She stared, as well she might, and for a terrible moment he wondered if she would reject him. And then she gave a brilliant smile and said, “Are you sure?”
He nodded, jerkily, feeling light-headed with relief. “Aye. I don’t understand why this has happened now, after all these years, but I love you, Mary.”
She reached up and cupped his face, smiling into his blue eyes.
“Then all is well, Sweyn.”
“I hope so, Mary,” he said, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “You have turned me into a new man, and I am not sure about him yet. But I know one thing, my lady. I will not take your innocence without a priest’s blessing.”
Mary sighed and shook her head with mock disappointment. “Where is the adventure in that, Sweyn?”
“The old Sweyn would not have hesitated to bed you, lady, but the new one will not. Take it or leave it, the choice is yours.”
Mary smiled, a slow and very satisfied smile. “I will take it. Now please kiss me, and properly this time.”
Sweyn laughed, and some of his old arrogance was in it. “Oh, I will kiss you properly, Mary. I will do that.”
Bending his head he captured her mouth with his, drawing his last and forever love into the heady world of passion.
Chapter 14
She did not know what she asked.
Ivo leaned back, so that he could see the yellow candlelight reflecting in her hair. Her eyes were so deep, like a forest glade, somewhere to take shelter and to rest. If only that were so, Ivo knew he would remain here with her forever.
But she was watching him; she was waiting.
Briar had made it sound so simple a thing, for him to tell her his secrets. But it was not. There was nothing simple about it. Ivo rarely shared those most painful of memories with anyone. The past was messy, and his was messier than most.
“Ivo,” she said gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, where the bruise was fading to a dull shadow. “When I was a little child you came to my aid. You picked me up and held me in your arms, and I loved you. I followed you about, do you remember?”
He half smiled at the memory. “I do, Briar. You were beautiful then, too. I gave you my heart, and you have it still.”
“Then do you really think I would harm your heart? Do you really believe I would do that, after you have given me so much? What could be so bad that it would make me turn from you now?”
He tilted his head and kissed her fingers, but the bleakness had returned to his eyes.
“My brother hates me,” he said, as if with an effort, and drew her close against him so that he could rest his chin upon her soft hair. “I don’t know why he hates me, but he always has. I used to think that it was my fault, that I had done something wrong, and I tried harder to be a better brother because of it. But it didn’t matter what I did, he found fault, he derided me, he looked at me with the eyes of loathing. I learned at an early age, that no matter what I did, Miles would still hate me.”
The words were coming easier now, as if a door had opened inside him. Ivo let them flow, forgetting where he was and who was listening, letting himself journey back into his boyhood.
“Miles is the elder son, and our father loved him. I was never favored above him, I was never given more than he. There was no reason. He could have made so much of his life, and instead he had made it his ambition to torment me. Sometimes it was as if my mere presence was enough, and he bitterly resented me for it. Perhaps he wanted to be the only son, perhaps it was as simple, as impossible, as that.
“I was told once that, when I was a babe and he was a boy, he took me up onto the roof and held me over the drop to the ground. ’Twas only my mother’s threats to tell our father that made him spare me. Afterward, she kept a closer watch upon me, and our father told Miles that if anything were to happen to me, he would send him far away and I would inherit all. But there were still accidents. Small things—a cut here, a fall there, a knock—nothing that could be proved as being done on purpose. One of Miles’s tricks was to ride at me with his pony, and miss me by a hairsbreadth. After a time I learned to stand perfectly still and pretend not to mind. He did not intend to knock me down, not then, he feared our father still. His pleasure was all in frightening me, terrifying me, making my life a misery. I learned to be brave from an early age.
“Perhaps that was one of the reasons I was sent away to be a squire in your household.” He squeezed her gently, feeling her living warmth in his arms. She returned the pressure but said nothing, afraid perhaps to interrupt him now that he had begun.
“Though I missed my home, after a time I grew to love being in the Kenton household. Your family was so different. No one was favored above any other; no one was hurt for just being themselves. And there was no Miles.”
“I am glad you were happy,” she murmured, her voice husky. “I am glad my family gave you that, Ivo.”
They were silent a moment, remembering. And then Ivo sighed, and said, “But then my father died, and I returned home. And my happy days were done. Miles was waiting for me, and now there was no one to rein him in.”
“But why, Ivo? Why does he hate you so?” Her eyes were wide, compassionate, as she leaned back in his arms to look up at him. Briar, the pampered daughter, the beloved of her father, would never have understood, although she may have sympathized. But this Briar had suffered too—he had seen it in her eyes that first night. She had been hurt, and she had survived. Just like Ivo.
Mayhap that was why he loved her so much.
He drew her gently back against his chest, smoothing the fingers of his gloved hand through her hair, soaking up her warmth as if he were frozen. She had opened his heart once, when he had thought all chance of love was dead. Perhaps she could do it again…