th women look up, startled.
“Is it Jocelyn?” Wide-eyed, Mary turned to Briar for confirmation.
But Briar shook her head. “Jocelyn does not knock like that.”
“Then who…?”
Fumbling down beside her stool, Briar searched until her fingers found, and gripped, the sword. Her sword. The weapon was only half the size of the swords worn by fighting men, and very much lighter. When, as a girl, Briar had shown an interest in learning the skill of defending herself with a sword, it had amused her father to have one made especially for her. Briar had been delighted with it, and spent many hours practicing. When Mary had smuggled her harp from Castle Kenton, Briar had taken her sword. The detail said something about each of them.
“Who is it?” Briar called out loudly, with all the bravado she could muster.
“Ivo de Vessey!”
The two women stilled. “What does he want?” Mary whispered.
Briar had a good idea what Ivo wanted. Her question was, “How did he know we live here?”
Mary flushed bright red. “Oh, Briar! I did not think. When Sweyn asked me, I did not think to deny him.”
Briar frowned. She did not blame her sister—she was young and innocent—but it seemed that Ivo de Vessey was encroaching upon her private life more and more, and that had no part in her plan.
“’Tis too late now,” she told Mary with wary eyes. “If we do not let him in, I fear he will break down our door.”
Mary nodded and went to the door. She heaved up the heavy bar that held it fast shut, and set it aside. Light spilled in, although the half-open door gave some shelter.
Briar held her breath.
“Lady Mary, I beg pardon for my early visit. Is your sister here?”
His voice, quiet and deep, sent shivers across Briar’s skin, and started a burning in the pit of her stomach. The attraction was almost too strong to resist, and she shivered. Why was it this one man seemed so easily able to stir the fire in her blood?
“Briar?”
Mary, half blinded by the sunlight, had her hand still resting on the door as she awaited Briar’s signal to say him yay or nay. But before Briar was able to decide to give her either, the door was inexorably forced wide open, causing Mary to take a hasty step backward. Ivo was a big, dark shadow against the early light.
Briar did not need to see the details of him to know he stared directly at her. His body seemed to go very still…
Jesu, she wore only her old chemise!
Briar took a shaky breath, and berated herself for being too fazed by his arrival to remember to cover herself. Could he see her skin through the thin cloth? And her hair was half wet and loose all about her. If it were any other man, Briar would have been embarrassed and appalled to be seen in such a state. But it was Ivo, and she was oddly excited. She wanted him to see her, she wanted him to desire her.
Jesu, what is happening to me? Have I turned into a whore after just one night with him?
Nay, she thought wryly, just a fool who yearned for Ivo de Vessey’s attention. Well, she certainly seemed to have it now. Her face felt flushed by the heat of the fire, but in contrast her voice was frozen with reproof. Lady Briar at her best.
“Your manners are wanting, de Vessey.”
Mary hovered closeby. “Is your friend with you, Ivo?”
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 expression 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.”