God help them both...
“Come with me, Briar,” he said, and his voice had turned dead and cold. He felt both. Miles had come to York to destroy him, and this time Ivo had more to lose than ever.
After a brief hesitation, Briar gave him her hand with a shrug of impatience, and he helped her up onto the horse. She cast him a sideways glance, puzzled, uneasy.
“Are you angry with me, Ivo?”
He didn’t answer her.
“Are you angry with Miles?”
“My feelings are my own business, Briar. Leave them be.”
She gave a noisy sigh, and subsided into silence. As she settled herself, Ivo found himself remembering what else Miles had said. He had been too enraged at the time to give it any weight, but now he recalled Briar’s question about Anna Kenton. Lord Fitzmorton had known her, but they had already heard that from Sir Anthony. It had not previously occurred to Ivo that, if Fitzmorton knew Anna, then Miles would know her, too. And if Miles was involved with Anna, then there was more than a possibility that it was he who had killed her. Miles would not think twice about killing a woman who had displeased him or had made him feel less than adequate.
Death seemed to follow Miles about.
“Sweyn?”
He looked up on hearing Mary’s voice, pretending surprise. Upon their return to the dwelling, Sweyn had stayed to guard her. Now the wind from the river blew her long dark hair about her serious face, stinging color into her cheeks. So she had finally gained the courage to come outside and speak to him.
From the corners of his eyes, he had seen her open the door, had felt her gaze upon him. As she drew closer, he had smelt her scent. Aye, he had been as aware of her as if she had run her hands down his body.
Sweyn took a sharp breath at the image, every muscle and sinew tightening with his desire and need.
“Sweyn?”
She was closer now, and he forced himself to relax. He smiled, made it casual and friendly. Nothing too intense, nothing too meaningful.
“Lady?” he said.
Who was he fooling? What he really wanted was to lean down and plunder her soft lips. He wanted to pull her to him, lift her against the wall so that he could better press his male hardness against her soft womanhood.
Madness!
And what was even more crazy, more bizarre, more frightening, he wanted to cradle her in his arms and sleep with her every night. He wanted to gaze deep into her dark, serious eyes every morning.
How could he, the famous jokester, the easy-going womanizer, have come to such a pass as this? Sweyn felt completely bemused and dismayed. As if he had wandered into a familiar forest, only to discover the trees had all changed and he could not find his way out again.
“I am no lady,” Mary said.
She must be cold; she was blowing warm breath on her fingertips. Without thinking, he took her hands in lids and held her cold fingers to his own mouth. She went still, her lips parted, and gazed up at him in wonder as he gently warmed each rosy finger with his own breath.
“You are a lady to me,” he said, and wondered if she could read the confusion in his face, matching her own. He could see an image of himself in the mirror of her dark eyes. Big and fair, his tanned face gone a little sallow from the cold, his blue eyes bright in color but dull with tiredness. He was so much older than she, in years as well as experience. How could she look at a man like him with such longing? With such wanting? He could give her nothing; he was nothing. Didn’t she understand that?
She wants a husband and children.
“Mary—”
She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Do not say anything,” she whispered. “Do not try to make sense of it.”
He hesitated, on the edge of the abyss, and then he closed his eyes—telling himself that what he could not see did not count—and slipped over.
Sweyn kissed her fingers. It was so easy now, to enjoy the feel of her, the warmth of her, the sweet scent of her. Mary slipped into his arms and rested her body against his, as if she too were savoring those very things.
“Don’t trust me,” he breathed into her hair. “I do not trust myself. I will hurt you, Mary. I have never been faithful to one woman in my life.”
For a moment she stiffened, and he thought her hurt by his honesty, but when she spoke again he could hear the smile in her voice, and with it a steel certainty that awed him.
