Hot and angry tears sprang from her eyes. Forgetting her nakedness, forgetting what they had just done together, Briar rose up on her knees, her hair streaming about her body, and shook her clenched fists in his face.
“No, no! It cannot be, I do not believe it! You are Radulf, say you are! I wanted Radulf in my bed, Radulf’s body in mine. Tis a trick, a lie, yes, yes, it must be a lie!”
He looked shocked, but almost at once he was reaching for her, trying to subdue her. Briar would not be subdued. She struck out at him, screaming wildly and struggling, until he covered her mouth with his hand and held her fast against his big body. Still she squirmed and wriggled and cried, but now her sounds were muffled and her movements were hampered by his great strength.
“Demoiselle,” he said, trying to penetrate the fit that had come upon her. There was agony in her cries, a pain that went deep. Ivo knew pain, he understood it, and he wanted to understand what was happening with Briar. “Tell me what ails you, lady! Hush, you are safe, you are safe with me...”
And then, as the meaning of her words finally became clear, he frowned down at her and said more sharply, “Did you seek to lure Radulf to your bed? Lady, he would never come. He is in thrall to his wife, how could you not know that? Everyone knows that! Come, come, compose yourself. What is Lord Radulf to you? Will I not do instead? For truly, my angel, I am more than willing to lie with you again. We two were made to be one.”
It was true. Never had Ivo lain with a woman who gave him more pleasure, who had so easily found a place in his mind and his senses. Already
Ivo felt the desire stir anew at the thought of having her, even though his angel had turned into a wildcat. Strangely, he was not jealous. What they had experienced together was too remarkable. Whatever this nonsense with Radulf meant, he would untangle it to his own advantage.
She had stilled, suddenly, and now lay limp in his embrace. Carefully, watching for signs of a renewal of her mad struggles, Ivo removed his hand from over her mouth and, when she said not a word, eased his grip on her. She was unmoving in his arms, shuddering off and on, as if she were very cold. And yet she did not feel cold.
Musingly, Ivo gazed down at her. Here was a woman who had been hurt in some way—mayhap not physically, but nevertheless she had been injured. He sensed it, tasted it, recognized it. Gently, he smoothed back her hair, so that he could better see her face. It was white and drawn, and tears leaked through the spiky clumps of her dark lashes, oozing down her cheeks. Ah, such pain, such anguish, was etched into her sweet features! Ivo felt his heart squeeze with tender feelings he had long thought beyond him.
She had brought them back to life again. After all these years, she had jolted his frozen heart into a response. Ivo did not know whether to be furious with her, or grateful. In truth, he was bewildered, and feared he would soon be more so. Was it true what they had said, then, that this woman could heal a sick man and make a broken man whole?
Time to think of that later. Just now it was clear that there was something very wrong with the lady Briar, and Ivo must do his best to discover what it was.
“Demoiselle,” he said gently, “do not grieve. Whatever saddens you so, I will help you to overcome it.”
He meant it, more than he had ever meant anything in his life, but she shook her head and her mouth turned down.
“You cannot,” she said. “No one can. I am truly lost.”
“No, angel, you are not lost. I have found you and you are not lost.” He bent and kissed her Ups, tasting the salt of her tears.
Slowly she responded, her Ups opening on a sigh, the heat coursing through her. He deepened the kiss; he could not help it. Her body pressed against him and he groaned, his hand sliding down her soft belly to the juncture of her thighs. In response, her arms tightened around his waist, drawing him closer. He moved over her, the head of his manhood probing her entrance.
“You are not lost,” he whispered again, running quick hot kisses across her breasts, before drawing her nipple deep into his mouth.
She arched with a moan of sheer pleasure. The tears were still wet on her cheeks, but her pain had been forgotten, or at least put aside, by her need for him. Ivo looked down at her in wonder, amazed he had turned her so easily from agony to ecstasy. With a practiced thrust, he entered her, smoothly and fully.
Her eyes opened wide.
“Briar,” he murmured, and smiled.
Dazed, she smiled back at him, gasping as he thrust again, deeper this time, but slowly, carefully. Her fingers crept up his arms, clinging to him as his muscles shifted and tightened, feeling the tension in him as he held himself back, moving so tenderly, so gently.
Time stood still, as he drowned in her eyes.
And then passion caught them unawares, and she cried out, her mouth hot against his throat as his hips pumped harder and faster, seeking oblivion. Afterward, he wrapped his arms about her, tucking her safely to his side, as the tremors eased.
The hound barked. The child cried. “Briar! Sweet Jesu, she is hurt!” The boy reached the little girl first, bending to help her back onto her uncertain feet. Blood trickled down one side of her plump, baby face, mingling with hot, angry tears. The child gazed up at him with a trembling lip, hazel eyes deep and solemn. And in that instant Ivo, himself only nine years old, lost his heart.
The memory was there, fully formed in his head. Amazed, Ivo stared down at the sated woman in his arms.
“Briar,” he breathed. “ ‘Tis Briar.”
It was as if her name in his mouth pulled her from her voluptuous exhaustion. Briar’s dark lashes lifted, her hazel eyes opened very wide. She stared at him blankly, and then with a small scream, she sat up. A knee in his side, an elbow in his chest, and she had launched herself across the bed, away from him, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth as if he were foul.
“Go, go!” she screamed, and pointed to the door. She dragged herself to the very end of the bed, her body trembling, her face still swollen and tear-streaked. “I do not want you to touch me again! I... I cannot think when you touch me. Go now! And never return, Ivo de Vessey. Never!”
Ivo hesitated. He had been about to tell her what he had remembered, but short of holding her physically captive... And he did not think she would look upon him kindly if he pinned her down and shouted at her. Nay, it was plain she was not to be reasoned with, not now, not in this state. Whatever had upset her, it was not something she would confide to him, not tonight.
Now that Ivo knew who she was, there was time to consider. Aye, he must think hard on this before he took any further steps. Better that he go, as she demanded. He would think on what he had learned, and resume this business later. Besides, Sweyn had said they were wanted, and Ivo knew he had neglected his duty as long as he dared.
