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Briar.
She was all he could think of. She had taken possession of his mind. His stupidity was beyond bearing. Had he not learned he was not suited to matters of the heart? How could he care for her? Emotional entanglements were not for him. Best he remember that now, before it was too late—for them both.
Smoke drifted from the roof of the cottage, and puddles lay everywhere. Ivo dismounted and strode to the door, thudding his fist against the wood. Sweyn’s muffled voice called to ask who was there, and when Ivo answered, the door was swiftly opened.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of herbs.
Mary was up, looking flushed and busy, while Briar stirred something bubbling in a pot resting over the coals. It was from this brew that the strong smell of herbs came, and it looked singularly unappetizing to Ivo. Briar must have felt the same, for her face was white and pinched, her lips pressed hard together.
Stubborn. Determined.
She shot him a sideways look and caught his smile, but didn’t return it. She simply turned back to her pot and grimly continued to stir.
Ivo met Sweyn’s eyes and raised his brow. In unspoken agreement, the two men moved into a corner and lowered their voices.
“She is sick,” the Dane murmured. “She says she will be better when she eats that mess in the pot.”
That was debatable, thought Ivo. “Everything quiet?” he asked instead.
“Nothing to be heard or seen.”
Ivo nodded. “I am certain last night’s attackers were fixed on us, not the women. Even if their leader was not Miles, I do not see the point in threatening Briar or Mary.”
Puzzled, Sweyn tilted his head to one side. “Did you ever imagine it otherwise? Why would Mary and Briar be in danger from those men?”
“They are Kenton’s daughters.”
And yet, he thought, despite their illustrious past, it still made no sense that they should be in danger. For what reason? The past was just that. They were paupers now, they had nothing to steal, their deaths would solve nothing. Unless…could the attack have something to do with the murder of Anna? Was that murky pond stirring, giving up its secrets?
Sweyn cleared his throat.
Ivo glanced up and knew that before he could think further on the matter, he had some explaining to do. His friend was staring at him hard.
“Lord Kenton’s daughters?” Sweyn repeated. “Share this with me, Ivo, and do it right fast!”
But Sweyn’s expression soon turned to bemusement as Ivo quickly explained the entire story. By the time he had finished, Sweyn’s blue eyes held both sorrow and resignation.
“They are the daughters of Lord Kenton,” he repeated, as if to set the fact in his mind. Ivo found he could read his friend’s thoughts in his face easily enough. She is not for me, then. Even in her present state, she is too high for the likes of me.
Well, Sweyn must fight his own demons; Ivo would not make up his mind for him.
“I still feel a need to guard these ladies, Sweyn,” he said quietly, “however great they may once have been. What say you?”
Sweyn nodded, slowly, as if resigned. “Aye, Ivo, I too feel a need to guard the ladies.”
“Good.”
Sweyn shook himself, his eyes narrowing. “Did you speak to Radulf about the attack last night? About Miles?”
“Nay, not yet.”
“Why in Odin’s name not, Ivo? He needs to know.”
Ivo looked bleak. “I will tell him, ’tis just…I want to make certain first ’twas no random attack. And nothing to do with Briar and Mary.”
Sweyn heaved a sigh. “You want to face him by yourself,” he said, with a touch of irritation unusual for him. “He means to kill you this time. If you do not mean to kill him, then he has the advantage.”
“I know.”
