Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

The evening meal was uneventful. Peter expected to witness some sort of tension but Brighit kept her face averted and spoke little. It was Ivan who kept the conversation going without actually saying anything. Peter assumed this was intentional. The occasional grunts from Mort gave Peter a certain amount of satisfaction that the man found the useless prattling annoying.

"So, Brighit," Peter said. It was time he drew her out. Her body tensed so that he'd wished he had let her be. "Are you from the east coast of Ireland?"

She glanced at Ivan before answering. Peter did the same, catching the slight nod.

"Yes," she said.

"And you have been promised to the church? Or are the provisions to be decided upon your arrival?"

"It has been decided," Ivan answered.

Cole wiped his greasy fingers on his shirt and stood. "I'm in need of a walk."

"I'll join you." Andrew stood as well.

They walked off toward the lake Peter had swum in earlier. The idea was appealing to him but he set it aside. His duty called.

"I wonder, Ivan, if I might converse with Brighit without your interruptions?"

"No!" Ivan said, his chin jutted out in a belligerent manner.

"I was being courteous to pose the question in that manner. I would have you leave us now."

Brighit's eyes widened, the glow of the fire reflected in her deep, brown eyes. Her fear of the man ran deep.

Ivan stomped away, following after the other two.

Brighit dipped her head, avoiding Peter's gaze. He moved in closer, careful not to touch her, and spoke in quiet tones for fear of upsetting her.

"Brighit? I would have you face me when I speak to you."

She acquiesced but continued to glance the way Ivan had gone.

"He cannot hurt you. I am here now."

"Methinks you don't know him as I have come to know him."

Peter tensed at that cryptic statement. Were they intimate then? He rubbed his lip with his thumb. Deciphering soldiers and predicting their movements was something Peter was quite good at but this was beyond him. If Brighit were with child and bound for the Priory then perhaps Ivan's touch was not as reprehensible as Peter believed it to be.

"How long have you been with Ivan?"

She frowned. Was it at the choice of words? He hoped so.

"My uncle gave him charge of me before we made the crossing."

Ah, an uncle. Now they were getting somewhere. She glanced into the darkness.

"And where is your uncle now?"

She shrugged, still searching the darkness. Unexpectedly she moved in close to him, her eyes imploring him. "My family cannot know what has happened to me. They would never allow such treatment—"

"Brighit!" Ivan burst out of the woods as he'd been listening. "Are you ready to retire?"

She stood abruptly refusing to make eye contact with Peter again. "Yes."

Soundlessly she moved across the camp and into the carriage, closing the curtains around her.

Peter assessed Ivan, sitting across from him, his stubby legs stretched out in front of him, his arms across his protruding belly.

"I wonder... What part of ‘leave us' you had trouble with?"

Ivan tucked his feet in, leaning toward Peter. "Sir, I beg your pardon. I believed she was disturbing you. I thought only of your welfare... and hers of course."

Did the man just insinuate Peter was being inappropriate?

"Why is she being brought to the Priory?"

The other two men joined them, sitting on either side of Ivan. Mort returned at the same time and stood just beyond the firelight, behind Peter. He was prepared for something but Peter was not sure why.

"It is where her father wants her to be brought. I follow the orders I receive. Much as you, no doubt."

"I do follow orders, that's true. I have a moral code by which I live as well so that when a situation presents itself, I know what I am called to do even without direct orders. Can you say the same?"

"Yes, I can. I see to my own comfort during these times and make the most of any situation I find myself in. Do you not?"

"I might look to my comfort but not if that comfort imperils one within my protection."

Ivan guffawed. "You, sir, are a knight of the first order! I cannot say I would be quite so discerning."

"And have you taken liberties with your ward?"

Ivan's smile froze on his lips. "You disparage me, sir!"

"Do I?"

Ivan thought for a moment, almost as if measuring the best course of action. Peter wondered for the first time if this man had been a soldier. Cole and Andrew shifted, perhaps to signal readiness. Ivan narrowed his eyes slightly then stood, breaking into a huge grin.

"Ah, Sir Peter, dear Brighit is at your disposal. I ask only that she is returned when you are done with her."

Peter threw the punch without forethought, hitting Ivan squarely in the jaw. The sting shooting up his arm assured him it was a solid hit. He did not shake his hand out but stood ready for the return blow.

The men on either side of Ivan merely shifted away, as the little man fell back on his arse. Getting as far as his knees, he rubbed at his jaw, moving it side to side, then stood. The huge grin returned. The three men turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness.

Mort grunted and stood beside him. "Well played. Round one to Ivan."

Peter's eyes widened. "You think so? I thought my fist would have quashed his comment."

"But his was still the last word. He is a wily player."

Peter rubbed his knuckles. "I didn't even know we were playing. I had the man pegged as a lecher of the worst kind, one who defaces sacred shrines and deflowers innocent virgins without much thought. Could I have been so wrong?"

"Perhaps you saw only what you chose to see. I am not sure he does not do just that. Lady Brighit is the only one who can answer those questions."

"Lady? You believe she is a lady?"

"With a certainty. Her bearing is noble and she is well educated. I just cannot fathom why she is with this group."

"I believe she was about to divulge that information when Ivan interrupted."

"Oh?" Mort shifted closer as if to ensure he didn't miss a single word. "What did she say?"

"She said, ‘My family cannot know what has happened to me.'" Peter scratched at the stubble on his chin. "I cannot say exactly what it means, however. Is she saying she does not want them to know or they have no way of knowing."

"I'd say you have much to discuss with the lady."

"And you have a true knack for stating the obvious."

Mort snickered. "This would be a good time to sit and wait to see what happens next."

With the moon casting strange shadows about their little camp, Peter rested against a tree in the darkness along the forest's edge. Sleep eluded him. That was just as well. Ever since he learned of Jeanette's death, his dreams were dark and macabre. Sometimes the dream would be of his own birth and his mother screaming for help with her last breath. Sometimes it was Jeanette delivering their babe, alone and abandoned. Always he awoke in a sweat, emotionally sucked dry, unable to return to sleep.

The men had been passed out in a drunken stupor for just a short while. The banked fire glowed a distance from Peter, but the occasional snore still carried. Mort, too, slept but twenty feet from him. His feathered cap within an arm's reach. His head against his forearm. It promised to be a long night.

A dark form moved between him and the fire. He squinted, trying to identify the shape. It could be a wild animal. The shadow was small but appeared to be upright. It paused beside each of the sleeping men, an arm's length away. When it drifted to the right, the dim light revealed it was indeed a person. Peter couldn't be certain it was Brighit but he had definite suspicions. Who else could it be?

She stopped beside Andrew. He rolled onto his back. She jumped back soundlessly, out of the reach of his arms. Perfectly still. Then he turned back over, tucking his hand back beneath his head. He imagined she counted to ten before she moved again, reaching to the pile of his belongings, rummaging through, looking for something in particular. Slowly she withdrew a long stick and held it in the air.

Peter tensed. The muscles of his legs coming to full alert, ready to stop any bloodshed she might be planning. Instead she dropped her arm and backed away, disappearing into the darkness just to his right. She hadn't seemed to notice him.

Peter stood without a sound and followed her into the woods. The muffled crunch of branches breaking beneath her feet was like a beacon guiding him. He glanced back to assure no one else was aware of their movements. It didn't take long to come upon her. She sat beside the small loch, still within the shadows of the forest.

With her back to him, he moved in closer. A tentative high pitched noise, then slightly fuller but just as high, whispered through the air. She turned toward the camp. Peter ducked soundlessly against a tree just short of her sighting him. She returned to the pilfered whistle. The instrument sounding much better than the noise Andrew had gotten out of it. A quiet tune soon drifted across the water, its haunting melody sad but sweet. Peter settled on the ground.

After playing two more tunes, Brighit leaned her head forward and placed a hand over her face. No catch in her breathing. No unintelligible words. But her shoulders shook in the moonlight. She was crying. It tugged at his heart. The beautiful music she had played spoke of her talent. Mort was correct. She was indeed a lady bred.

He filled his lungs then exhaled before standing. He walked toward her.

"That was a lovely tune."

She jerked herself to standing, feet spread in a defensive posture, the whistle hidden behind her back.

"Do you follow me?" Her sharp tone surprised Peter.

He paused in front of her. The moon made a sudden appearance, casting her in full light. Her cheeks were damp from tears, her lips appeared soft to the touch, and her long, brown tresses promised the same. With a start he realized she was not wearing her wimple. His manhood stirred. She was quite provocative. Was she aware of the picture she presented? He licked his lips.

"I thought my new ward was making an escape."

"Your ward, now?"

"Perhaps I will take my duty more seriously that Ivan."

She turned slightly. In this light, she appeared quite the seductress. The gown she wore was tighter than her kirtle, outlining her breasts and dipping in at her narrow waist. He was shocked to see her ankles were exposed as well. Perhaps he had misjudged her. She could easily be a lady-bred but fallen from grace.

"Please." He gestured to the ground she'd been sitting on.

Brighit sat as if alighting on a throne rather than the cold, hard ground. She moved the whistle to the folds of her skirt.

"So why do you skulk around in the darkness?" Peter asked.

The moon hid behind the clouds so he could no longer see her features. "I do not wish to awaken the others."

"I thought perhaps you didn't wish to be caught stealing the whistle you were just playing."

"He won't miss it. I will return it before he awakes."

"You were quite adept at obtaining it... and moving among the sleeping men with them none the wiser."

"So now you believe I am a thief?"

"I do not know what to believe."

"Hmph, you knew well enough when you made accusations about me sitting around naked in the carriage."

Peter turned away slightly to hide his grin. "My apologies if I was wrong."

"If?" Brighit stood again, her voice louder now. "I have given you no reason to think I was a wanton woman. Why would you behave as if I am?"

He remained sitting, leaning his head back to look up at her. "I am at a loss to explain this situation. You are the only woman with three men. None of which I believe are your relatives. Am I mistaken?"

The sob carried to him. He took his time standing.

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

An open-mouthed sob now. She covered her hand with her mouth.

"I do not wish to cast stones but to understand."

"I—I am no—not his whore!"

She gave him her back.

"I don't expect you to believe me," she said. "I don't expect the other men to believe me. I don't expect anyone to believe me. Ivan has said as much."

He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. "Please tell me what is amiss. I will do my best to assist you in whatever you need."

She faced him. "I wish only to be taken to the Priory."

Brighit shoved past him, pushing the whistle at him. He followed. She returned to the carriage.

The men slept on, oblivious to the goings on around them. It was just as well. Peter had missed a chance to learn what he needed. He returned the whistle to Andrew's bag and returned to his earlier position. He settled back against the same tree.

"I take it things did not go well," Mort spoke without moving. Naturally he was awake to witness his failings.

"Go back to sleep."

The little man was quiet and Peter was shocked to think he was finally obeying his orders.

"Perhaps you will get a chance to question her alone again and you can be more... judicious in your questioning."

Peter stretched out on the ground, his back to Mort. "Perhaps you should take your sleep when you can. I believe you will have your hands quite full come daybreak."