Once He Loves (Medieval 3)

Briar nodded, feeling foolish. He was still gazing down at her, and when she flicked her own eyes up to his, she read warmth and admiration in his gaze.

“You are brave, demoiselle. You did not swoon, like your sister.”

“Swoon!”

Startled, Briar swung around to Sweyn and noticed that Mary had fainted in his arms. Sweyn looked as if he would faint himself, touching Mary’s cheek, her shoulder, whispering in her ear. “Sweet Jesu, Mary,” Briar gasped, wriggling to escape Ivo’s grip.

“She is not hurt.” He would not release her. “She swooned when she knew we were safe. ’Twas better than had she done it in the midst of a fight.”

“I am glad that pleases you,” Briar said sharply, her concern for him forgotten. But she gave up her struggle, content that Mary was in good hands.

“Who were they?” she asked, watching him curiously.

Ivo’s mouth went hard and straight. “Friends of the rebels who would take Lord Radulf’s lands? Thieves intent on our purses? Enemies of mine?”

“What enemies do you have?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “I am a mercenary and, as you are so fond of reminding me, a disgraced knight. We all have enemies, awaiting their chance to hurt us, whether it be by word or blade. Perhaps I have wronged someone and now they seek revenge. Or mayhap ’tis Sweyn they seek, in retaliation for one of his bad jokes.”

Sweyn pulled a face at him, too occupied with Mary to reply.

He was probably right, thought Briar. Enemies were everywhere, and Lord Radulf must have many. She was among their number. The troop of men had been well armed, they looked like soldiers who had killed before, but mayhap they had not expected such seasoned fighters as Ivo and Sweyn. Was that why they had ridden off like that?

Briar shivered, and Ivo’s arms closed more firmly about her. Keeping her safe. He brushed his lips against her hair, his voice quiet, “Let us go home, demoiselle.” As his horse set off at a slow trot, Briar closed her eyes, suddenly very content to be exactly where she was.

Briar must have dozed momentarily, for when she awoke, they had already reached the cottage by the river. Starlight washed the dark water intermittently as cloud slipped across the sky. Waves brushed the shore in soothing motion. The dwelling was a black shape, silent and faintly sinister.

Swiftly, Ivo dismounted and brought her down beside him. Briar had hoped he might carry her—she was oddly loathe to give up the warmth and safety of his arms—but understood he needed to have both his arms free. In case he had to fight for them.

“Wait here.” His eyes were very dark, a warning that he meant what he said. Briar nodded, though her frown told him she didn’t like it. He smiled, a faint lift of his lips, and turned away.

He was only gone a moment. It seemed like much longer to Briar, as she waited, her breath held.

“’Tis safe.”

His shadow appeared at the door, but at the sound of his voice, Briar had already followed him inside. Fumbling, she found and lit a candle. The wane light fought with the shadows. Briar wondered how a single candle could give such comfort? The same way in which one man, among all the others, tugged at her heart and made her so weak, so vulnerable.

It was incomprehensible, and very frightening. Once before she had believed in a man and he had failed her. How could she give herself to Ivo? He was near enough to a stranger.

“No one has been here,” she said huskily, carefully looking about her. “I would know if they had.”

He nodded, his dark eyes glinting in the weak flame. Moisture from the misty night sparkled on his hair as he bent to stir fire from the coals.

“Briar?” Mary’s voice trembled.

Her sister was standing within the door, leaning heavily upon Sweyn. Briar hurried to take Mary’s hands; to her dismay the girl’s fingers were cold and shaking. “Come,” she insisted, and with Sweyn’s help, lowered the girl onto a stool. Ivo made quick work of turning the smoldering fire into a warm blaze, and dry heat began to chase the cold and damp into retreat.

“Briar, ’tis you who needs care.”

“Hush, sweeting, I am quite well again.” Briar stroked her sister’s dark hair with gentle fingers. “The sickness is past. Truly.”

And it was so. She felt perfectly well again, if a little tired. But then what woman would not feel tired after the evening she had had? It was Mary who needed care now—they were back to normal, and the return of their equilibrium was a great relief to Briar. She had begun to fear Mary no longer needed her.

Where would that leave Briar? She would have to begin thinking of life alone, just her, all by herself.

And she did not like it.

Ivo watched Briar while she busied herself making her sister warm and comfortable, and set a posset over the flames to heat.