Once He Loves (Medieval 3)

“’Tis a fair assessment of him, my lord, thank you.”

“You have pleased my daughter very much, ladies. I thank you for it.”

Briar and Mary curtsyed and did not rise until Lord Shelborne had gone. Mary looked frightened, her dark eyes flicking to Briar and back to Ivo. Briar looked angry, her cheeks flushed, her hazel eyes glittering.

“Did you hear him patronizing us?” she said to Ivo, but he was thankful she kept her voice low.

“Briar—”

“As if he had never done anything so despicable as cuckold my father—”

“Briar.”

She stopped, gave him a wary glance. “’Tis true.”

“Sometimes ’tis wiser and safer to keep one’s thoughts to one’s self, demoiselle.”

She searched his face, and then shrugged one shoulder with pretended indifference. “Very well, I will say no more.”

“You would be wise not to, lady. At least, not until you have left this place.”

“Very well, de Vessey.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

“What do you here anyway? Is your lord in attendance?” She looked past him briefly, searching for Lord Radulf. Then, as if a new idea had struck her, she frowned at Ivo. “Who told Lord Shelborne our secret?”

Ivo grimaced. “He had already guessed, demoiselle, as had Lord Radulf. They recalled your name—’tis unusual. A prickly name for such a sweet woman.”

She paled, then looked down and said no more. Her hands twisted in her gown.

Ivo reached out and covered her hands with his own. Her fingers stilled, and then relaxed beneath his warm, strong grip. “I am come to take you home, demoiselle,” he murmured. “Are you ready to go now?”

“Aye,” she breathed, and cast him a secretive glance from beneath her long dark lashes. “Aye, Ivo, I am.”

He had known she needed him, and he had come. Briar understood it had been so ever since he returned from fighting in the north. Whenever she was in danger or need, Ivo had been there.

And, oh, she needed him now, in this moment, more than any other.

But did she dare to take what he was offering her?

Briar shivered, leaning back into his warm body as they made their way through the dark streets toward the river. Instinctively, his arms tightened, and he drew her cloak closer to her, and added his own as well. So safe, she thought with a sigh. She had never looked for safety before—she had not thought to need a man in such a way. Briar strongly believed in her own ability to protect herself and her sisters, but nevertheless it was pleasant to have a man like Ivo de Vessey standing behind her. One look at his big body and rugged features, and most people backed away, eager not to draw his ire.

But he was not like that, not really.

They did not know Ivo as she did.

He was honorable and chivalrous, thoughtful and passionate—aye, he was all those things and more. A mixture of impatient hot-bloodedness and loyal self-sacrifice. It did not matter that he was a mercenary and a disgraced knight.

He would make a fine father.

If he stayed.

Briar’s heart pounded. Jesu, how can I tell him? What will he do? Say?

What if he abandoned her?

Would Ivo do such a thing? She could not imagine it, but then she really did not know him. Was she going to put her hope and trust, her future and that of her child, into the hands of a man who was almost a stranger?