Ivo hesitated, and then shook his head. “Not now, demoiselle.”
Briar did not insist. In truth, she was a little afraid of what she would see, and mayhap this was not the time for such things. He was watching her, suddenly uncertain.
“Do you think our friend at the hostelry will knock on the door tonight?” Briar teased nervously, to lighten the moment.
Ivo bent and slid his fingers along her thigh, seeking her center. He smiled. “He will be sorry if he does.”
She laughed and then gasped as he leaned forward and found her nipple through the thin chemise, biting very gently. The bud swelled, went hard, and she clutched at his shoulders, feeling the muscles move beneath his skin.
“Take me, de Vessey,” she commanded. “I need you now.”
He looked down into her eyes, his own half closed, blurred with desire. “You are very bossy, my lady. Do you always instruct your lovers so?”
She arched as his fingers moved in her again, her reply ragged. “Only you, Ivo.”
He smiled, and it transformed him into a younger, more carefree man. Her handsome, lusty warrior. Briar reached up and took that mouth with hers, and at the same time he slid himself into her, claiming her as his.
“Ivo,” she gasped.
He groaned and withdrew, thrusting again, deeper this time. Briar lifted her hips, eager for more, quickly spiraling out of control. Could any other man give her this, this sense of completeness? There was no other man…
Briar cried out her joy as Ivo pushed her beyond pleasure, and followed after.
Briar lay content by Ivo, her body throbbing still from their passion. Ivo stroked her arm, where it lay across him beneath his wolfpelt cloak, which he had pulled over their cooling flesh.
“Will you wed me, Briar?”
Surprised, Briar viewed the request hungrily. I want this, she realized. I want to wed him and be his wife, have his child, make him happy and be happy myself.
Happiness had not had much to do with any plans she had made over the past two years. Briar was not sure if she trusted it.
“Is that what you want, Ivo?”
She half sat up, to see his face, but it was closed. Reminding her that he, too, had his secrets.
“I want you. A marriage between us will give me the right to protect you and the child, to care for you. It will bind us together, Briar.”
She shook her head, her hair spilling about them. “No more than we are already bound,” she said seriously.
He touched her cheek. “There are reasons why being a de Vessey may not be such a good idea,” he said, as if to himself. “And yet I would call you wife, Briar. I would that our child takes my name.”
Warmth flooded her at his answer. “Very well,” she whispered. “I will wed you, Ivo. I will be your wife.”
He took her in his arms, and his mouth grew hot and eager on hers. They had made a new pledge, thought Briar, as desire built between them once more. And it had nothing to do with vengeance or hate. This was a vow to each other, and it was built upon trust and responsibility and caring. And hope.
Sweyn drew Mary closer to him, the darkness itself like a cloak about them. Their horse moved cautiously through the silent streets of York.
“Will my sister wed Ivo?” she asked him, her voice soft and uncertain. Mary had been deep in thought until now, and Sweyn had left her undisturbed.
“Did she say that?”
Mary rested against his chest, trusting, comfortable. And he allowed it because it felt so good.
“Nay. She told me she was with child, and the father is Ivo.”
Sweyn was silent, almost as surprised as Mary. Almost. Ivo, a father? Well, it happened to most men. But most men weren’t Ivo. Sweyn knew his friend would not abandon this girl, even if he was not besotted with her. To leave her in such a plight was not in his nature.
“And your sister is happy about this?”