Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Brighit took in the surrounding green hills and cloudless sky, the moist smell of earth from the morning dew, and fought back tears. It was a beautiful day. Instead of being allowed to enjoy it, she stood stiffly beside her escort, Uncle Ronan. He and her brother worked out the details of her departure. She mattered very little.

She'd met her uncle when she was young but he had never left much of a shadow on her life. His barrel chest and muscled legs were those of a warrior. His speech and manner were gruff. He was an islander. Danish from her grandfather's side, her uncle had blond hair. Her mother had the darker hair of Brighit's grandmother, who had been a Celtic Princess. Brighit took after her mother.

The small man at Uncle Ronan's side leered at Brighit. Covered from head to toe with a dark cloak, he seemed to grow up out of the earth. She was properly covered as one becoming a nun. Ner a strand of her dark brown hair was visible, no indication that beneath this rough sack of a kirtle there was a woman's body and yet Ivan, her uncle's man, seemed to see right through her disguise. His crooked smile showed black teeth and a fat tongue that darted out between plump lips. Through narrowed slits, he perused her up and down as if imagining having his way with her. Panic seized her. She moved closer to her imposing brother who would rip Ivan's face off if he ever dare touch her.

"Tadhg." The sudden need to be shielded from this man erupted in her mind. Certainly her brother would not allow her to be placed in such close proximity to this lecher. She needed him to notice, so she yanked his arm. "Is Sean coming for farewells?"

She tipped her head as much as she dared to indicate the little man but Tadhg merely appeared perplexed.

"He sends his regrets at being unable to see you off. He wishes you well, Brighit. You are like a sister…" She nodded her head the slightest bit to indicate where she wanted him to see, "…but he has…" She tried again to no avail, "…much to do at this time of year."

Tadhg stopped talking and frowned in irritation. "What is amiss?"

Smiling tightly, Brighit turned back to her uncle, but was surprised to see his lackey merely standing at attention at her uncle's side. Her shock must have shown on her face.

"Niece?" Uncle Ronan prompted her.

Her eyes flashed at the little man before she smiled at her uncle. "Forgive me, Uncle, I am under much stress in my preparation for this sudden journey. I fear I am not myself."

Uncle Ronan laughed at this, a loud, boisterous laugh which caused his body to shake. "Well, my dear niece, you've nothing to fear. We will see you safely to the Priory, just as we did your mother before you."

"Ah, yes, you were the one who brought her to Tanshelf," Tadhg said.

"It was none other. Your sweet mother looked to Elizabeth—beg your pardon—the Prioress now, as her protector as you should as well, Brighit. She'll let nothing evil befall you. I can grant you that."

Tadhg frowned and glanced toward Brighit before voicing his concern. "Then how did she come to be wed to our father? I mean after taking vows?"

The sudden silence was deafening. Uncle Ronan puckered his lips in a contemplative gesture that caused his chin to wrinkle. After a long moment, he nodded slowly.

"Well. I don't recall, except to say your mother was protected within that Priory until she was wed to your father in their chapel."

Tadhg turned a bright smile toward Brighit. "Ah, the last thing she would have imagined happening within the walls of such a place."

"That's true enough." Ronan said.

Tadhg glanced around, suddenly concerned. "Will there just be the two of you then, Uncle? Do you believe that will be enough?"

"No, we are meeting up with other men who will ferry us across and guide us to the Priory. There will be enough protection for Christ's future bride, to be sure. We will see her safely off, won't we, Ivan?"

The little man puffed up with the importance of the job. "We will, my lord. We know how to care for lovely women in our charge."

Brighit shivered at the double meaning.

"See?" Tadhg took both her hands. "You will be well cared for. Uncle Ronan has his men waiting for you at the coast. I wish I could come with you."

"How is father?"

"He is holding on. It will not be long now."

"Mayhap this trip should wait until later? When you can join us?"

"Father is afraid of what the O'Brien will do. If he compromises you—"

Brighit gasped. "He would never dare!"

"Your virtue is his only concern. I am sorry." He kissed each cheek, a sad smile on his face. "I will miss you, sweetling."

As if suddenly overwhelmed, he crushed her to him.

She swallowed hard against her tears. "I can stay at your word, my lord." She whispered in his ear. She longed to beg him to not make her go, to tell him her deepest fear, to convince him to let her stay.

Instead she stepped away. Her lips frozen into a tight smile. "But father's wishes will be seen to."

She tugged her wrap closer around her. The stable boy placed the step-up box beside the carriage. He gave her his arm to help her into the wood-sided conveyance. If she even breathed, she knew she would cry. She was a MacNaughton. She needed to be strong. She would get through this as she had gotten through everything else. She held her head high as she sat, unyielding, on the cushioned bench.

"Fare thee well."

Brighit found Ivan sitting in the far corner. His face averted. A study in propriety.

She turned toward her brother, now standing beside the carriage. "You will be foremost in my prayers." Besides my own safety.

The stable boy hopped onto the high seat. Immediately the carriage shifted and they were under way.

"God be with you," Tadhg called out.

Uncle Ronan raised his hand in acknowledgement from his seat beside Ivan, his knees occasionally touching hers. The curtains that would cover the square openings in each door were secured to allow air flow. Brighit wanted to yank them down, cutting off the outside, and enshroud herself in this moving casket that led to her grave. Instead, she remained seated and politely faced forward.

Her uncle's glances became less frequent by mid-morning, indicating he was lost in his own thoughts and paying her no heed. Ivan, on the other hand, kept a steady eye on her, or should she say her breasts, especially when the horse was led along the bumpy road which ran alongside the ocean. She tried crossing her arms about her until she realized his face brightened at that, pulling her gown tight against her as it did.

Brighit shook her head and looked out the window. She reassured herself yet again that she was fully clothed. Ivan could not see anything he should not be able to see. The man was just depraved. She prayed there would be no opportunity for this man to be alone with her. By dusk, her uncle had taken to his horse to escape the tight confines of the carriage. He rode ahead, leading it rather than protecting her.

"How fare ye, niece?" His loud voice boomed, startling her from her thoughts.

"Well enough."

"Perhaps some food and company? There is an inn down the road where we will stop to rest. Ivan?"

"Yes, my lord." His leering smile stayed on Brighit.

"Can you see to my niece's comforts while I search out our boatmen?"

Brighit shifted forward so her voice would carry. "No, ah—"

"Of course, my lord." Ivan spoke more loudly than her. That or her uncle chose to ignore her.

"Ah, Uncle—" she tried again.

"Do not trouble him." Ivan's quiet voice purred like a contented cat. "He has done so much for you already. He's disrupted his own duties to see to you. Allow him a few minutes to himself." He threw his cloak over his shoulder and rested his hand on the sword hilt at his hip, small as it was. Was he threatening her? With disgust, she noticed a little bulge fairly bursting through his breeches. "I will take very good care of you."

The thatched building, aptly named the Crossroads Inn, was set just off the much traveled crossroads that led down to the sea. The smell of salty water permeated the air but Brighit hadn't yet spotted the turbulent tides she'd soon be crossing. Not having spent much time on the ocean, she feared it. She was convinced the dark, churning depths that separated her from her new home were totally impassable. When her uncle returned, he assured her it was doable.

"The crossing to England is not a long one. I travel it myself quite often."

"You do?" This surprised her. "For what purpose?"

He stared blankly back at her before answering. "Now, now you needn't concern yourself."

His irritation with her was apparent by his tone.

"My apologies, Uncle. I meant no harm in asking."

He blew out his annoyance. "Enough! Just don't be daft now. You'll land with no harm coming to you. Come along, Brighit." Uncle Ronan grabbed her arm and directed her inside the small building to the center trestle before the fire.

The walls of the great room they entered were black with soot and ash and it reeked of urine and stale ale. The few patrons, dark and foreboding, blended into the shadows.

"That's a good girl now." He helped her to the bench but didn't sit down himself.

A small, elderly woman brought one plate with various hard cheeses and dried fish along with one tankard of cider.

Brighit's throat tightened. "Are you not joining me, Uncle?"

He looked about the empty room as if searching for someone. Having just sent Ivan off with the stable boy to care for the horses, Brighit had no idea who that could be.

"Do you know this place?" she asked. "Do you stop here often on your travels?"

Uncle Ronan seemed distracted. "You ask too many questions. I've some things to see to."

"Things?" Fear clawed at her insides.

His frown deepened. He glanced at her with a questioning look.

"Didn't you already see the boatmen?" Brighit said.

"Oh, yes. I have some other things... When Ivan returns—"

"Uncle, I wish to speak to you about Ivan. I do not feel safe in his company and—"

The older man beamed at Ivan who came up beside them, dropping onto the bench next to Brighit. He was far too close. She moved away, raising her voice.

"Uncle! I am not—"

"At your behest, my lord," Ivan spoke over her. "He has agreed to meet with you."

Brighit's jaw dropped. "What? Who? Who has agreed to meet you? Another boatman?"

Her uncle ignored her questions and headed to the door without a second glance. A tall, dark man waited by the door, his face concealed by the hood of his cloak.

"Uncle, I must object." Brighit began to stand but Ivan grabbed her hand, jerking her back down beside him.

She gasped. "How dare you lay hands on me?"

Ivan smiled toward the man at the table in front of the window who had leaned forward with her outburst and now watched them. "She's a bit slow."

Brighit pulled against Ivan's clenched hand, realizing she probably did appear mad. She struggled to keep her fear in check. The door closed with a thud behind her uncle.

"Unhand me. At once." She spoke with a tightened jaw.

"Lower your voice or I will claim you are my wife and no one will care what you say."

"You would not!"

"Do not provoke my wrath." His eyes narrowed. "It would not bode well for you."

He dropped his gaze to wander along her body. She stiffened, holding her breath against the violation.

"For me, it would be quite pleasurable. I could take you to the loft and teach you how to behave correctly. Not as the bride of Christ, but as a woman intended for a man's pleasure." He held her gaze. "I would be pleased to teach you how to lose your noble attitude."

Her nostrils flared. "How dare you speak to me thus. My uncle would never allow—"

"Your uncle is not here. Haven't you noticed how preoccupied he is? You are the least of his worries. And that attitude, sweet, innocent Brighit, is exactly to what I am referring. Here you are nothing. To me, you are nothing. Do you comprehend what I am telling you?"

Brighit searched the small room, hoping to find a sympathetic face. The others pressed back against the wall, into the dark recesses, as if to hide their identity.

"You are not the treasured, virginal sacrifice of the great MacNaughton Clan here. You are little more than a warm body to these people. And me? I am your only protection."

Many traveled these waters as men for hire and to gain political favor with no loyalty. The stories from this port carried tales of murder and kidnapping. No help would be forthcoming. Her fingers ached where Ivan held her fast.

"Where has my uncle gone?" Her voice trembled despite her best effort to show courage.

Ivan shot her a smile. "He has important matters of his own. Fear not. I will be seeing to your needs."

A shiver of fear slid down her spine. She lowered her voice to match his. "Please release my hand."

He raised a questioning brow. "Will you behave?"

Brighit nodded.

Ivan tipped his head, disappointment washed over his ugly face. "Are you certain? You did not wish me to announce that you are under my care? Even tell them you are my wife?"

She gasped, which made him smile. He loosened his grip and she jerked her hand away.

"I am not under your care." She spat the words at him.

"If you are under anyone's care, it is mine." His face darkened. "Do you see your uncle here to offer his protection?"

Her heart throbbed in her ears. "He will return." She spoke with more conviction than she felt.

Ivan's smile blossomed. "All things will be made plain in time."

Brighit began to shake uncontrollably. He leaned in closer as if sensing the overwhelming terror rushing through her. Placing his hands on either side of her face, he ran his thumb along her jaw before urging it tightly shut. He smiled pleasantly, his foul breath hot on her face.

"No one knows you here." His voice was low and threatening. "No one will gainsay me... but please do become overwrought." His closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He smiled and opened his eyes again. "I welcome the opportunity to put my hands on you. Give me one reason to put aside my promise to your uncle to keep you safe. Please."

Her breath quickened and she fought to subdue her panic. His dark eyes appeared bottomless—like the pits of hell. Hell. She feared she would not be making it to the Priory.

"Please," she begged through her clenched jaw.

He tipped his head, releasing his hold of her.

"As you wish." He sat away from her slightly and spoke more loudly. "Eat now. We have a room for only a short while and then we will be on our way again."

"We?"

"Forgive me. I misspoke. You have a room."

Ivan turned his little body toward the serving woman and snapped his fingers. She jumped at his command.

Tears threatened Brighit but she blinked them away. They would do her no good. She picked up the cider and took a deep swallow for fortitude. She was left totally at this man's mercy. She glanced toward the door. Her uncle could not be far. Surely if he would listen to her, he would see her better protected.

"I need to relieve myself." Brighit stood slowly, fearful he would grab at her to keep her from rising.

Ivan kept his hands to himself. "Attempting to escape would not be wise."

The room was filling now, but any one of them could be more of a threat to her than Ivan. He'd said he would hold to his promise unless she gave him reason.

"I will not try to escape."

She darted to the door. Opening it, she assessed which way her uncle may have gone. The gloaming was quickly being replaced by darkness. To her right, two tall figures, heads together in close conversation, were barely distinguishable. Their voices carried.

"She's not a burden. It will be as we'd planned." Her uncle's voice.

"As if you can speak openly with her nearby? I need assistance not—"

She hesitated a hair's breadth before interrupting their impassioned conversation.

"But Leofrid, I promised—"

"Uncle?" The sudden silence fell like a sheet enshrouding them.

Uncle Ronan turned toward her and grabbed her arm. The other man gave them his back and receded deeper into the darkness.

"What is amiss? Why have you followed me?" He hissed and led her back toward the inn, away from the other man.

"I am afeared—"

"I care not how you feel!" He all but shoved her through the door.

She struggled not to lose her footing.

"Stay with Ivan. I will see you at the shore on the morrow. Now go."

Brighit stood stock still facing the now closed door. Her breathing was shallow. What should she do?

"Come, lady. You need sustenance." Ivan's voice resounded in the room. All turned toward her but Ivan.

Slowly, she confronted the only slim chance she had for protection. The slobbering sound of him shoveling food into his mouth grew louder at her approach. She moved as if in a dream. Sitting in the spot she'd just left, she picked up the leg of lamb and began to gnaw at the meat. She would need her strength if she were going to survive whatever they had planned for her. Something was happening that she didn't understand. She would follow Ivan's advice and give him no cause to put his hands on her. She only hoped he would be true to his word.