by Sara Bennett
“Wife,” Ivo murmured into her ear, “are you awake?”
His hands slid around her, to cup her breasts, his body aroused against hers. Briar lay half asleep in the warm, soft bed and smiled. She was perfectly content to allow Ivo to wake her.
His hand slid over her belly, pausing briefly, as if he thought of the child growing there, and down to the soft place where her thighs joined. Briar bit her lip on a groan. She was ready for him, and he knew it now. The game was over.
He turned her onto her back and gazed down with hot black eyes into her own loving ones.
“You are awake, wife.”
“I cannot be. ’Tis too wonderful to be real, and I do not want to wake and find it has been nothing but a dream.”
He kissed her mouth, his hands caressing her pliant body. “This no dream, Briar. Never fear you will awake and find me gone. I intend for us to grow old together.”
She arched against him as he delved deep inside her with his finger, clinging to his shoulders, her eyes closed. He lifted his big body over her, opening her legs with his hard-muscled thigh. She eased herself against him, enjoying the rough feel of his skin on that most sensitive part of her.
“Ivo,” she gasped, and reached down to take him in her hand.
He shuddered, suddenly on the verge of losing control, and settled himself more fully between her thighs. She guided him, urging him to complete their joining. But Ivo didn’t need urging. He thrust inside her, deeply, feeling the tremors of her body as she adjusted to him.
“Wife,” he whispered, and thrust again.
Briar gasped, and gently slipped over the edge into the warm, wonderful sea of completion. A short time later Ivo joined her, and together they lay entwined, dreaming of a life together.
“My love?”
Ivo blinked, too happy to speak.
Briar came up on one elbow, gazing down into his face, her hair tickling his skin. One breast brushed his shoulder and he reached to fondle it, thinking, This is mine. She is mine. Truly mine. Miles will never hurt her, not while I live.
She gasped as he found her nipple, gently tugging at the swollen flesh with his gloved fingers. Suddenly he did not feel like sleep, and reached to pull her on top of him. But she held her palms against his chest, firm and unyielding, and surprised, Ivo stared up at her.
Her face was uncertain, the smile curving her lips a little strained. As though she did not know how to say what she wanted to say.
“Briar? Is something amiss, my angel?”
She shook her head, but her lips trembled.
“Briar,” he said, more loudly, “you are frightening me. Tell me, what is wrong?”
She put a finger against his cheek, smoothing the stubble that grew dark against his skin. “Nothing is wrong, Ivo. I want…I want to see your hand now. We are wed. Nothing will make me love you less. You must take off your glove.”
Shocked, he said nothing, just stared up at her. Take off his glove? Show her what Miles had done to his hand? It would be like bearing his soul. And then he remembered that he had already done that; she knew the worst of him already. What did one more thing matter?
“’Tis not a pretty sight.”
She laughed and then bit her lip. “I don’t care about that, Ivo,” she assured him, reaching to take his glove in her own warm fingers. “I love you for what you are, and your hand, and all it means to you, is part of that.”
Love. She loved him. Aye, the love was there in her eyes. His Briar loved him, and she had wormed her way into his heart and his life, until she was his life. He could deny her nothing, and she knew it.
Keeping his eyes on hers, Ivo began briskly to unlace the glove, tugging hard on the leather ties. When that was done, he peeled back the leather, loosening it, and then pulling it from his hand.
Her eyes were still on his, as if despite her brave words she didn’t quite dare look down. And then her gaze slid away, toward his naked hand and the scarred, ugly mess that Miles had made of it. And Ivo realized he couldn’t bear to watch her, in case he saw the horrified rejection there.
There was silence. He felt dizzy with doubts, and turned away. “Jesu, Briar, say something!” he cried, his anguish plain in every word.
“Ivo,” she whispered, and her lips brushed soft and healing against his hurt flesh. “My love, my dearest love. Look at me.”
Slowly, he did so. She held his hand in hers, but he looked into her eyes. They were smiling, and there was no disgust in them, no horror and no pity. It was Briar and she was unafraid. He should have known she would accept his hand, just as she had accepted his past.
He sat up, pulling her against him, his mouth hard on hers. She gasped at the suddenness of his passion, but a moment later had relaxed into his kisses with perfect contentment.
“I love you, my angel,” Ivo whispered against her lips. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” she replied.
At that moment, Ivo knew his happiness was complete.
Chapter 16
Briar pushed away her crust and cheese. Breakfast was no longer a meal she enjoyed, but it was necessary to take a few mouthfuls of something, to settle her roiling stomach. She glanced about her at Lord Radulf’s household, which was barely stirring after yesterday’s celebrations.
Radulf and Lily were still abed, but Ivo had risen early to go with Reynard, Ethelred, and Sweyn to search an area of the city where runaways were wont to gather. Briar had been left to her own devices. Not that she minded, for while Miles roamed free they were not safe. She wanted Ivo’s brother captured as much as anyone.
Radulf had decided that both Briar and Mary would be safer under his roof, and Mary had gone to the cottage with Jocelyn and Odo to fetch some of their belongings. It was only after she had gone that Briar remembered she had not asked for Mary to bring her sword, hidden under her bed. She had carried the sword with her, sometimes concealed under her clothing, since she left Castle Kenton two years ago.
She did not intend to leave it behind now.
Besides, it had been a gift from her father, and so was precious to her. Nay, she could not leave it in the dwelling by the Ouse to be stolen. It would take her but a moment to ride there and fetch it, and then she and Mary could return together.
Briar glanced at her crust again, but could not face it. There was no time like the present. Mayhap Ivo would be there when she returned. At the thought of Ivo, her body softened and burned, and she found herself smiling.
He loves me.
She hugged the knowledge to her heart, feeling supremely optimistic. Aye, he loved her, and all would be well. Radulf would find Miles and destroy him, and she and Ivo would live long lives without fear of what Miles might do.
Full of happiness, still smiling, Briar rose and went out to the stables to find a horse. In moments, she rode out into York.
Her cloak did not seem to warm her as it should. The day was bitter cold, the sky a steel gray without pity. The Ouse reflected the colorless sky, while a few dippers, their feathers ruffled, floated disgruntled upon its surface.
Smoke trickled from the sagging roof of her old home. Mary had lit the fire, then. Briar hurried to dismount and tether her mount, thinking how warm it would be inside. The door opened to her touch, swinging back in the dim and shadowy room.
A shape sat on a stool by the fire, hunched, dark, silent. The hairs rose on the back of Briar’s neck, and she stumbled back, gasping. And then her mind recognized Odo, and she gave a surprised laugh instead.
“Odo?” she said, moving into the room. “Where are Jocelyn and Mary?”
But of course Odo did not answer her. He had not spoken in two years, since he had been taken ill on the morning after Anna’s murder, and it was unlikely he would do so now.
Briar walked toward her bed, lightly touching Odo’s shoulder as she passed. Her sisters could not have gone far, or they would not have left Odo by himself. Briar had time to collect her sword and a few of her other belongings, and be rea
dy for them when they returned. And perhaps she had time to stand a moment, and remember all that had happened in this place, the small griefs and the larger ones, as well as the happiness she had shared…
“My brother’s wife.”
She did not even hear him arrive, just his words ringing in the silence. So smug, so satisfied, so victorious. His voice came from behind her, in the doorway, blocking off her only escape.
Miles.
Briar froze. Her heart gave that heavy thump. She knew she was in the presence of evil, and with only Odo to protect her. Slowly, gathering all her courage about her, Briar turned to face him.
He was standing just inside the room, and his smile told her the worst. He had been waiting for her, and he was planning to enjoy this.
“Do you know, I have been watching you from across the river,” he said, as if he wanted her to hear how clever he had been. “I have been watching you and my brother. Kissing, cooing like doves. I’ve seen everything. He was playing at protecting you, playing at being a knight. But he isn’t much good at it, is he? He never was.”
“Ivo will be here soon,” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken, and to her amazement her voice hardly trembled at all.
He grinned. “I doubt that, my brother’s wife. He is caught up with important matters. He is looking for me, but as usual he is looking in all the wrong places. By the time he recognizes it is you who is missing, it will be too late, you will be gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Somewhere safe, and quiet, where we can get to know each other better.”
I won’t think of that, Briar told herself, gritting her teeth. I won’t let my imagination take me down that narrow road. He has not hurt me yet, and if I am strong and clever, then he will never hurt me.
Her eyes slid away, down to the floor, and she saw the dull curve of the hilt of her sword edging out from beneath her bed. Quickly she looked away. Odo had been staring blankly into the fire, but now Briar noticed that he had lifted his head and was staring instead at Miles.
For a moment Briar thought she read intelligence there, understanding, but it must have been a trick of the light. As she peered closer, she saw his eyes were just the same as always, that empty blue Briar had grown used to. No help there, then.
If she wanted to be saved from Miles, then it was up to herself.
“Why do you hate Ivo?” she asked him, as if she were really interested.
He smiled, but there was nothing of laughter or warmth in it. “When Ivo came into the world he made it brighter. Everyone seemed drawn to him, as if he were a lantern in a dark place. I felt myself disappearing into the shadows when he was nearby. So you see, lady, it was a matter of life or death, me or Ivo. And naturally I chose me.”
She sank down on the bed, as if her legs had suddenly given way, aware that he was watching her like a hawk a field mouse. Her heel brushed the sword hilt and carefully, praying he could not see her movements beneath the hem of her drab gown, she edged it closer.
“Why didn’t you just kill Ivo years ago, Miles? Why draw it out like this? Was he too clever for you? Aye, that must be it, he was just too clever for you—”
“Because he has to suffer,” Miles cut in, and something sparkled in his pale eyes. “I want to break him, I want him to beg and grovel and accept I am his better. Only he never does. He just keeps coming back, stronger than before.” He leaned toward her, breathing quickly, a faint flush in his lean cheeks. “Why does he do that? Why doesn’t he break?”
Briar shifted the sword closer, close enough that if she reached down she could clasp it in her hand. And once she had done that, it was up to her.
“He is better than you,” she said coldly. “That is why, Miles. He is the better man, and he always will be.”
It was a mistake.
With a growl, he stalked toward her. Too soon. Briar fumbled for her sword, snatching it up, but not fast enough. He had grabbed at her arm, twisting it, hurting it. But she would not drop her weapon, though the pain made her feel faint. They struggled together, grimly, making hardly any sound in their battle of life and death.
The sword fell from her fingers.
“Oh, I will enjoy killing you,” he whispered into her ear, and she knew it was so. Briar felt sickness building in her throat.
She tried to pull free, but he caught her hair and jerked hard. Briar spun around, slapping at him, trying to make him let go. But he laughed and began to reel her in by her hair like a fish on a line. And then Briar’s gaze moved beyond him, and widened.
Odo.
Odo was standing there. The big man had risen up to tower over Miles. Briar cried out, just as Odo slipped his meaty arms around Miles’s waist, lifted him, and began to squeeze.
Miles went still, his face slack with shock. And then he began to writhe and struggle, pushing with desperate hands at those powerful arms. Briar stumbled away backward, tripping over a stool. As she fell to the floor, she noticed her sword lying on the ground nearby. Half crawling, she made her way to the weapon and snatched it up, at the same time turning to see what was happening with Miles and Odo.
“You brainsick oaf!” Miles’s face was flushed and furious. He had managed to get one arm out of the death grip, and now he swung his elbow around, into Odo’s face. Blood gushed from the big man’s nose. Odo let him go and sank to his knees, clutching at his face with his hands and making a soft keening sound.
Miles stumbled and half fell onto the bed. Immediately he rolled and stood up, looking around and finding her crouched on the floor. His gray eyes glittered with triumph.
“You have proved surprisingly hard to capture, lady,” he said, a little breathless from his struggle with Odo. “But the game is over now.”
Briar straightened, her sword held before her, and tried to keep her hands steady. “Ivo is going to kill you,” she said, her voice strong and unwavering. “But only if I don’t do it first.”
He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, and then grinned as he reached to his side and unsheathed his own sword. Briar stared blankly at the length of sharp steel. She could fight him, and perhaps keep him busy for a short while, but he would beat her and likely kill her in the end. She was no match for a trained fighting man—Ivo had taught her that, and she was grateful now.
But she could run.
Briar lifted her sword and flung it at him like an oversized dagger, then turned and fled through the open door.
She had taken three steps into the open air when he caught her. It wasn’t far enough. She screamed, and some birds flew up from the river, echoing her cry. Again Miles twisted his hand in her hair and pulled her back against his body. Briar felt the cold, heavy blade of his sword come to rest against her tender throat.
“Perhaps I’ll kill you here,” he said through gritted teeth, and she knew she had made him angry. “Then Ivo will find your body when he finally comes to save you. Poor Ivo. He is always too late. Did he tell you that? If you are pinning your hopes on Ivo, lady, then you will be disappointed.”
“Will she, brother?”
“Ivo!” Briar struggled and tried to run, but Miles held her fast. The blade pressed harder, and she was still.
Ivo, mounted upon his horse, walked it from around the side of the dwelling. Slowly, carefully, as if there was no hurry. Briar gazed up into his face, seeing the grim determination. There was a deadly look in his black eyes, and after one swift glance at Briar, to assure himself she was all right, they settled upon his brother.
In turn Miles watched him, his body still as a snake about to strike. Excitement and anticipation thrummed through him—Briar could feel both. “Brother, you surprise me. You are usually so tardy when it comes to saving those you love.”
“I’m going to kill you, Miles. Let her go, and we can fight. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”
Miles bared his teeth. “You’d give your life for hers, wouldn’t you? Good and noble Ivo! You make me puke. I’ve hated you all my life, but never so
much as I hate you now.”
“Then fight me!” Ivo shouted, and Briar understood then that he knew. Knew that Miles was going to kill her, there in front of him, and then Ivo would not care whether he himself lived or died.
“Let her go.”
The voice sounded rough, as though it had not been used for a very long time. It came from behind Miles, from the door of the dwelling. Briar tried to turn, but even as she struggled, Miles was spinning her around. Odo’s fist struck empty air. Miles brought his arm back and then thrust his sword into the big man with a satisfied grunt.
Briar slipped out of his grasp and fell to the ground. She knew she should run, get away, but she seemed unable to move from the spot. Odo sat down, hands to his wound, staring up in surprise at Miles.
“I should have done that before,” Miles panted, annoyed with himself, and then turned to look at Briar. “And now for you,” he said.
Briar felt the air stir, the tremor of the horse’s hooves on the ground. Miles looked up, his eyes widened. The horse, already in motion, came in a rush between Miles and Briar. Ivo swung his own sword, the blade arching gracefully.
Miles fell without a sound.
Briar rose on shaking legs. Ivo had dismounted, reluctantly, and was staring down at his brother. Miles’s chest rose and fell wildly, as if he couldn’t get enough air, the bright blood spreading across his breast. He gazed up at Ivo, gray eyes dulled now, fading. His mouth curled into a smile—Ivo’s smile.
“Ivo,” he whispered. “I want to…I want to…”
Ivo dropped to one knee, leaning closer. “What is it, Miles?”
Miles gasped, swallowed, and said, “I want to tell you that I’ll beat you yet,” and then the air rattled from his throat, and he was gone.
“Odo!”
Jocelyn’s screams echoed savagely about them. She came running toward her husband, Mary close behind her. Ivo was still kneeling, staring blankly down at his brother’s body. Briar touched his shoulder, gently, and he looked up at her.
