urge to shake that male arrogance was too strong to resist, and Briar did not even try.
She tightened her grasp on her sword hilt, and lifted it into clear view. From the corner of her eye she saw him pause. Slowly, enjoying the moment, she turned the blade, admiring the manner in which the firelight glinted upon it.
“You are armed?”
Briar glanced at him, saw his brows lifted in surprise. “Aye,” she retorted smugly, “and I know how to use it.”
His surprise didn’t turn to instant terror, as she had hoped. At least, not yet. “You would defend yourself with that?”
“To the death.”
He laughed, his face turning handsome. “Whose death, that is the question. You are bloodthirsty for a wench. I will not fight you today. Today, I have other plans for you.”
Briar didn’t even try to hide her annoyance. Why could he not behave as she wanted? “I am not going anywhere with you, de Vessey! Mary and I must play and sing tonight at Lord Shelborne’s hall. ‘Tis important I rest my voice,” she added, and used one hand to stroke her throat.
For a moment he simply watched the movements of her long fingers against her smooth flesh, as if he found it impossible to look away. His voice sounded hoarse. “You can rest your voice later, demoiselle. Dress yourself, for I have something to show you.”
His arrogance was really beyond bearing! “I don’t want to see anything you have to show me.”
“Ah, but you will. Do as I say.”
Briar stood up to her full height—which unfortunately was not terribly tall.
The hem of the chemise brushed her knees, and she shook back her hair, until it hung out of the way, down her back.
She took up a fighting stance, gripping her sword in both hands in the manner in which she had been taught.
“Nay, de Vessey. I do no man’s bidding!”
Something shifted in his eyes. Amusement, certainly, and confidence in his own abilities to best her, but something else, too. Before she could decide what it was, Ivo took the two steps needed to reach her, neatly avoiding the drying clothing strung out near the fire.
Jesu, he was tall. And big. He looked down at her with a flicker of a smile, as if he found her determination to defend herself a pleasant diversion on an otherwise dull morning. And there again was that other thing in his black eyes...
Briar realized then that it was interest, excitement. He found her behavior curious, but he was enjoying it. Well she would show him!
Briar made a lunge at him, never intending to connect. He froze, eyes widening with surprise.
“You are bold, demoiselle.”
“I will fight you if I must.” She waved the sword blade in front of his nose, but he didn’t even flinch.
“You will not hurt me.”
He said it with such surety her temper boiled.
“You are wrong! I am more than happy to slice you end to end, de Vessey!”
He grinned. His eyes gleamed. There was no hiding their expression now. She was challenging his male strength and superiority, and he liked it. Jesu! He liked it...
Her concentration slipped, and before she knew it he had snaked out his hand and covered hers; they gripped the sword hilt together.
His grip was relentless. He smiled into her eyes and slowly, with little effort, he pushed the sword away and down.
Briar’s muscles strained against him, arms shaking, but it was no use.
The blade tilted until it pointed harmlessly to the ground.
That deep voice murmured in her ear.
“I have enough bruises for now, demoiselle. I beg you will not hurt me.”
He was laughing at her! But Briar had felt his strength, and knew in her fury that he was barely exerting himself, while she was pushing against him with all her might. Time for another approach.
With a shrug of her shoulder, Briar let herself relax, the sword loose in her fingers.
“I did not want to hurt you,” she retorted.
He grinned at her like a boy, and she saw in his eyes that he really was enjoying himself.
But not in the manner she had expected. He wanted to kiss her.
And more. I want you. She could see it in his eyes.
The need thrummed in him, making his body hard, and starting an answering need in her.
Her skin heated, her breasts tightened, and that place between her legs ached.
And all that from just being close to him!
Warily, for her own protection, Briar backed away from him.
.. and put her bare foot into a bowl of breakfast.
The mushy grain squished up between her toes, like warm, soft mud.
With a gasp of disgust, Briar leapt forward, and straight into his arms. Ivo caught hold of her, his surprised gaze meeting hers.
And then surprise turned to laughter as he realized what had happened, and the laughter burst from him.
Angry and embarrassed, Briar pulled away.
“You are an oaf,” she hissed furiously. “Fight me, you coward! We will see who is the winner here.”
Ivo wiped his eyes. He shouldn’t have laughed.
He knew it. But she had looked so funny, standing there with her foot in the bowl.
So sweetly funny. Laughter threatened again, but he held it back, and cleared his throat.
When he looked up, the younger sister, Mary, was watching him, face slack in amazement.
Did men not laugh in her life? Or had the humor simply been beaten out of the Kenton sisters?
Abruptly Ivo lost the urge to laugh. “Briar,” he began, trying for patience, “dress yourself, or do you wish me to carry you off in your shift?”
“I wish nothing of the sort!” she told him furiously. She had that small sword in her hands, and Ivo silently cursed himself for not removing it from her when he had the chance. And she was thrusting it at him, as if she fully intended to fight him.
The blade did look sharp and well-polished, despite its lack of size.
She had obviously been taught to use it, but would she?
Even when she was in a temper, like now?
Would she really hurt him? Ivo did not think so, but as his own temper flared up, he decided that if she wanted to play at soldier, then he would oblige.
Slowly, watching her eyes, he drew his own sword from its scabbard.
A flicker of unease lit the hazel of her eyes, a moment of doubt, but she subdued it, adjusting and tightening her grip on her weapon.
Aye, she was brave. Foolish, mayhap, but no coward, he would give her that.
Did she really think to best a man like him, who had been fighting mock battles since he was eight?
And with that puny weapon? He was a big man, and his weapon reflected it.
With intimidating ease, he raised his own sword in front of him, and the firelight caused the green stone eyes of the griffin to gleam and the mighty blade to catch fire.