“No? Then what ails you, Ivo? You should be glad you came to York. If you had not, you wouldn’t have heard the angel sing.”
That was true. “The angel,” however, was going to be a bigger problem than he had first imagined. Briar, daughter of Lord Richard Kenton, wealthy and powerful baron, traitor, and dead by his own hand.
He looked up at the sky again. It was a long, long time since he had yearned for a woman. He had learned at an early age that love was not wise, that it could be twisted and mangled, and that sometimes it hurt so unbearably it was like dying inside and yet continuing to breathe. Since then, he had tried not to love. Of course, it could be a difficult task to keep your heart encased in iron, and Ivo was a passionate man. He had made friends, good friends, like Gunnar Olafson and Sweyn. But he had loved no woman, wanted no woman, beyond fulfilling the more basic of his urges. He had needed no woman to make him feel whole.
Until now.
Ivo tried not to groan aloud. What was wrong with him that he coveted Briar, with her big hurt eyes and hot needy mouth? When he had every reason to be suspicious and wary of her? Why did he have this terrible, intense desire to play the chivalrous knight for her? When he knew, better than anyone, that his days as a knight were long dead.
Chapter 3
“Briar?”
Briar blinked. Her body felt heavy, and she didn’t want to move from the soft furs that cradled her. She had been dreaming of hard, strong arms and sharp pleasures, and the images lingered in her mind. With a sigh, she opened her eyes.
The room was dark, apart from the wavering light of a candle at the door. The shapes and spaces around her were unfamiliar. She sat up, her body protesting, and looked about her. Where am I? And then she remembered. Jesu! She was in one of Lord Shelborne’s chambers! A moment, that was all it had taken. She had closed her eyes, briefly, readying herself to go and find Mary and take her home, and…
I must have fallen asleep.
“Briar?”
She peered through her tangled hair, her eyes still tender from crying. The bleary candlelight by the door flared, showing Jocelyn’s face and, behind her, the young maid, Grisel.
Jocelyn spoke over her shoulder. “You may go now, Grisel.”
Grisel, eyes huge in the trickle of light, bobbed a shaky curtsy and scuttled away into the darkness.
The silence was profound.
Briar brushed her hair out of her face and smoothed her gown down. Her mind was working again, but slowly, creakily, like an old waterwheel. She set her shoulders in preparation for a scene.
Jocelyn moved forward, the candle wavering before her. A tall and stately woman, she looked very much the daughter of Lord Kenton and a very unlikely cook. Briar knew her sister, although normally even-tempered, did have a temper. Perhaps not the fiery, quick temper that was Briar’s, but a temper nevertheless.
“When you didn’t come to fetch Mary I realized what you had done. Grisel was behaving so guiltily, ’twas a simple matter to make her tell me.”
She didn’t sound angry, yet, but it was difficult to tell with Jocelyn—she held her emotions inside. Unlike Briar, who sparked with them like steel striking stone.
“I will come now. I—I fell asleep—”
Jocelyn was beside the bed now, the candle flame reflected in her blue eyes. Briar could see the knowledge, as if it were written there.
She knew.
Briar told herself she should stand up hotly for what she had done—wasn’t she seeking vengeance for them all, not just herself? But right now she was simply too beaten, too exhausted to justify herself to her sister. In truth, Briar, who was usually so independent and so headstrong, felt as if something vital inside her had shattered.
As if sensing her weakness, Jocelyn pressed her advantage, her voice trembling now with anger.
“I have learned that you gave a private audience to a man, Briar. Are you going to tell me about it? I know ’twas not Radulf. He did not come to the hall tonight. Rumor has it he was missing his wife, and stayed away.”
“Please, do not—”
“Aye, please do! You brought a man here, sister. You tricked Grisel into preparing this chamber for you, telling the simple wench some lying tale! And all the time you meant to bring Radulf here—it was Radulf you had set your sights on, wasn’t it? You asked after him so many times, I cannot be mistaken in that. I was a fool not to realize you had not given up your foolish plot, Briar. Who was here with you? Tell me!”
Resigned, Briar said, “He was one of Radulf’s men. His name was Ivo de Vessey. He was tall and dark-haired, and I thought…I thought I recognized him.” Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I thought he was Radulf.”
Jocelyn made a sound like a groan. “I told you to take care, Briar. I warned you to leave well alone. ’Tis Filby all over again.”
Briar shook her head slowly, back and forth.