Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Brighit turned once again in the cramped confines of her carriage. She knew the moment she fell asleep the sun would rise and the rest of the camp would be stirring. She was right.

"Hey!" Ivan poked at the curtain. "You need to join us, not lay about all day in your private chambers."

The other men laughed at his jest. She couldn't be sure she heard Peter's laugh with the others. He probably did laugh, finding it quite funny even.

Are you Ivan's property? Do you warm his bed?

What audacity. If that were so, wouldn't Ivan have joined her in the carriage? She jerked herself up. That would be awful. Her stomach lurched. Surely if the little man wanted to lay a claim to her, that would be all he would need to do. She sent up a prayer of thanks he had not done so thus far, promising anew to give him no reason.

She tugged her cap tightly over her hair and slipped her kirtle over her bed clothes. Thank goodness she'd found something else to sleep in rather than to wear her dampened gown. The night had turned cold once the clouds broke. A few moments by the fire now would help the last bit of material dry more fully. Mort had showed her kindness and didn't seem to be cut from the same cloth as the knight he served.

Brighit jumped down from the carriage. All eyes were on her as usual. It seemed odd that they always watched her. She imagined their tongues nearly touching their chins like a dog eager to receive a bone. As usual they all grinned at each other as if she had done something quite alluring rather than just stepping out of the carriage.

She caught Peter's eye before he turned around. He had a scowl of disbelief on his face. Mort, however, smiled and stepped toward her.

"I will do my best to be closer to assist you the next time." His words were for her ears only. Gallantly, he took her fingertips in his hand and escorted her to the side of the fire, even brushing off a rock for her to sit on.

"My thanks." Such kindness.

Peter appeared as a man ready to strangle someone. Was he angry that Mort had shown her such thoughtfulness?

"You have missed the turn off to Tanshelf," Peter announced to the group.

Ivan's face screwed up as if trying to discern if Peter spoke English. "What are you talking about?"

Peter blew an exasperated breath. "You have missed the turn off to the Priory." His tone was precise and impatient.

Brighit took the offered biscuit from Mort who then sat beside her. Her stomach turned to mush. Could they have intentionally missed the turn? She kept her eyes downcast.

"I'm sure you are mistaken," Ivan responded.

Brighit could tell by his tone he was lying through his crooked, yellow teeth.

"I am not," Peter said. "You did say you knew where you were going?"

Ivan sat perched on the edge of the rock, his cup of mead halfway to his mouth. The innocent look she had become so accustomed to stuck on his face. "I know I can trust my lead man, Cole, and he mentioned no such turn."

Peter licked his lips before turning rounded eyes to Cole. "If you know the way to Tanshelf, then you know you've passed the turn off."

Cole tipped his head back, his lips puckering in thought. "I recall no such turn."

"Recall or not," Peter's tone demonstrated he was out of patience, "I am telling you," his tone was low and menacing now, "we will go back. You missed the turn."

Cole rubbed at his dark beard, mayhap considering the wisdom of the man. "Yes. Yes, you could be right. I may have forgotten the turn. My thanks."

Peter relaxed his stance, nodding his head as if in answer to some internal question and began to pick up his few belongings from around the fire. "We leave shortly. Finish breaking your fast and make provisions for our water. There is little available between here and the next village."

He came close beside Brighit, but she assumed he was leaning in to speak to Mort.

"Methinks you may call attention to yourself a purpose. Fear not, I aim to be certain."

She drew back and watched him walk away. Mort's finger under her chin, gently closing her mouth shut, brought her out of her shock. He smiled at her.

"Did I hear him a right?"

Mort shook his head. "Methinks you did indeed."

"Why does he speak to me so?"

"Brighit!" Ivan barked at her. "Gather our things."

She glanced toward Peter, knowing full well that Ivan's use of the words "our things" just gave Peter the proof he sought of her intimate relationship with the disgusting man. She pulled together the few items strewn about. Let the arrogant knight believe whatever he would of her. She didn't deserve it but that seemed to matter even less.

Mort handed her his bowl, a small smile on his lips. "You missed this, my lady."

My lady? That title was foreign to her ears of late. Although not usually used in Ireland, she accepted it as a title of deference. She was the daughter of the clan leader after all.

"My thanks, kind sir." She dipped her knee before walking toward the carriage.

Mort treated her kindly, even reverently. How could he easily see what his master could not? Surely, it was apparent to all who came upon her. She was a lady, nobly bred. Why did it matter? Their time together was limited. What he did or didn't believe about her should not matter at all. But it did. That was the most frustrating. She wanted him to think better of her. She wanted him to see her goodness. She wanted him to see her for who she really was. Why that was, she couldn't explain.