Chapter 10 #2
Jocelyn stood before her, hands on hips, but there was worry in her blue eyes. Mary had gone to help with the hall—there were never enough hands. The girl seemed full to brimming with energy since Sweyn had stayed with them, as if her thoughts could not be still.
The sickness of this morning had passed again and, although tired, Briar had passed an uneventful day.
It was only now, as darkness fell, that her stomach had begun to roil again.
As if in sheer bloody-mindedness it sought to upset her plans for the evening.
Lord Shelborne had offered them more money than they had yet had for any one performance, and Briar was determined to have it.
“Mayhap Lord Shelborne has discovered who we really are,” Briar said now, amidst the bustle of Jocelyn’s kitchen. “Mayhap he wants to make amends for the past.”
“What past?” Jocelyn retorted, frowning.
Briar chose her words with care. “I have heard a rumor that Lord Shelborne was our stepmother Anna’s lover.”
Jocelyn seemed to freeze, the curious expression in her eyes slowly draining away. Her voice sounded strange. “Her lover? Lord Shelborne?”
“Aye,” Briar replied, watching her doubtfully. “And Lord Fitzmorton. And others. Did you not know this, sister? Did you not know how many others, apart from Lord Radulf, our stepmother was merrily welcoming into her bed?”
Slowly, as if she were in a daze, Jocelyn turned to the table. Her hands shook as she put the finishing touches to a songbird pie, and Briar had the odd feeling she was just fiddling with the elaborate pastry decorations to gain time.
“I wondered.” She spoke at last. “When I first saw her, I thought her beautiful, and afterward I heard ‘twas all skin deep, and she had never been faithful in her life. I hoped ‘twas nothing more than talk, for our father’s sake. He was happy, and so blind with love for her—”
“Why did you never tell me!”
Jocelyn flinched at the accusation. “I had no proof, and it seemed unnecessarily cruel to speak of such things.”
“I have believed all this time that Lord Radulf was the one who sent her to her death.”
“He probably was. I can tell you this, Briar, that of them all, Radulf was the one she cared about. She wanted him to come to her, and when he wouldn’t she was furious with him.”
Briar shook her head, feeling abandoned and adrift. “You should have told me. Now ‘tis too late.”
“Why too late?” Jocelyn retorted, a strange bitterness flavoring her words. “I thought you were determined to revenge our father, right the wrongs? Once you could talk of nothing else. What has changed now?”
Briar opened her mouth to defend herself, and promptly burst into tears.
Jocelyn made a wordless cry and moved to comfort, but Briar pulled away. Furiously, she dashed at her cheeks, as if to scrub away the evidence of her weakness before it fell.
“What in God’s name is wrong with me!” she wailed. “I am sick, I am well, I am tired, I cry, I think foolish thoughts that I never thought before! Jesu, I beg you, heal me or let me die!”
Jocelyn had stopped to stare at Briar, and now her eyes widened. Purposefully, she grasped her sister’s shoulders in hard, hurting hands, forcing her to look up. Even Jocelyn’s lips were white, Briar thought in amazement. What had she said? What was wrong?
“When did you have your last flux, Briar?”
Briar moved to shake off that cruel grip, and then she froze.
Last flux? She had not even thought of such a thing.
She had been too busy trying to survive and being angry at Ivo de Vessey.
.. Ivo! The night they had spent together under this very roof, his seed spilling into her, finding fertile ground in her womb . ..
“No.” The word stuck in her throat. She shook her head. Her vision wobbled and darkened.
“Aye,” Jocelyn retorted grimly. “How long ago was it? Briar?”
Briar pulled herself up, swallowing past the shock and disbelief. “Near to three moons. “ ‘Tis late October now.”
“Then you are with child.”
The idea was too big, too overwhelming for her to take in. A child. Ivo’s child. Her fierce and brooding knight, a father? Briar, a mother? Wild emotions flooded her, each clamoring for their turn, until she put her head in her hands and cried, “Enough!”
Silence, blessed silence.
Jocelyn’s fingers were gentle on her hair, smoothing the tumbled locks, comforting her. But Briar knew in her heart her sister could not really help her; she was alone in this. Alone...
“There is no need to worry yet,” Jocelyn said carefully. “Three moons is not long. Mayhap it has not taken root properly. You will lose it as easily as it was gained.”
Did she want that? Briar struggled to make sense of her feelings.
“I cannot talk of this now,” her muffled voice was shaky. “I have to sing. I know you mean well, Jocelyn, but I cannot speak of this now.”
Jocelyn nodded and stepped back. “Very well, Briar. But you will need to speak of it, and soon. You cannot will this away by ignoring it.”
Why not? Briar thought hysterically. Why can I not just wish it away ? She was carrying the child of her disgraced knight. Aye, the daughter of a traitor and a disgraced knight! What sort of parents would they make for a babe?
And how could they be parents, when they were but passing strangers, brought together by a mistake. He would go south again, when Lord Radulf was finished killing rebels, and she would remain in York. Alone.
I have my sisters. They will help me.
But the voice in her head sounded forlorn, afraid, desperate.
She was carrying Ivo de Vessey’s child, and despite his claim that he wanted her, it was doubtful he planned to settle down and play at husband and father. Would he?
The waiting stillness in her heart gave her no reply.
Ivo watched as Briar climbed up to the dais and seated herself on her stool.
She looked white but composed. She clasped her hands in her lap, and straightened her shoulders.
There was courage in every line of her. Even at a moment like this, when every face turned to her was welcoming and anticipatory, she was prepared to fight.
Aye, he admired her. While she was cutting at him with her sharp tongue, he admired her.
Besides, she did not mean to hurt him—the attack was a defense, he knew that.
She was frightened and confused, so she lashed out.
And the target she chose was one who she knew would never hurt her, upon whose tough hide her barbs would fall harmlessly.
Because he would never hurt her intentionally. Ivo knew it deep, deep in his soul. He would never hurt her, and he would fight anyone else who dared to try.
By now Mary had also settled herself, the harp ready. The two women conferred briefly. Then Briar turned back to her audience. Her eyes searched the expectant faces, discarding each one, looking for someone in particular. Until she found him.
Their gazes held, locked.
Ivo felt the power of it.
What was it in her expression that struck him to the core? He sensed her wildness, her despair. Her need of him. It shimmered between them.
Shocked, Ivo took a blind step forward.
But it was too late. She had begun her song.
He stopped, hesitant, suddenly uncertain whether he had really seen such naked anguish in her beautiful, slanting eyes.
He stood and listened, while her husky voice and poignant words tore at his heart.
Ivo moved to lean back against the wall, his legs unable to hold him and with a deep breath tried to prepare himself for the emotional ride ahead.
The first song was well received. Lord Shelborne’s guests cheered until the hall shook with their approbation.
They sang again, and again. And then one last time, especially for Lord Shelborne’s daughter.
The girl flushed with pleasure, and Lord Shelborne looked grateful.
As Briar and Mary rose to leave the dais, Shelborne came forward and took their hands in his.
Ivo frowned as Briar stiffened, and then gradually relaxed. But her smile was forced, and she seemed relieved when he released her and took a step back. Once more her eyes searched for, and found, Ivo, this time beseechingly.
Ivo pushed away from the wall, and strode across the hall to her rescue.
“... remember Lord Richard with fondness.”
Lord Shelborne was beaming at Briar. Mary, close by, twisted her fingers around her harp, clearly nervous and upset. What, thought Ivo, is the man saying to them?
“My father was a good man.” Briar’s chin was up, her back straight. “He did not deserve to be treated so.”
Now Lord Shelborne looked a little uncomfortable, perhaps wondering if her words had a personal slant. Ivo prayed Briar was not so foolish as to insult so important a personage, especially when he had just done her great honor by acknowledging her.
“He was loyal to those he loved,” he said at last.
Briar opened her mouth. Her eyes slid past Shelborne and found Ivo’s. He shook his head once. She hesitated a breath, and then forced a polite smile.
“ ‘Us a fair assessment of him, my lord, thank you.”
“You have pleased my daughter very much, ladies. I thank you for it.”
Briar and Mary curtsyed and did not rise until Lord Shelborne had gone. Mary looked frightened, her dark eyes flicking to Briar and back to Ivo. Briar looked angry, her cheeks flushed, her hazel eyes glittering.
“Did you hear him patronizing us?” she said to Ivo, but he was thankful she kept her voice low.
“Briar—”
“As if he had never done anything so despicable as cuckold my father—”
“Briar.”
She stopped, gave him a wary glance. “ ‘Tis true.”
“Sometimes ‘tis wiser and safer to keep one’s thoughts to one’s self, demoiselle.”
She searched his face, and then shrugged one shoulder with pretended indifference. “Very well, I will say no more.”
“You would be wise not to, lady. At least, not until you have left this place.”
“Very well, de Vessey.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”