Briar didn’t think so. Ivo knew about Filby now, and she knew about Miles and Matilda. Briar’s need for vengeance had vanished, erased by other more important matters. She didn’t want to spend her life hating, or wasting her precious moments of happiness in dark thoughts. She had Ivo and their babe. Out of hatred she had found love, and it was enough.
Selfishly she didn’t want to think about her sister’s unhappiness. She didn’t want to begin imagining what pitfalls lay ahead.
Miles.
The name was like an ill omen. One day Ivo’s brother would appear and try to destroy all her happiness.
Jesu, let Ivo win.
If Ivo had been as unscrupulous and evil as Miles, then he would easily win, but he was not like that. Of course, if he was another like Miles, then Briar would not love him so dearly.
But Briar didn’t want to think beyond tomorrow, her wedding day. She opened her eyes wide into the darkness: Tomorrow, when she would wed Ivo, who had come into her life like a tempest, tossing and turning her about until she did not know up from down. Winning her over despite her own stubbornness.
She loved him.
And it felt as natural to her as breathing.
With a smile, Briar curled up and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would see her joined to Ivo before God and the law and Lord Radulf. But in her heart she knew she was already his.
Dawn was breaking over York on the day of Ivo and Briar’s wedding. Bleary-eyed and cold, the guards at Micklegate Bar looked up at the thunder of hooves approaching from the south. They kept watch day and night at the stout bar that gave entrance through York’s solid walls, and the punishment for dozing off on duty was banishment for a year and a day.
One of them shouted out a warning.
A large troop of men had appeared on the road. They were tough men who looked as if they had ridden far, and they carried a banner at their forefront, an azure banner with a sword upheld. Lord Radulf’s banner, the famous King’s Sword.
“Open up for Lord Radulf!”
The head guard frowned, standing firm. “Lord Radulf is already within.”
“We are here to join him. Open up for Lady Lily, wife of Lord Radulf!”
The guard blinked, uncertain, and then one of the riders urged their horse forward. It was a woman, heavily cloaked, but beneath the furs he caught a glimpse of her famous beauty. He bowed low, and then turned and shouted orders for the bar to be opened. Shortly afterward the cavalcade passed through into the city of York.
Radulf was dreaming.
He was at Crevitch, and it was summertime. The green fields stretched before him, and he rode his black horse, bare-chested beneath the sun. Lily sat before him, soft and warm, her laughter a balm for his soul. She looked up at him with her gray eyes, and he bent to kiss her, whispering, “My love...”
And she promptly vanished into the chill York dawn.
Radulf awoke in his lonely bed and groaned miserably. Another dream. Another disappointment. When, when could he go home!
“My love?”
He opened his eyes. And she was there, leaning over him, her silver blond hair brushing his chest, her long fingers stroking his cheek. Gray eyes full of love, and sparkling with tears. The dream and reality suddenly merged, and Radulf sat up.
“You are real,” he managed hoarsely.
Lily laughed. “I am real, Radulf. I missed you so. I have come north to be with you, my love.”
“Mignonne,” he groaned, and took her into the shelter of his arms. “I have longed for you so.”
“Radulf,” she murmured, after a time. “Radulf! You are squashing me.”
He leaned back with a reluctant sigh, and she smoothed his rough cheek, her fingers tender.
“My lands? The rebels? Tell me what has happened.”
“All is well again, for now, but other matters have kept me here in the north. Ivo de Vessey’s brother, Miles, is on the loose and must be tethered, and Ivo is set to wed Richard Kenton’s daughter, Briar.”
