Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Once she was safely within the carriage, Brighit grabbed at her bodice. She was sopping wet. Glancing down, she gasped at how transparent the material had become. Heat crept up her cheeks. Was that the reason Peter had sent her away? She whipped the gown over her head, pulling her hair loose at the same time, and stretched the offending garment across the bench. It wasn't enough the man had an eyeful of her totally naked but now he saw again what no man had a right to see—no man but her husband.

But she would have no husband.

The realization pierced her chest, splitting her heart right down the middle.

No husband to look on her with pleasure. No husband to hold her close at night. No husband to meet her in that secret place where two become as one.

Her breath hitched.

But she had seen him naked as well. She closed her eyes and saw him again as he had appeared. As she should only see her husband. A well-honed warrior. Powerful. Strong.

His hand at her elbow, however, had been gentle, and the look on his face had been... appreciative.

The memory of him surveying her nakedness caused more heat to her face. He'd seemed surprised, yes, that was to be expected. But there was something else. For just the smallest of seconds, there had been... longing? The tightness in her stomach was there again.

"My lady?" The voice of the man traveling with Peter startled her. He was right outside the carriage.

"If I might offer some assistance? Perhaps the gown may dry faster beside the fire?"

"What?" Brighit had herself covered even though there was no way for him to see inside the carriage. He had noticed it, too? She felt sick.

"They'll know I am near naked in here."

"Ah, but I also have some things to stretch out for drying and will be sure yours are not visible."

Brighit hesitated. His help was welcomed but she was uncertain about this man.

"The hot fire I built will have your gown dry in a very short time. I will return it to you as soon as it is." His voice sounded reassuring. Perhaps he anticipated her reluctance.

She grabbed the gown, shoving it through the curtain to the man's waiting hands. Then she whipped off the chemise as well.

"I will have it back to you before you even have need of it."

"I have need of it now," Brighit's lowered voice dripped with sarcasm.

"My apologies, fair lady, I do see your point. I will do my best to return it to you anon."

Brighit was embarrassed that he'd heard her. "My thanks, ah,..."

"Mort," he filled in her sentence. "A great pleasure to meet you even under such conditions as these."

Peter stood beside his horse, its foreleg bent with its hoof in his hand. He tensed at the sight of Mort returning from the carriage, Brighit's gown in hand. The others were too busy grumbling amongst themselves to notice anything else. Peter continued the scraping out of mud and stones.

"I don't know that I will be needing to stay on," the bearded man announced in a loud voice, to no one in particular. "If you have sir knight at your disposal, what use have you for me?"

Peter clamped his jaw tight to stop from responding to the jab. This was a matter they needed to work out amongst themselves. He stood by his decision to see the young lady to the Priory himself.

"Cole, you know I've still need for your services." Peter caught Ivan's head tipping toward him but didn't let on. "You will not receive your payment until that time."

The big man's dissatisfaction with the answer was apparent in the way he stomped about the area, collecting wood so large, it would be impossible for a smaller man to even move. Ivan rocked on his heels beside the flames, quite pleased with himself. Mort moved about the fire, staking the sturdy limbs into the ground.

"What are you about?" Ivan finally asked Mort.

Mort ceased his movements before the first freshly laundered piece of material was draped. "Excuse me?"

Ivan frowned. "I said what are you doing?"

"Seeing to my things. Is there aught amiss?"

Ivan made a face of disdain. "No. But there's no need for you to do your own washing when we have the girl here."

"She is not a girl. She is a woman, full grown," Mort added, his tone clipped.

Ivan exchanged knowing glances with his men. Their smiles indicated they knew more than they were saying.

"Aye, that's true enough," Cole said.

Mort tipped his head, his full attention on the men before him. "You seem to be saying you have first-hand experience with the woman. Would that be from the unfortunate incident earlier?"

Peter dropped his horse's hoof and moved to pat him down, alert for the answer.

"No. We knew long before that," Andrew chimed in. He rubbed his hand across the smooth globe of his head. "Her skin is soft, too."

Peter stilled. He gripped the small, iron pick still in his hand and waited.

"Soft? I'm surprised you have such detailed knowledge of your ward. Is there more to your duty here than bringing her to the Priory?"

Ivan stepped forward. "No, there's naught. Just saying she looks soft is all." The passing punch fell short of being as surreptitious as Ivan probably would have liked and the other man was slow in realizing why he'd received it.

They turned away from Mort, sitting beside the far side of the fire. He continued to stretch his few articles, which included some carefully obscured woman's garments, across the limbs of the sturdy branches along one side of the fire.

Peter wanted Mort to ask more questions, force them to tell him how well they knew her. They insinuated much, as if theirs was a more carnal relationship. Especially Ivan. If he had a more intimate knowledge, was it by force or her choice? After having witnessed Ivan's treatment of her thus far, Peter doubted it was her choice. If Ivan, or any of the men, were forcing themselves on her, Peter would put an end to that. If she took them willingly into her bed, protecting her would be more difficult. It would mean she was allowing improper behavior and she may not want his protection. There was only one way to know for sure. Peter needed to find out from Brighit. He needed to get her alone.