Chapter 14 #3
Briar had not thought that far ahead, and did not intend to.
lime 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 are 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.