Once He Loves (Medieval 3)

He wanted to pull her closer, to kiss her, to tease her in his arms until she was warm and feisty again. His sharp-tongued lady. But there were too many eyes upon them, and he did not wish to make her a cause for gossip. With a murmured word to the guard, he led her into a cell.

The man he sought was master of a gloomy corner. He sat on a bench before a smoky brazier, one of his legs heavily bandaged. Graying hair hung long about his shoulders, and pale eyes adorned a tanned and wrinkled face. He peered at them as if he had trouble seeing them.

“I have the lady you asked for,” Ivo said clearly, and drew Briar forward.

She resisted but then, with a deep breath, allowed it.

The prisoner began to struggle to his feet.

“Nay, do not stand,” Briar said hastily. She took a step and stopped. A sense of recognition swept over her, ousting the sickness in her belly. ’Twas this wretched place, she thought, ’twould make anyone bilious.

Briar glanced at Ivo, but he stood to one side, as if he had no part in the conversation. His eyes were fierce, glowing with some strong emotion, but she could not read it.

“Do I know you?” she asked the prisoner uncertainly. “Why have you asked for me, old man?”

“Aye, you know me, lady.” The pale eyes lifted to hers, and froze her in place. Nausea twisted within her again, while that well-remembered voice said, “I am Anthony the traitor, lady, but once I was called Sir Anthony Delacourt.”

Sharp memory, like the sting of a whip to her flesh.

Sir Anthony, vassal and friend, stood by her father at Castle Kenton, his face as grim as Lord Richard’s, as the two men prepared to make treason against the king.

“I thought you died at the hands of Radulf’s men,” Briar said, her voice oddly devoid of feeling. The cell was growing dark around her, as if night had come suddenly and without warning.

“No, my lady, I did not die.”

For a single, insane moment she thought: If Sir Anthony is alive, then mayhap so is my father! And then she remembered that that could not be. Her father had died at his own hand and she had prayed over his poor, cold body…

Dizziness assailed her. Briar reached out, blindly, her legs giving way. A hard, strong arm came around her, and cool, gloved fingers closed over her own grasping ones. Eyes shut, she clung to him, soaking up his strength and support, while the world faded in and out, and sickness threatened to humiliate her.

Gradually everything stilled and righted. Her breathing returned to normal, and her stomach stopped doing a jig. He was, she realized, holding her up, his voice a soft, urgent murmur in her ear.

“My angel, my sweet lady, please, be strong…”

There was a temptation to simply remain where she was and listen to his endearments. No man had ever called her such things before, and again that warm and wonderful feeling filled her. But to play at helplessness was not Briar’s way. He was right, she was strong, and she must be strong now.

“I am recovered.”

Instantly he stilled, his breath ragged against her hair, waiting.

She swallowed, and licked her dry lips. “’Twas just a moment, when I…I remembered…”

“I understand.”

He said it as if he really did.

Her fingers tightened on his as she straightened, regained her footing, and then she released them. He stepped back, but not very far.

Sir Anthony was watching her warily, his face more haggard even than before.

“You say you did not die.” She sounded cold, emotionless—it was necessary to be both.

“I escaped and fled north, to Scotland.”

“Then what do you here? Now?”

“I have lost all I had in England, so I made a life by fighting for whoever wanted me. I was part of the recent rebellion on Lady Lily’s lands, but this time I did not escape. De Vessey here has brought me to justice, lady. He beat me in fair fight, and treated me kindly in defeat. On the journey to York, we spoke of many things, and one of them was you.”

De Vessey. The realization squeezed her, dangerously tight, so that for a moment she could hardly breathe. She fought back, refusing to collapse before him like one of the foolish, hysterical women she had always despised. She dare not show any more weakness, not now.