Chapter 13 #2
She was a woman despoiled. She must in all honor give him the chance to step away from her, if that was what he wished. Though it broke her heart and made her babe fatherless, she would not wed Ivo if he did not truly want her.
They were all waiting for her to speak, but it was to Radulf she turned.
“I would beg some moments alone with Ivo, my lord, before I answer.”
Radulf nodded. “Very well. There must be a chamber free for your use in this large house. Sometimes it feels very empty to me, but then I miss my wife. Girl!” he called out, impatient with the servants, or himself. A maid came scurrying forward for his instructions.
“These two require privacy, see to it.”
The maidservant had lit a candle, but its yellow light did little to hold back the shadows.
Filby.
Tears filled her eyes. Not for remembered hurt, although that was certainly there.
Tears of self-pity, and for what Ivo would think of her.
Until now he had thought so well of her, despite her foolish mistake where Miles was concerned.
Briar was vain enough not to want his admiration eroded by such a one as Filby.
“Demoiselle.”
That wonderful voice, the heat of him at her back, his strong hands coming to rest upon her waist. Briar had not comprehended how much she had missed his care and concern until he had withdrawn it from her, and now it was back in full force.
Or was he just being kind?
She had not understood until now how very kind Ivo was.
He smiled at shy Mary, and took time to bolster her confidence; he indulged Briar with her swordplay, when he could have put an end to it with one thrust of his blade.
He made certain she was safe, and when she was ill he held her and bathed her brow.
Aye, he was kind. But was kindness what she wanted from him now? Did she want a marriage based on kindness? Or would guilt and unhappiness destroy them?
Briar knew she would rather know the truth now, that he had not really wanted her, than marry him and live in dread ever after...
“What is it you need to tell me, Briar?” he asked her gently, his breath warm against her chestnut hair.
She turned and looked up at him, trying to be brave, trying to be calm. “I will speak, Ivo, but afterward you must promise me that if you do not wish to wed me, that you will tell me so?”
He laughed shakily, as if he had never heard anything less likely. “Aye, never fear, I will tell you so.”
“This is something,” she began, but to her dismay her voice wavered. But no tears; she would not cry. She would not gain his consent through pity. “Do you remember Filby? My betrothed?”
He frowned. “I remember he would not help you when you needed help most desperately.”
“When word of the gravity of our situation reached me, I believed I had no option but to beg Filby for his help. I went to his gate and pleaded with him to support us. We had been abandoned and he was to marry me. I believed he would come to our rescue. I could not understand why he was suddenly so cold.”
Ivo was watching her, and a sour smile twisted his mouth. “He was concerned for his own skin. Go on.”
“When he refused to help us, I thought... I believed that if I gave myself to him, then he would feel obliged to help. He would owe it to me. And mayhap he would remember what he had felt for me, before my father turned traitor against the king. So I offered him my body, and he agreed.”
Ivo’s eyes were burning like black stars. Was his anger for Filby, or herself? Briar flinched beneath their stare, turning her face away so that she would not see the expression in them.
“I did not enjoy it, do not think that. It was not like you and me.
He took me without care or consideration, not brutally, I will say that, but without feeling, as if I were no longer a person to him.
Afterward I thought ‘twas the way of all men. And I believed that, although I had been humiliated and soiled, at least Filby would have to help us. He would have to.”
She bit her lip, waiting until the tremble in her voice had subsided again.
“But he didn’t help us. He sent me away instead. And then, when he came to Castle Kenton, to take our home from us, he offered to let us remain there as his prisoners. But I knew what he meant to make of me, and that I could not stay. So we left.”
His breath sounded quick and shallow. When Briar dared at last to look at him, she saw that he had closed his eyes, and his skin had paled. He appeared to be suffering under some terrible affliction. Jesu, was he ill?
“Ivo?” she cried, and reached out. But she did not quite dare to touch him.
She did not know if she still had the right.
The tears clogged her voice, and made it difficult to speak.
“I am so sorry, Ivo. If you do not want to wed me now, I will understand it. I will do as you wish. Ivo, please speak to me. Ivo... ?”
He opened his eyes. They blazed with black fire. He was so angry! That was the terrible emotion he was struggling with—anger. Swallowing, Briar stared, wondering if he meant to kill her on the spot.
“Do you know what I wish, Briar?” he said, and he leaned forward so suddenly that she jumped.
But he only took her hands hard in his. “I wish Filby were not already dead, so that I could kill him over and over again for what he did to you. And then I wish I could turn time back and come riding to Castle Kenton with my friends, Gunnar Olafson and Alfred, Sweyn and Reynard and Ethelred, and save you and your sisters from the past.”
He wasn’t angry with her, Briar realized, relieved. Of course he was not! He was angry with Filby, and her heart soared with joy. She gave a hic-cupping laugh.
“You cannot save me from the past, Ivo, though that would be my wish, too. If I had seen you come to save me, two years ago, everything would have been different.”
“I know,” he whispered. He drew her into his arms, gently, yet both of them trembling with emotion. “Ah God, I know it.”
“You might not have liked me then,” she began, tentatively. “I was very arrogant, Ivo.”
He smiled into her hair. “I would have loved you, demoiselle, just as I do now.”
Briar clung on to him, weeping softly, until Filby had finally been cried away. Ivo does not want to abandon me. He is angry at Filby. It does not matter to his pride that I gave away my body in good faith to such a man. He cares only for me, that I was hurt. Me!
He loves me.
Briar pressed her lips to his throat, and Ivo groaned softly, drawing her yet closer.
“Ivo?”
“Aye, Briar.”
She kissed him again, then took a deep breath. “I have told you my last remaining secret, Ivo. You know them all. I have no more. Now you must share yours with me.”
Ivo tensed but did not let her go. If anything, he held her tighter, clinging to her now, as she had clung to him.
“Ivo? You have said that you love me, Ivo. You must tell me. Whatever it is, it cannot be as bad as Filby.”
Ivo sighed, opening his eyes to stare into nothing, into the past. And Briar could tell that it was more dark and bitter than any she could imagine.
But she was right, she knew it. The time had come for him to share with her the darkness of his soul.
“Mary?”
Mary looked up, wane-faced and miserable.
“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.