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For he needed her as much as she needed him.
“Ivo?”
Sweyn was approaching, and Ivo sighed. He looked a moment into her eyes, as if trying to memorize her face, then he turned to his friend. Briar noticed that Mary was also there, wrapped in her cloak, standing a little behind the Dane. As if she were using him as a shelter against the wind, Briar thought with weary amusement.
“Mary is tired,” Sweyn said. “Will we take them home now?”
Ivo nodded. “Aye. I will leave that to you and Lord Radulf’s men.” He glanced at Briar as he spoke, adding, “We have more men at our disposal, so you will be safely guarded until we can wed.”
Extra men? Briar wondered at it, but she had more important things to speak about.
“Will you not take me home, Ivo?”
He stroked her cheek, gently, sadly. As if he were saying goodbye. The thought terrified her.
“I have something to do, my lady. Do not worry, I will see you tomorrow.”
“Ivo…?”
But he had turned away, moving back into the hall.
“Where is he going?” Briar demanded of Sweyn, making the question an order.
Sweyn hesitated, before answering, “He is seeking his brother, lady. They have unfinished business.”
Doubts assailed her once more, but she forced them back. Unfinished business could mean anything. And Ivo had looked so sad, as if more than anything in the world he wanted to find Miles and make up the rift between them. Briar hugged her arms about herself, shivering in the cold. She would feel the same, if she were at war with one of her sisters. She would be grateful to anyone who could help her repair the damage. ’Twas as well she had not told Ivo after all. Aye, she was doing the right thing by agreeing to meet Miles tomorrow.
She was certain of it.
Briar was still certain next morning, when she set out on foot. Her sickness had eased, and she told herself she was actually beginning to feel her old self again. Strong, sure, and determined. Ivo needed her help—there was something very wrong between him and his brother. Briar knew she was doing the right thing. This wasn’t deceit, not at all.
She had been up since Terce rang out over York, thinking of Ivo’s words to her last night. They had touched her deep. She wanted so much to help him, to reconcile him with his brother. Aye, Briar longed to heal the anguish she sensed in him. And if that meant meeting Miles behind his back, then so be it.
The day was fine, though cold. Briar followed the line of wooden ramparts upon their earthen walls, broken only by the heavily guarded bars that gave entry to the city. A vendor was selling parcels of cheese and herbs wrapped in crisp pastry. They smelled good, and suddenly Briar was aware of how hungry she was. Another sign that her sickness was passing, and her babe was thriving. She handed over her coin, and munched as she walked.
Over by the Minster, where Ivo had kissed her and she had pretended to make him part of her plot, the carpenters and stonemasons were hard at work, restoring the damaged church. Briar walked by. There was no plot anymore, unless it be to solve Anna’s murder so that she and Briar’s father could finally rest in peace. Her concerns were for Ivo now. Ivo, who was clearly in desperate need.
She did not ask herself why that was. Why her whole life had become focused on making Ivo happy, when before she had claimed to be using him only for her own ends. That was unimportant, she told herself blithely. What was important was meeting Miles. Whatever he might tell, she must listen. Ivo was a good man—she truly believed that. Whatever he had done in the past did not matter, not now, not to her.
They would look upon it, and then put it behind them.
Briar took a deep, sustaining breath, and kept walking.
“Where is Briar?”
Mary looked up at Ivo’s question, and then down again as swiftly. Ivo frowned, flicking a glance at Sweyn. Sweyn shrugged.
“Mary?” Ivo repeated, stepping closer. The girl’s cheeks were bright red, and her fingers clutched at the cloth she was mending as though she would strangle it. “Do you know where Briar is, Mary?”
She sighed and looked up again. The guilty expression in her eyes made him uneasy. Why should sweet Mary be guilty about anything?
“I think she’s gone to meet someone,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Ivo, truly I am. I would have stopped her, but she slipped out while I slept.”
Ivo sank down on his knees before her, and Mary’s eyes widened in surprise. He caught her hands in his, trying not to hurt her. A frantic pulse was beating in his jaw, and he had to blink away the terror he knew was in his eyes.
“Mary,” he said, his voice trembling, “who has she gone to meet? Who is this person, Mary?”
“Ivo, you are frightening her!” Sweyn was behind him, but Ivo ignored his friend’s admonishment. There was no time for it.
