Once He Loves (Medieval 3)

Now, when he knew who she was.

Ivo de Vessey, Radulf’s man, knows me. Can anything be more disastrous?

Sir Anthony’s voice droned on. “When de Vessey told me you were in York, lady, I asked to see you again. Lady Briar, I think often on those days. Your father was a great man.”

“Aye,” she whispered, tears spilling from her eyes, though her voice did not tremble. “So he was.”

Behind her the silence was palpable, but she could not turn, she dared not.

“I asked to see you again, Lady Briar, because I wanted to make sure you did not blame your father for what occurred. ’Twas never his fault. He found the king’s justice wanting, and in his pain and grief, sought to make his own justice.”

“I know this, Sir Anthony,” she said, and now it was anger that made her voice shake. “I do not blame my father. I well know who to blame for our calamity.”

Anthony eased his wounded leg with a grimace. “I tried to tell him, lady, but he would not listen to me. If Odo had been well, mayhap he would have listened to him, but Odo was close to death.” The pale eyes lifted and fixed on hers. “’Tis not something one man can easily tell another. That he is a cuckold.”

Briar blinked, her anger turning colder.

What was this? Cuckold? Had the man been wounded in the head, as well as the leg?

There had been talk, afterward, of Anna’s unfaithfulness, but Briar had always dismissed it. Her father had loved his beautiful wife so much; how could Anna betray devotion such as that? Briar could not imagine being loved in such a single-minded way, and if she was, she knew she would never wantonly destroy it. That was why she had chosen the form of vengeance against Radulf that she had—to destroy his wife’s love and faith in him. It was the worst punishment Briar could imagine.

“But I thought ’twas only talk!” she cried out now. “I know Radulf lusted after Anna, but I believed she resisted his importunings, and that was why he had her killed. Are you telling me, Sir Anthony, that they were lovers? No wonder my father was so bitter!”

Sir Anthony shook his head. He looked as if he were sorry for what he was about to say—there was something in his eyes that spoke of deep regret. But there was also a recklessness in the

set of his head, a strong need to speak, to set himself free. Whatever the cost to her.

“Anna was faithless, lady, but I do not know if Radulf was her partner. There were…others. I heard mention of both Lord Fitzmorton and Lord Shelborne. Your father did not know—or pretended not to. I think, if he had been forced to recognize her for what she was, it would have destroyed him. As it did. Nay, lady, she was the reason he died. He fought for her, seeking justice for her death, when she had been all too happy to besmear his reputation while she was alive. If anyone killed your father, Lady Briar, then it was Anna.”

The silence was deep; a dark hollow sound.

What does it matter whether she was faithful or not? screamed a shrill voice in her head. Radulf still ordered Anna to be murdered, and it was that murder which began the whole downward spiral of the Kenton family. Whether she was a faithful wife or not changes nothing!

But it did.

Sir Anthony had spoken of matters Briar had never heard before. Mayhap it was simply that she had been too young, and too sheltered, to grasp the meaning of them at the time. Whatever the explanation, hearing them now had left her shocked and shaken. She needed time to be alone, to lick at her wounds, to recover herself.

And to convince herself she had been right to waste two years of her life seeking vengeance at Radulf’s door.

“I do not know who killed her.” Sir Anthony’s already wrinkled face creased in thought. “Perhaps ’twas Radulf, perhaps ’twas some other who desired her and could not own her, not wholly. Even I let her use me. You do not know how persuasive she could be.”

Shamefaced, he turned away, and Briar felt the hot sickness return. Suddenly she knew she did not want to hear any more.

“Take me away, de Vessey.”

He reached out as if to comfort her, but Briar pulled back, standing rigid and alone. Aye, alone, as it should be. It seemed that no man was to be trusted after all.

Turning, blindly, Briar all but ran out of the dark cell, past the guard, and up the stairs. Her chest was heaving from more than physical exertion as she burst into the light.

Cold, gray day surrounded her. She took deep gulps of the frigid air, desperately attempting to still the queasiness in her stomach.

She would not be sick before Ivo, she would not!

It was a long moment before she sensed he was standing right behind her. Silent, waiting, so attuned to her that he knew exactly what she wanted from him. Tears stung her eyes and she gave a shaken laugh. He was playing at being her loyal knight. Aye, her very own disgraced knight.

“’Tis all lies,” she said, recovering a little. “You have had much time on the journey to bring Sir Anthony to your side, and to help him in the telling of his tale.”

When he did not answer, Briar took another deep, steadying her breath, and turned at last to face him.