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He bent again, hungrily, but his mouth paused just before it touched hers. “I like this one better,” he growled, and claimed his kiss.
Briar clung to him, returning his passion, her body straining hard against his. Heat poured over her, sizzling her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. This was what she wanted, she thought dizzily. This sense of being part of another, this belonging. Jocelyn was right. Sometimes you had to leap and just pray you landed safely.
“Beware!”
Sweyn’s voice, loud and frantic, cut through her heated passion like a sliver of ice.
Instantly Ivo had tucked her in against his chest, in the safety of his arms. His body was rigid and alert, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was prepared to fight, and Briar was still struggling to catch her breath. Ivo wheeled his horse around, facing the direction of Sweyn’s raised arm. Not that he needed to, thought Briar, for she was certain that he too could hear the heavy thud and rattle. An armed troop of men were approaching. Danger, bearing down upon them, leaving them only two options.
Turn and ride as fast as they could and hope to outrun them. Or stand and fight.
Ivo drew his sword.
At his side, Sweyn did the same. The two of them waited, weapons ready, as five armed men rode into Stonegate in front of them. They wore chain-mail tunics and full-face helmets, their identities completely hidden by steel and shadows. One of the men urged his mount forward a little, as if to claim the role of leader. The horse shifted nervously and snorted, the plume of hot breath turning the cold air to white.
They all waited, and although it seemed to Briar an interminable time, it was only a couple of heartbeats. The man stared at them, his body rigid with the effort to control his horse, while his men were as silent and frightening as he.
“Jesu.”
It was Ivo’s murmur, his voice hoarse and strange. Briar felt his hard body grow even more hard.
And then, without a word, the leader dug his spurs into his mount and came at them.
Briar gasped and tried to make herself as small as possible, curling against
Ivo, intent on not getting in the way of the swing of his sword. Her heartbeat was as loud as the galloping horse. Ivo’s own heart sounded so solid against her cheek, and she felt his muscles stretch and harden as he twisted his body to protect her, and fight off their attacker. The leader of the troop drew his sword and shouted a long, wordless cry of rage. The hairs on Briar’s neck stood up at the sound.
Ivo lifted his sword and drove forward.
Steel connected with steel with a hideous clang. The dull clash echoed about them. Ivo hissed with pain. And then the galloping horse had passed them, moving on.
Ivo cursed and swung around, shouting orders to Sweyn. Briar peered between her fingers. Their faceless attacker had already been swallowed up in the darkness, his men close behind. They had not even unsheathed their weapons, and had given Ivo and Sweyn a wide berth.
Swords still drawn, faces blank with confusion, the two mercenaries stared after them.
“Are they gone?” asked Sweyn in a whisper.
“Aye.”
“What did you make of it?”
“I know not,” said Ivo, and yet…There was something in his voice that made Briar wonder.
Sweyn appeared not to notice. “Who would play such games? Why make a threat, and then fail to follow it through? What does a man gain from it?”
“Our fear.”
“He wanted to unsettle us? Why?”
Ivo shifted on his mount, not answering. Briar decided then that he did have some idea what this was all about. He simply wasn’t sharing it with them.
Abruptly Ivo sheathed his sword. Apart from that single clash of blades there had been no fight. Had the sight of two big, armed men been enough to frighten off the attackers? Was it that simple? Had this been some foolish dare?
Ivo reached down and rubbed his thigh, and winced.
Briar’s mind froze. Speculation was forgotten and she was suddenly dizzy with terror. “You are hurt?” She ran frantic hands over him, searching for possible wounds.
For a moment he allowed her to do so, confused by her desperation, and then Ivo caught her hands in his, stilling her. “Nay, Briar, stop. I am unharmed.” His voice was gentle. “’Tis an old injury, and sometimes the muscle pulls again.”
