Rumor also had it—so said the gossips in the halls where she sang—that Lily would not come north with him. She had been lately brought to bed of a son and was still weak from the birthing. Radulf would come by himself. It was logical that he would be lonely, vulnerable to the charms of a sympathetic woman, an easy target for seduction. It seemed only just that Radulf should fall by the same means he had used to bring about the destruction of Briar’s father. So Briar had decided then that she would take away that which he treasured most—the love and trust of his wife.
He would not die, but as Briar well knew, there were worse things than dying.
She had not realized just how easy it would be.
Briar had known, as she had prepared to sing tonight, that Radulf would be in Lord Shelborne’s hall. He had been invited—Jocelyn had let slip to her that the messenger had gone out shortly after Radulf arrived in York. Of course he would come—a lonely man, missing his wife, with an opportunity to forget himself in the conversation of others? Aye, he would come.
And she had known something of his appearance. Didn’t everyone know what the great Radulf, the King’s Sword, looked like? A big, dark man with a brooding gaze. A man who caught the eye and kept it with the mesmerizing quality of his presence.
She had known him at once.
As if it had been meant to be.
Briar combed her fingers through the dark whorls of hair that formed a crucifix on the broad chest of the man beside her. Her body ached and tingled from his use of her—she felt betrayed by her own senses, but there would be time to consider that later. For now, she had what she wanted. Vengeance. How would the Lady Lily enjoy hearing such news? Aye, then she would know how it felt to be betrayed and abandoned, and Radulf would learn what it was to lose all and yet remain breathing.
She had much about which to be pleased, and yet...
Briar listened to the heavy thud of the man’s heartbeat beneath her cheek, and wondered again why she could not exult. Despite all, the sense of triumph eluded her. Why hadn’t the smoldering need for vengeance, that had begun to burn inside her the day her father died, turned to a clear, cleansing flame? If anything, the black smoke was even thicker and more acrid.
She had won!
Why then did she feel as if she had lost?
A big hand covered hers, stilling her when she had begun to tug mindlessly at the hairs on his chest. “You mean to pluck me bald, demoiselle?” he asked her with quiet humor.
Briar lifted her head. He was smiling, and as she gazed at him, she was once more puzzled by her fascination for a face which, taken feature by feature, was not all that fascinating. The broken nose and sharp, angular lines of cheekbones and jaw and brow. The wild, dark hair that was in desperate need of a comb. He was watching her, his black eyes brooding, expectant, secret.
Suddenly Briar felt a senseless, almost unstoppable urge to confess to him what she had done. The words had already begun to thicken her tongue, but she gulped them back, terrified by her own lack of control.
Remember who this is! Remember what he can do to you! Have you not learned well in the past two years that you can trust no one?
Great men had no hearts, only cold ambition and self-interest. Witness what Radulf and Filby and the king had done to her family.
And what of your father? Was he not a great man? And yet he loved you.
That was true, he had loved her. He was also kind and generous, and see where it had gotten him?
“Demoiselle?” His voice brushed over her skin, making her shiver. “You are deep in thought.”
Should she tell him now? How she meant to destroy him? Was it wise to do so, when he had her alone? Best to wait, to choose her moment, to make sure of her own safety first. Men like Radulf, Briar had learned, would not think twice about removing an annoying obstacle in their path. Men like Radulf spoke sweet words, even while they were plotting evil deeds.
“My lord—”
He leaned over her, his mouth smiling, his eyes like dark stars. “ “It’s best I tell you now, lady. I am no lord.”
The timid knock on the door was an unwelcome interruption. He was no lord? What did he mean by that? Did he intend to try and hide his identity from her? Mayhap he was already planning when he could use her again...
Her heart bumped, and Briar knew to her horror that she wanted him to.
Yes, yes, if you lie with him again you will draw him in further! So deep that he will forget where he ends and you begin, until there is no escape.
The thought was feverish. Briar did not trust herself. She wanted him again, aye, but were her reasons pure? From the moment she saw him in Lord Shelborne’s hall, her body had cried out to his in a manner that was as old as time. Was that vengeance? Was that revenge? Nay, surely ‘twas lust and desire!
“Jesu,” she whispered in anguish.
Radulf had stiffened at the knock upon the door, and now he glanced at Briar with a frown that would have made a lesser woman flinch. He grasped her in one arm, reaching down with the other to the floor by the bed, where he had lain his sword.
“Do not fret,” Briar managed, her throat dry. She tried for a smile and felt her mouth stretch unnaturally. “ ‘Tis probably only a servant come to see whether we are in need of more wine“
