Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Brighit shifted again. The hard wood of the carriage floor pressing against her shoulder blades made it impossible to sleep. The men had quieted and she knew from experience they were passed out. Peter and Mort had not been a part of their nightly gathering. She wondered where they were. The night before, they had slept apart from the others as well.

She sat up, hugging her knees into her chest. This was the time of night when she could safely venture out. The men would not hear her. They slept like the dead. As carefully as she could manage, she stood to open the door. No movement. She hopped down.

The fire was nearly out. She didn't sense anyone closer. Perhaps Mort and Peter slept in the woods. That would be foolhardy with the wild animals around. She stilled. Maybe it was not a good night for this. An owl sounded in the distance. Fear tripped up her spine. The cold night air left goose bumps where it caressed her exposed skin. The carriage at least was warm.

Brighit turned to go back inside, the shadow of Mort beneath it. She froze. He shifted suddenly, turning his back to her and pulled the rough, woolen blanket over his shoulder. She smiled. If she called him, he would surely come, but for now she did desire time outside of her tight quarters. Peter was nowhere she could see so she moved closer to the fire.

Ivan lay on his back, his arms flayed out on either side. He mumbled something but she couldn't tell what he said. Moving in closer, Cole and Ivan had their possession in close proximity as always. She searched the area beside Andrew but found nothing. She bent in closer then heard a movement behind her. She jumped, glancing back toward the sound at the forest's edge. A tall silhouette of a man emerged, a sack hanging from his hand. It was Peter. Fully clothed. His sword at his side. He held Andrew's bag up higher as if to say "Come and get it".

Indecision rippled out from her stomach. Peter knew what she was after. She moved in closer.

"Is this what you search for?" His face was in shadows but he sounded as if he had a smile on his face.

"Are you stealing from them?"

He reached inside and pulled out the small whistle, dropping the sack to the ground. "I believe you were looking for this?"

She snatched it from his hand. Infuriating man. "You'd best not awaken them."

Peter stretched his arm the way he'd come, directing her into the woods. She hesitated but a moment before heading down the little deer path she'd noticed earlier. He followed close behind. It gave her a strong feeling of safety to have him with her.

"Here." Peter veered to the left and she followed. "There is a small clearing just ahead," he whispered over his shoulder. "I do not think they'll hear your music from there."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He stopped abruptly and turned toward her. She stumbled into him, the heat shooting up her arms where they slammed into the solid wall of his chest. She pulled back and righted herself.

"What do you think you know? One night I played a whistle so you think I do that every night?" she asked.

He stood up straighter. "I don't think I know anything. I saw you searching Andrew for the whistle. Was I wrong?"

"You'll never know." Brighit shoved past him into the clearing then stopped.

Several large trees had fallen, creating a little shelter. A rotting log lay in the center. She settled herself next to it, leaning back, and brought the whistle to her mouth. She blew one long note, then a shorter one, and began her tune.

In her mind she heard the words of her mother's favorite song.

The handsome knight of one score and ten

He gave his hand to me

His touch so light I could ner believe

He came here just for me

Throughout the night he held me close

And I cleaved unto him

For in the morn twould be farewell

And never more to see

A sudden sob choked her breath. She dropped her face into her hands, the whistle forgotten beside her. The tears poured out for all she had given up. The security of her family. The loss of her mother and probably even her father now.

A gentle hand lay against her shoulder and she jumped. She swiped at her tears and stood away from him. "I'm sorry," she said.

Peter did not touch her again. "Why are you sorry? What wrong have you done that you seek forgiveness?"

She shook her head, still swiping at the tears. "M-my weak-kness."

"Tears are a woman's right. They come from deep in her soul. You need not apologize for the depth of your feelings."

Brighit swallowed hard and struggled for control. "No. It is not right for you to see me thus."

Peter shifted slightly closer, his arms at his side. "Do you wish to be alone with your sorrow? Or will you allow me to offer comfort."

Her breath hitched.

He raised his open arms slightly.

She stepped into his embrace, burying her face in his shirt. He smelled of smoke. The flood of emotions raged within the firm safety of him surrounding her.

He murmured words of comfort, one hand stroking her back, the other holding her tight. She let loose her fears. The loss of her dreams. She would allow herself this respite, a chance to experience peace. However fleeting or untrue. Shifting against him, she turned her cheek and the strong, steady beat of his heart comforted her. Her tears subsided.

"I will see no harm comes to you. You can trust in that."

His whispered words soothed her and she snuggled closer still.

"You can trust in that."

His lips by her ear.

"I promise you."

Feather light, he kissed her hair.

"I will see you safe this time."

His lips moved against her head. His breath was warm and a shiver swept over her.

"I vow this to you."

She pulled her head back to look into his shadowed face.

"You speak from the heart," Brighit said. "I feel it in your embrace."

Peter stiffened slightly. "I will protect you."

There was something—something she could not name.

"I believe you," she said.

Heat radiated from him, swirling through her, the tears forgotten.

"What pains you so?" he asked in the same low voice.

"The loss of my family. I am alone here."

His arms relaxed as if giving her a chance to step away. She held fast.

"That is a heavy loss." His sigh expanded his chest. "You will have a new home."

He would bring her home if she asked him to. Her heart quickened. Dare she ask for this from him? Her heart sank at the truth. It was a matter of honor to her family. She could not return now.

"Yes."

He dropped his arms from her. She moved back, the cold surrounding her where his heat had been.

Peter retrieved the whistle, then gave her a coy smile. "If you would like to play, I can stay nearby."

"Stay with me." Her words came out before she could stop them.

He searched her face, nodded, then settled down beside where she had been sitting.

She took the whistle and resumed her spot on the cold ground. As she took a deep, slow breath she closed her eyes and focused on happier times. A memory came to her from when she was young. She brought the whistle to her mouth. It was a celebration between the MacNaughtons and the O'Briens. She played the jig as she remembered it.

In her mind, she saw Tadhg holding hands with Tisa. That look of love. Her father smiling as he danced the lively step with her mother. Her mother's warm smile and flushed face. The moon overhead. The laughter surrounding them. She shifted into another tune, then another until her memories receded. She put the whistle down and turned toward Peter. She could make out his smile in the darkness. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.

"You will have a new home." He repeated the words.

She closed her eyes and fell asleep in the warmth of his strong arms.

Peter jerked awake, a warning sounding in his head. The sun was just coming up over the horizon.

"My lord." Mort burst through the trees, a look of surprise covered his face.

Brighit shifted, awakening beside him.

Peter's arm was asleep where he'd been holding her. He came to stand in front of Mort. When the man glanced between the two of them, Peter didn't miss the I-know-what's-happening-here expression that flashed across his face.

"They've taken the carriage and our horses," he said.

"They've taken—"

Peter shook his arm to stop the pins and needles attacking it and strode the short distance back. He stopped at the edge of the clearing. The blackened earth where the fire had been was the only thing that remained. The carriage was gone. The horses were gone. The men were gone, along with all of their belongings.

A laugh threatened to erupt. "Buggar me! They have balls, those three."

Peter stepped closer to the fire and turned in a circle, assessing the empty view. He couldn't believe what he saw. Or did not see.

Irritation slithered into his chest. He turned on Mort. "And where were you?"

Mort gasped. "My lord, I got up to relieve myself. I realized you were not here and went in search of you. I returned to—to this." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

Brighit staggered into the field, wiping the sleep from her face. "Where is everything? Where is Ivan?"

Peter's fighting instinct took over. Had she been a ploy to lure him into the woods? "And you? Did you know this was their plan?"

Brighit gave a quick shake to her head and stepped back as if scorched by his accusation. "Surely you jest."

She looked as shocked as he did. And she had nothing, too. Peter fought to cool his ire.

"My apologies. Of course they would not inform you of their plan."

"You think they planned this?" Her sharp words cut through his annoyance. "They were not so cunning. They were near imbeciles."

Mort's jaw dropped before he started to laugh. "Methinks she does not think highly of her guardians."

"So it would appear."

Brighit's face turned bright pink. She averted their gaze. "Beg pardon, my lord."

Peter stepped near her. "Oh, no, fair Brighit. I would not have you apologize for words spoken in truth."

She faced him. He sensed the lovely lady he'd witnessed ascending from the carriage, mad as hell, was hovering just behind her stoic features.

He needed to encourage here so he repeated his earlier words. "You are safe with me."

A smile as bright as the sun burst across her face. "They were imbeciles." She made the pronouncement as if she were a judge declaring her decision.

He smiled back at her and tipped his head. "And I agree."

Mort cleared his throat. "As do I but what are we to do? We have nothing."

Peter tapped down the delight he found in her brash statement. He sighed. "You have a point, my friend."

A perplexing dilemma because of all he'd lost, but there was only one answer.

"We walk to the next town."

Mort stepped closer and pointed at Brighit with a shift of his head. "What are we to do about our predicament?"

Peter assessed her. In the bright light of morning the problem became transparent. She stood in her nightdress. A flimsy material. Too short. Too revealing. Although he enjoyed the view.

Mort and Peter turned to each other at the same time.

Mort shook his head as if reading his mind. "There is nothing remaining."

Peter removed his tunic and moved closer to Brighit. "Please cover yourself."

She glanced down at herself and back at him, her eyes wide. "I have nothing else."

Peter shoved his shirt at her. "So cover yourself with this."

She quickly donned his tunic. It fell well past her hips. She glanced between the two with such a look of expectation. Her ankles remained exposed. Her bare feet as well. And her uncovered hair fell about her shoulders. She looked like a peasant woman for hire.

"It will have to do," Peter said.

Bare-chested now, he paced around the camp. The grass still flattened from where the men had lain sleeping.

"Although I agree without reservation with your assessment of your guardians, my lady," Mort started, "I'd venture to say this was their plan all along."

"To take off and leave us here? Then why take the carriage? That would only slow them down," Peter said.

Mort's frown turned into sudden realization. "They believe Brighit is still inside!"

That made sense. They had thought to only be leaving Peter and Mort with nothing. There was no reason for them to believe Brighit was not asleep in her carriage as she was every night. He glanced toward her. Her already fair complexion blanched before his eyes.

"What will they do when they learn she is not?" Mort put to words what they were no doubt all thinking.

They tortured her with their vulgar behavior, instilling her with fear, even offering to sell her. Would they just walk away from her?

"I cannot even venture a guess," Peter said.

Brighit dropped to the ground, tucking her bare feet beneath her, but said nothing.

"If they hadn't offered to sell her to our Scottish friends, I would say she was of no value, but clearly they were willing to be rid of her," Mort said.

Her head snapped up and she glared at Mort but he paid her no heed.

Peter smiled. Her spiritedness was definitely returning.

"If she is not found in the carriage, they may indeed return for her." Peter said. "No doubt that wouldn't be until they stopped a safe distance from here. I believe there was a house not far down this road."

At the road, Mort dropped low to the ground. "Perhaps I can tell which way they've taken the carriage."

"The tracks should be simple enough to find."

Mort paused then said, "They're returning the way we just came."

Peter nodded and placed his hands on his hips. "That's as I had suspected but we will not."

Mort stood and brushed off the knees of his hose.

"It was a ruse that they had missed the turn to the Priory," Peter said.

Brighit stood and blew a breath. "They were taking me somewhere else?"

The three were quickly moving as one down the dirt road.

"They may have planned on getting you to the Priory eventually," Mort said.

"Just not before they saw to whatever was the other way first. Can you think of anything else they might be doing beside what they claimed?"

Brighit paused. "They talked constantly to all the people we passed on the road. Some were responsive. Some were hostile. I could never tell what was being said. They seemed to take great care that I would not have an opportunity to be seen or speak to anyone."

Peter pondered this for a moment. "Did your uncle have any encounters while you were with him?"

"Yes!" Brighit stopped in her tracks. "There was a tall man at the inn by the mouth of the river. My uncle left me with Ivan to meet him. I assumed it was because he didn't want me to hear them."

"Do you remember anything else about the man?"

They began to walk again.

Brighit continued, "He and my uncle were arguing. I had been hoping my uncle wouldn't leave me with Ivan. I thought surely my uncle would want to know what inappropriate remarks the man was making. My uncle cared very little."

She stopped talking, hesitated mid-step, then continued on.

Peter waited for her to continue until his patience was up. "Is there nothing else?"

Mort touched his arm and shook his head. Brighit's head was down so she missed the gesture.

"My lady, did he threaten you?" Mort asked.

She glanced sideways at him for just a moment. "I'm sure I've said too much already."

Peter stopped.

Mort said, "Lady Brighit, it is clear to me that you have been ill-treated by these men. Mayhap we can work together to find out why."

"Will you not accept my protection?" The words stung Peter's heart even as he spoke them.

He had not been there for Jeanette but he would be for Brighit. Resolve settled in the depths of his heart. "My protection will not be withdrawn, my lady. I will see that no harm comes to you."

"Indeed. We will reach the Priory with you none the worse for wear—" Mort broke out into a smile "Maybe a little worse for wear since we are now forced to walk."

Brighit sighed. "Beg pardon, Sir Peter. I take your protection as my own but wonder if Ivan and his men were to return, would I be handed back over to them?"

"We will not gainsay your decision to stay or return." Peter had an almost overwhelming desire to punch something.

She smiled. "Yes. Then I will take your protection with the understanding that Ivan no longer has any hold over me."

"And that is at it should be," Peter said.

"We should keep walking," Mort reminded them both and they all started out again.

"The tall man was hooded and it was just getting dark," Brighit said. "He and my uncle were arguing when I came upon them. My uncle had just yelled something about someone not being a problem. I was afraid he meant me and that he was changing his mind about seeing me to the Priory."

"They ceased their talking as soon as my uncle spotted me. Then he dragged me back into the inn. I was told Ivan would protect me until he returned. When it was time to board the curragh, I was immediately sick at the movement and my uncle never got on with us."

Her pace quickened with the ending of her remembrance.

Mort gave her a reassuring smile and nodded.

"Not a lot of information," Peter said.

"I'm sorry. I was upset to be leaving my home."

He knew he was being harsh but the frustration at not being able to complete one simple task—like seeing her safely to the Priory—was grating on his nerves. The King would be sending soldiers to support Peter taking the castle in less than a week unless he sent word that all was well.

The morning stretched on and they kept a clipped pace. Their silence was broken only by occasional greetings from the few travelers they passed, all going in the opposite direction. Finally a young boy went by with an older woman Peter assumed was his mother. He had an excited look about him and a big grin.

"Mornin'," he said. "Fine day."

The child passed Brighit and handed her a tiny, blue flower.

Her face brightened.

"Look out for the cooper," his mother said over her shoulder. "He seems fair and honest but he had no problem taking from my son."

Peter turned back to face the departing pair. "It must be market day."

Brighit smelled the flower. "It smells wonderful."

"That flower looks quite fresh. It is probably just ahead."

"Thank you!" Brighit yelled to the two who were already twenty paces beyond them. The little boy waved back. She placed it carefully behind her ear. "Wait." She turned back at the departing pair. "We may have passed them."

The three exchanged glances. Peter trotted after the pair. "Please. Can we have a word with you?"

The mother and son stopped and waited.

"How can I be of assistance?" the mother asked.

Brighit moved in closer and smiled at the little boy. She touched the flower at her ear. "My thanks, again. Do you remember passing a wooden carriage a few days ago?"

"Of course," the mother answered. "It near blocked the path and the men were rude. Did they bother you as well?"

Peter gave Brighit an expression of encouragement, so she continued. "Did the men say anything to you."

"Aw," the little boy's mouth dropped open. He screwed his face up. "You mean the dirty men? They asked if we knew where we could find Tostig's soldiers."

His mother nodded. "They were crazy. Tostig's been cold and dead for a long time now. We just rushed by them. Loons."

Peter nodded. He patted the little boy on the head. "My thanks."

They returned to walking toward the market.

"My thanks, Brighit." Peter smiled at her. "I'm glad you recognized them."

"There wasn't much else to do but look out at the people we passed. The boy was very cute. He carried a sack for his mother."

"They must live in the area somewhere," Peter said. "Just who are these men and what are they doing here?"

"Now we know they're asking about a Godwinson," Mort said.

"Yes. The one who held the territory in this area. But he was killed just as Harold and the rest of the family."

Lowering his head, Peter caught a glimpse of Brighit's near naked state. His eyes again perused her shapely calves. He blew a noiseless whistle. Mort noticed his focus shift.

"Perhaps we can find something for Brighit to wear at the market ahead?" he asked.

"Chances are better there than a single home," Peter said.

At the crest of the hill, a wide, green valley spread out before them. Perhaps ten different vendors lined the road with colored flags waving from their carts. The din of caged animals and voices hawking items for sale drifted to them.

"We cannot dally here. Just renew our supplies," Peter said.

The view of the castle was obscured from this direction and the reminder that he had other duties he should be seeing to made Peter ill-tempered. That and other distractions.

A glance at Brighit showed her excitement at the prospect of a market day. Peter smiled to himself. Ivan had made things quite difficult for her and being without a proper gown just made it that much worse. She wasn't part of the Priory yet. These worldly things would be a part of her past very soon. He couldn't begrudge her a few minutes to take in their wares. Her features turned dark suddenly.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

She turned toward him, an incessant shaking of her head adding to his trepidation. "I cannot be seen like this."

He didn't need to be reminded of her shapely calf and near transparent clothing but his eyes wandered of their own accord, stopping at the precariously placed flower in her hair.

"We know that," he said and immediately regretted the harshness of his tone.

She pushed her shoulders back in a determined stance. "All will be well. Whatever you may find for me to wear, I will be grateful."

Her voice was clipped as if reassuring herself as well as him.

"We will do our best," Peter replied.

Her bravery was admirable but he noticed her step slowing as they approached the carts tightly gathered at the crossroads ahead. Why wouldn't she be embarrassed to be seen in her night dress? Even one covered by a man's long tunic. She could easily be mistaken as a kept woman and the tunic, along with his bare chest, certainly marked her as his. Ivan had been treating her as such throughout the trip. He snorted and stopped.

"Mort will you look ahead to see what can be found for Brighit to wear? We will wait here."

The little man frowned. "I will do my best."

Peter sat at the ground beside Brighit, just off the road. "We will see you respectable again, Lady Brighit."

"My lord, we do not have such titles in Ireland."

"Are you not of noble birth?"

"My father is clan leader—although it may be my brother by now."

Peter ripped a piece of grass from the ground in front of him. "How do you mean?"

"My father was on his death bed when I was spirited away." There was a little slant to her tight lips. "At his death, my brother will be clan leader."

She swallowed hard before blowing out a loud sigh. "Apologies, my lord, I have much weighing me down."

"No need. As the daughter of a clan leader, I believe lady is the correct title for you."

Her eyes sparkled. "My thanks."

She stretched out on her side, bending her knees slightly so that her legs were covered, and rested her head on her arm.

"Not even a blanket to cover you with," Peter said. He crossed his legs before him and leaned back on his arms.

She gave a small laugh. "It is certainly not for lack of planning on your part. Being robbed can definitely leave one short of many necessities."

Idle conversation was not Peter's way but he decided he would try. "Do you enjoy the markets in Ireland?"

"We have a few tradesmen who would travel through but we are mostly on our own."

"In Normandy, the market days were quite frequent... at least whenever the fighting stopped."

She bent her head back to face him more fully. "Fighting sounds like it was on going."

"It is a part of our everyday life. William has unending plans for the acquisition of lands."

"I have memories of a lot of fighting when I was younger, as well."

"I suppose we should be glad when celebrations begin and we can have a peaceful market day."

She smiled. The dark image of a man coming toward them was indeed Mort and Peter stood to greet him. He carried a large sack and a basket full of hard bread, colorful cheeses, and a skin near to be bursting.

"You've done well, my friend." Peter relieved him of the wine skin. "My thanks."

The liquid was cool on his parched throat and it gave him a distraction from Mort handing Brighit the newly acquired gown. He drank and glanced around but saw no place for her to have even the slightest privacy to dress. There was also no one else nearby. He handed the skin to Brighit.

"I'm afraid you'll have to change with our backs to you."

She drank a sip and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I will trust you not to look."

Mort accepted the skin and they walked a few feet away, turning their backs to Brighit.

Peter's senses tuned into the sounds behind him. First the tunic dropped to the ground making a sound as loud as a tree falling to his ears. He held his breath and saw again in his mind the way her dampened gown had clung to her curves.

Mort all but slammed the skin into his chest. Peter's hands scrambled to grab it and saw Mort's dark visage. "Keep your mind where it should be."

Peter grunted and took another drink. He tried to concentrate on the refreshing liquid but the rustling behind him reminded him of the way she'd felt against him. Soft and yielding. He thought again of her mouth against his. Her lips parting to allow his tongue access. Her breasts crushed against him.

"All done. You may turn around."

When Mort shoved at him to obey, reality felt like cold water splashed on him. However, Peter was in no condition to face her. His hardened cock bulged quite visibly against his hose and he had no tunic to hide it with. Ever observant, Mort noticed and quickly retrieved Peter's tunic. Peter pulled the clothing over his head and tugged it down over his demanding appendage. Unfortunately her scent surrounded him, fighting against any inward resolve to cool his ardor. He breathed in deeply, giving in to the memory of her shifting against him in submission. Clearing his throat, he steeled himself before turning to face her. His jaw dropped at the vision before him.

The tightly-fitted gown was made of a simple material but the way it hugged her womanly assets, it might as well have been silk. The generous swell of her bosom strained against the material so much so that her pearled nipples were clearly visible. Peter's mouth went dry.

"You look lovely," Mort offered, no doubt to cover Peter's foolish response, and stepped in front of him.

Brighit accepted his compliment with a smile. She glanced shyly at Peter, the flower gone from behind her ear. Like a parched man, he drank in the fluidity of her graceful curves. His gaze gliding along her narrow waist to the swell of her hips. Mort cleared his throat. Peter glanced toward him again.

"The color becomes you, Brighit." Peter frowned slightly and turned away.

In his mind's eye, he saw her again as she had looked standing in the carriage. Her spirited response more desirable than the willing red-haired wench he could have easily slated his sexual desires with. The vision he had of Brighit was of a passionate woman whether in anger or... and Peter knew he was taking liberties even thinking about it... in his bed. Briskly, he began walking the rest of the way toward the market.

"Are you coming?" he asked without actually turning back.

He breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind. Celibacy required a certain deadening of the senses that he had yet to master. Her scent drifted to him again from his tunic. He pulled the offending material over his head and tossed it to the ground.

"Can you see to this, Mort? I believe I require some new garments, as well."

Brighit's voice could be heard behind him. She questioned Mort about his response but Peter ignored her, walking even faster. The sooner he got to the little group gathered at the market, the quicker he would be able to... Peter didn't know what he planned to do but he needed distance from this woman.

As he'd hoped, the first cart he came upon had several tunics. He grabbed the first dark tunic he found.

"How much?" He pulled it over his head. It was tight in the shoulders but it smelled of wool which was better than to have Brighit's scent teasing him. Mort stepped forward to pay the required amount. Brighit moved closer to Peter.

"Have I done something to anger you?"

The man beside the cart heard her question and looked toward Peter, waiting for his answer.

"Of course not."

She turned away and moved along the table, admiring the items for sale.

"Are you looking for something else?" The man spoke in a low voice and looked sideways at him. "I can find almost anything you need."

It was the way the man said it that Peter recognized his offer to find him a willing wench. Either Peter was going to commit to celibacy or find some release. "Yes."

Mort turned toward him. "My lord!"

"Monk's pepper," Peter said. "Where can I find it?"

The tradesmen looked Brighit up and down and smiled. "Third cart on the right side of the road. That's where all the herbs can be found."