Once He Loves (Medieval 3)

He was right. No secrets. And yet Briar had kept one vital secret from Ivo all this time. Filby. He knew who Filby was, she had told him, but he did not know the whole story. She had not trusted Ivo enough to open up her sore heart to him. Could she really demand honesty from him and not give him the same?

She was a woman despoiled. She must in all honor give him the chance to step away from her, if that was what he wished. Though it broke her heart and made her babe fatherless, she would not wed Ivo if he did not truly want her.

They were all waiting for her to speak, but it was to Radulf she turned.

“I would beg some moments alone with Ivo, my lord, before I answer.”

Radulf nodded. “Very well. There must be a chamber free for your use in this large house. Sometimes it feels very empty to me, but then I miss my wife. Girl!” he called out, impatient with the servants, or himself. A maid came scurrying forward for his instructions.

“These two require privacy, see to it.”

The maidservant had lit a candle, but its yellow light did little to hold back the shadows.

Filby.

Tears filled her eyes. Not for remembered hurt, although that was certainly there. Tears of self-pity, and for what Ivo would think of her. Until now he had thought so well of her, despite her foolish mistake where Miles was concerned. Briar was vain enough not to want his admiration eroded by such a one as Filby.

“Demoiselle.”

That wonderful voice, the heat of him at her back, his strong hands coming to rest upon her waist. Briar had not comprehended how much she had missed his care and concern until he had withdrawn it from her, and now it was back in full force.

Or was he just being kind?

She had not understood until now how very kind Ivo was. He smiled at shy Mary, and took time to bolster her confidence; he indulged Briar with her swordplay, when he could have put an end to it with one thrust of his blade. He made certain she was safe, and when she was ill he held her and bathed her brow.

Aye, he was kind. But was kindness what she wanted from him now? Did she want a marriage based on kindness? Or would guilt and unhappiness destroy them?

Briar knew she would rather know the truth now, that he had not really wanted her, than marry him and live in dread ever after…

“What is it you need to tell me, Briar?” he asked her gently, his breath warm against her chestnut hair.

She turned and looked up at him, trying to be brave, trying to be calm. “I will speak, Ivo, but afterward you must promise me that if you do not wish to wed me, that you will tell me so?”

He laughed shakily, as if he had never heard anything less likely. “Aye, never fear, I will tell you so.”

“This is something,” she began, but to her dismay her voice wavered. But no tears; she would not cry. She would not gain his consent through pity. “Do you remember Filby? My betrothed?”

He frowned. “I remember he would not help you when you needed help most desperately.”

“When word of the gravity of our situation reached me, I believed I had no option but to beg Filby for his help. I went to his gate and pleaded with him to support us. We had been abandoned and he was to marry me. I believed he would come to our rescue. I could not understand why he was suddenly so cold.”

Ivo was watching her, and a sour smile twisted his mouth. “He was concerned for his own skin. Go on.”

“When he refused to help us, I thought…I believed that if I gave myself to him, then he would feel obliged to help. He would owe it to me. And mayhap he would remember what he had felt for me, before my father turned traitor against the king. So I offered him my body, and he agreed.”

Ivo’s eyes were burning like black stars. Was his anger for Filby, or herself? Briar flinched beneath their stare, turning her face away so that she would not see the expression in them.

“I did not enjoy it, do not think that. It was not like you and me. He took me without care or consideration, not brutally, I will say that, but without feeling, as if I were no longer a person to him. Afterward I thought ’twas the way of all men. And I believed that, although I had been humiliated and soiled, at least Filby would have to help us. He would have to.”

She bit her lip, waiting until the tremble in her voice had subsided again.

“But he didn’t help us. He sent me away instead. And then, when he came to Castle Kenton, to take our home from us, he offered to let us remain there as his prisoners. But I knew what he meant to make of me, and that I could not stay. So we left.”

His breath sounded quick and shallow. When Briar dared at last to look at him, she saw that he had closed his eyes, and his skin had paled. He appeared to be suffering under some terrible affliction. Jesu, was he ill?

“Ivo?” she cried, and reached out. But she did not quite dare to touch him. She did not know if she still had the right. The tears clogged her voice, and made it difficult to speak. “I am so sorry, Ivo. If you do not want to wed me now, I will understand it. I will do as you wish. Ivo, please speak to me. Ivo…?”

He opened his eyes. They blazed with black fire. He was so angry! That was the terrible emotion he was struggling with—anger. Swallowing, Briar stared, wondering if he meant to kill her on the spot.