“Even then.”
At that moment they reached the dwelling by the Ouse.
She was admirable and brave. What other woman in her position, coming from her privileged background, could have survived such travails? And yet Ivo wished he had been there, that he could have lightened her terrible load, protected her, made her difficult life just a little bit easier.
“You do not have to live in such hard times again,” he said at last, halting his horse and tilting his head so that he could see her. “While I am here, I will look after you.”
The words had barely left his mouth when she fired up like dry tinder.
“While you are here? What use is that to me! Mayhap you would stay if I paid you.”
“I do not ask for payment,” he replied stiffly. Was she willfully misunderstanding him? What had he said to make her so angry so quickly?
“I do not want your care if you have no intention of letting me keep it longer than a week…a month…”
Surprised, he tried to read her face in the shadows, but she pulled away. “I will not leave you in danger, Briar,” he insisted. “I will see that you are safe.”
He could hear her spluttering with anger and frustration. “I have never asked for anything of you, de Vessey—”
Ivo closed his eyes and said, loudly, “I want you.”
She stopped, breathing fast.
“I want you,” he said again, and opened his eyes. She was staring back at him, and her eyes shone with tears.
“You want me,” Briar whispered, “but is that enough?”
“Then what is enough, demoiselle?” Ivo retorted, his voice harsh with his own sense of frustration.
Briar didn’t know. She was frightened and confused, and now she had the prospect of a child to care for, to feed, to clothe…And all Ivo could say was, I want you. It wasn’t enough.
“Do not come back here again.” Her voice shook. “I do not want a disgraced knight following me about. I do not want you, de Vessey.”
“If you say that often enough, I will begin to believe you mean it, Briar.”
“I do, I do mean it!”
“Briar.” Mary was staring at her sister in dismay. “Ivo and Sweyn have been so kind, and this is how you thank them? You are making me ashamed.”
Briar stared at her, mouth open. Mary had never spoken to her in such a way before, never. Ashamed? After all she had done? The threatening tears choked her. She ran for the cottage and slammed the door behind her.
She flung herself onto her bed, head in her arms, wishing she could cry. The sobs were there, in her throat, but now when she wanted to weep, they would not come forth. Trapped, cornered, that was how she felt. Her life had slipped beyond her control, and it had happened the night she first saw Ivo de Vessey.
When she felt the touch on her hair she told herself it was Mary. But it was not Mary’s touch. Big, gentle fingers, stroking. He caressed her back, and then lifted her, turning her into his shoulder. She clung there like a burr, a terrified creature, her arms locked about his neck.
“I am with child.”
She felt the heavy thud of his heart, his silence, and wished she could read his expression.
“How long have you known?” he said, not quite evenly.
“Since Jocelyn told me, before I sang tonight.” She clung even harder, as if afraid that now he knew he would push her away. Or ask her if it was his. He had every right to do so. She had lured him to her bed, a stranger. How could he be certain she did not do that with others? Jesu, she had pretended she did, just to annoy him!
“Ivo,” she whispered, “the babe is—”
“Mine.”
She leaned back to look at him, laughing and crying at the same time. He gave her a serious smile in return, but something bleak chilled his warm dark eyes.