While Briar and Jocelyn had cared for her, she did not have to think. She did not have to take upon herself the burden of finding food and shelter. She played her harp, aye, there was that, but the rest she left to them.
Recently that had begun to change. Now that they were more settled in York, Mary had felt a growing need to take a step away from her sisters. To be herself. It was difficult. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to creep back into the warm safety of their arms, but with a firm and gentle determination she was persisting. She was not a child, although it pleased them to treat her so. How could she be, after all that had happened? She knew much, and had suffered much; they all had. How could she begin to repay them, unless they would allow her to grow up and take her proper place in their little family?
The handsome blond mercenary with the clear blue eyes, Sweyn, he had not thought her a child. Mary had known it, instinctively, by the manner in which he looked at her. His gaze had slid over her body, and he had smiled into her eyes. He had looked at Mary and seen a woman, and he had even flirted with her, a little. That had been fun. She had enjoyed very much the sensation of being looked upon as a grown woman, and not a helpless child.
And then he had told her a silly joke that made her laugh, and after that the sweet moment had turned sour.
Mayhap she had laughed too long and too hard? Mayhap he had seen her for the pretender she was? The joke had not even been that funny, but she had still laughed, lit up by his attention like a burning coal. By the time she had stopped laughing, it had been too late. He had been staring at her, oddly, as if he had never seen a girl like her before. He had stared at her until she grew uncomfortable.
Mary had not understood the look in his blue eyes, or the way he had seemed to withdraw from her without actually moving. He had not stopped speaking with her, but his words had grown stilted, uncomfortable, clumsy. Strange behavior in such an urbane man.
He had thought her childish and silly. Aye, that must be it. She was childish and silly. Suddenly Mary felt her frustration bitter in her mouth. She didn’t want to be a child any longer—it was well past time she grew up. If she had been a proper woman, confident in herself and her body, then mayhap Sweyn would have wanted to stay with her a little longer.
But then again, he had smiled at her as he rode away.
A smile that was almost a promise…
“You were gone a long time.” Mary broke into her own thoughts, and glanced bright-eyed at Briar.
“Was I?”
“Ivo seemed very pleased to see you, sister.”
“How would you know?” Briar snapped. “I do not want to speak of him.”
She set off at a brisk pace through the market, head held high, as if her gown were not patched and her feet not bare and dusty. Ignoring the demanding calls of the vendors, Mary sighed and hurried after her. Briar had a hot temper, though it was not often that she turned it on Mary. Something must be very wrong for her to do so now.
Mary wanted to remind Briar that she was a grown woman, that there was no need to shelter her from unpalatable truths any longer. That Briar could talk to her about Ivo de Vessey, or anything else. But even as she opened her mouth to do so, one look at Briar’s angry face made her close it again. Perhaps this was not the right time to exert her independence.
They were all so different, the three daughters of Lord Kenton. Jocelyn, sensible and tranquil and loving. Mary, shy and gentle. And Briar, the strong one, the hurt one, the angry one. Briar had burned with her hatred these past two years; she had been determined to revenge their father by punishing Lord Radulf. The terrible events of two years ago had wounded them all, but it was Briar who could not seem to put it behind her. Jocelyn said she wanted the past forgotten—she had Odo to concern her. Mary, coddled and cared for, had missed the privilege that had been hers, but nevertheless would try to make a new life.
But not Briar. She was too hurt by what had happened to her at the hands of those powerful men. It was as if she was unable to look forward, without looking backward.
Would Ivo de Vessey help Briar find a happier future? Would Sweyn help Mary to be a woman? The Dane was very handsome. Mary had found herself wondering, as they stood together in the marketplace, whether he might kiss her.
“Mary?”
Mary blinked. Briar touched her arm, concerned. They were standing in
the entry to one of the many snickleways that crisscrossed York, narrow thoroughfares between the more important streets. Mary flushed bright red, as if she had done something wrong, which surprised Briar. What could an innocent girl like Mary be thinking…to make her blush?
“I am sorry, sister,” Mary spoke breathlessly. “I was woolgathering. Did you say something?”
“’Twas nothing,” Briar replied, eyeing her curiously and a little anxiously. Perhaps, she thought, Mary was unwell. York was not the healthiest of places, with its open drains and mounds of debris in the streets. “Come, let us hurry home. The air grows chill.”
It was chill. Briar glanced up at a sky that was no longer blue but a dark gray, lowering over the city. Quickening her steps, she instinctively reached for her sister’s hand. Mary smiled. She tried to hide it, but Briar noticed.
“What is it? Mary?”
Mary met her eyes wryly. “I am a full head taller than you, Briar.”
“So?”
“’Tis just…The way you hold my hand in yours, ’tis as if I were still a child.”
“It does not matter how tall you grow, Mary,” Briar reminded her brusquely. “That changes nothing. You are still a child to me.”
Mary’s cheeks pinkened and her eyes narrowed. She looked for a moment as if she wanted to say more, a great deal more. And then she sighed, and allowed herself to be tugged along after her sister, past a ruined church, into Copper-gate. The two girls took to their heels and ran as the wind rose and threatened to toss their hems over their heads. Mary shrieked and Briar laughed, holding down her gown as they ran, and the first big raindrops splattered the ground around them.