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Jocelyn’s fingers were gentle on her hair, smoothing the tumbled locks, comforting her. But Briar knew in her heart her sister could not really help her; she was alone in this. Alone…
“There is no need to worry yet,” Jocelyn said carefully. “Three moons is not long. Mayhap it has not taken root properly. You will lose it as easily as it was gained.”
Did she want that? Briar struggled to make sense of her feelings.
“I cannot talk of this now,” her muffled voice was shaky. “I have to sing. I know you mean well, Jocelyn, but I cannot speak of this now.”
Jocelyn nodded and stepped back. “Very well, Briar. But you will need to speak of it, and soon. You can not will this away by ignoring it.”
Why not? Briar thought hysterically. Why can I not just wish it away? She was carrying the child of her disgraced knight. Aye, the daughter of a traitor and a disgraced knight! What sort o
f parents would they make for a babe?
And how could they be parents, when they were but passing strangers, brought together by a mistake. He would go south again, when Lord Radulf was finished killing rebels, and she would remain in York. Alone.
I have my sisters. They will help me.
But the voice in her head sounded forlorn, afraid, desperate.
She was carrying Ivo de Vessey’s child, and despite his claim that he wanted her, it was doubtful he planned to settle down and play at husband and father. Would he?
The waiting stillness in her heart gave her no reply.
Ivo watched as Briar climbed up to the dais and seated herself on her stool. She looked white but composed. She clasped her hands in her lap, and straightened her shoulders. There was courage in every line of her. Even at a moment like this, when every face turned to her was welcoming and anticipatory, she was prepared to fight.
Aye, he admired her. While she was cutting at him with her sharp tongue, he admired her. Besides, she did not mean to hurt him—the attack was a defense, he knew that. She was frightened and confused, so she lashed out. And the target she chose was one who she knew would never hurt her, upon whose tough hide her barbs would fall harmlessly.
Because he would never hurt her intentionally. Ivo knew it deep, deep in his soul. He would never hurt her, and he would fight anyone else who dared to try.
By now Mary had also settled herself, the harp ready. The two women conferred briefly. Then Briar turned back to her audience. Her eyes searched the expectant faces, discarding each one, looking for someone in particular. Until she found him.
Their gazes held, locked.
Ivo felt the power of it.
What was it in her expression that struck him to the core? He sensed her wildness, her despair. Her need of him. It shimmered between them.
Shocked, Ivo took a blind step forward.
But it was too late. She had begun her song. He stopped, hesitant, suddenly uncertain whether he had really seen such naked anguish in her beautiful, slanting eyes. He stood and listened, while her husky voice and poignant words tore at his heart. Ivo moved to lean back against the wall, his legs unable to hold him and with a deep breath tried to prepare himself for the emotional ride ahead.
The first song was well received. Lord Shelborne’s guests cheered until the hall shook with their approbation. They sang again, and again. And then one last time, especially for Lord Shelborne’s daughter. The girl flushed with pleasure, and Lord Shelborne looked grateful. As Briar and Mary rose to leave the dais, Shelborne came forward and took their hands in his.
Ivo frowned as Briar stiffened, and then gradually relaxed. But her smile was forced, and she seemed relieved when he released her and took a step back. Once more her eyes searched for, and found, Ivo, this time beseechingly.
Ivo pushed away from the wall, and strode across the hall to her rescue.
“…remember Lord Richard with fondness.”
Lord Shelborne was beaming at Briar. Mary, close by, twisted her fingers around her harp, clearly nervous and upset. What, thought Ivo, is the man saying to them?
“My father was a good man.” Briar’s chin was up, her back straight. “He did not deserve to be treated so.”
Now Lord Shelborne looked a little uncomfortable, perhaps wondering if her words had a personal slant. Ivo prayed Briar was not so foolish as to insult so important a personage, especially when he had just done her great honor by acknowledging her.
“He was loyal to those he loved,” he said at last.
Briar opened her mouth. Her eyes slid past Shelborne and found Ivo’s. He shook his head once. She hesitated a breath, and then forced a polite smile.
