“Do you know what I wish, Briar?” he said, and he leaned forward so suddenly that she jumped. But he only took her hands hard in his. “I wish Filby were not already dead,
so that I could kill him over and over again for what he did to you. And then I wish I could turn time back and come riding to Castle Kenton with my friends, Gunnar Olafson and Alfred, Sweyn and Reynard and Ethelred, and save you and your sisters from the past.”
He wasn’t angry with her, Briar realized, relieved. Of course he was not! He was angry with Filby, and her heart soared with joy. She gave a hic-cupping laugh.
“You cannot save me from the past, Ivo, though that would be my wish, too. If I had seen you come to save me, two years ago, everything would have been different.”
“I know,” he whispered. He drew her into his arms, gently, yet both of them trembling with emotion. “Ah God, I know it.”
“You might not have liked me then,” she began, tentatively. “I was very arrogant, Ivo.”
He smiled into her hair. “I would have loved you, demoiselle, just as I do now.”
Briar clung on to him, weeping softly, until Filby had finally been cried away. Ivo does not want to abandon me. He is angry at Filby. It does not matter to his pride that I gave away my body in good faith to such a man. He cares only for me, that I was hurt. Me!
He loves me.
Briar pressed her lips to his throat, and Ivo groaned softly, drawing her yet closer.
“Ivo?”
“Aye, Briar.”
She kissed him again, then took a deep breath. “I have told you my last remaining secret, Ivo. You know them all. I have no more. Now you must share yours with me.”
Ivo tensed but did not let her go. If anything, he held her tighter, clinging to her now, as she had clung to him.
“Ivo? You have said that you love me, Ivo. You must tell me. Whatever it is, it cannot be as bad as Filby.”
Ivo sighed, opening his eyes to stare into nothing, into the past. And Briar could tell that it was more dark and bitter than any she could imagine.
But she was right, she knew it. The time had come for him to share with her the darkness of his soul.
“Mary?”
Mary looked up, wane-faced and miserable.
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head, tears sparkling in her lashes like pearls. “Where is Briar?”
Sweyn moved closer, carefully, as if he were afraid of what she might do. Or was it himself he was afraid of? “Ivo has taken her to Lord Radulf. All will be well, Mary. Ivo will take care of your sister, never doubt that. He is an honorable man.”
“But why are they gone so long?”
Sweyn sat down beside her. “They are arguing. You know what they are like. Or else they are making up their argument, with kisses and cuddles.”
Some of the anguish left her eyes as she considered that. Then it returned. “I should have stopped her from going to meet Ivo’s brother. What if he had hurt her?”
Sweyn brushed her cheek with his thumb, feeling her soft, silky skin against his own rough flesh. “Stopped Briar?” he teased her gently. “Can any of us do that, Mary?”
She met his eyes, a steel determination in her own he had never seen before. “I could, Sweyn. I am stronger than I thought.”
Sweyn looked into her sweet, serious face and knew in a single instant that he was doomed. His carefree, roving days were done. Over. For all time.
The words formed in his throat and he tried to hold them back, but it was like sweating chain mail. If he did not speak them, he would choke.
“I love you, Mary.”