Daughter of the king

by Ashley York

  It was then that she noticed the small wood-sided conveyance. Attached to a single horse, it could probably hold two people in close proximity. For once, she eagerly embraced the notion of traveling in a carriage. She required time to herself, time to think. Her earlier reaction to Darragh had come from some irrational fear and that did not sit well with her. She hoped he wouldn’t share what she’d done, for the men would certainly see it as cowardice as well. No doubt another woman would care very little if the men saw her as a coward, but to Brighit, there was no worst label.

  “Let me help ye in.” Darragh joined his hands, fingers locked, for her to use as a step up into the carriage. It swayed like a ship on a sea and she couldn’t sit quickly enough.

  His hands on either side of the door frame, he leaned in to look around the inside. “Seems a comfortable enough way to pass the day, would ye agree?”

  She tightened her jaw, disgusted with the fact that she wanted to agree wholeheartedly with him. To be in here? Away from prying eyes? Alone to ponder how best to handle the situation? A godsend! “’Twill be most pleasant, I’m certain.”

  He tipped his head, his eyes narrowing the slightest bit. “D'ye still wear the powder on yer face?”

  Brighit’s bruises seemed even more prominent today, so she’d had no choice. “I do.”

  She didn’t dare offer any more information but prayed he would let it go rather than question her. Her own father always insisted her mother was beautiful enough without adding foreign concoctions to her skin. Surely Darragh did not feel that way about her looks.

  Ye are exquisite, wife.

  The unexpected memory of his words sent a ripple of longing through her. If only the horrible thing she’d done didn’t stand between them…

  “I do not remember ye wearing it before our wedding.”

  Brighit shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together.

  “Is there a reason a married lass would choose to wear it? I remember ye having lovely, soft skin.”

  Her breath caught at the kind sentiment and she lowered her eyes. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed her at all. He’d always stood there at his father’s side with a stoic, untouchable look, ever the obedient warrior.

  He must have read her reaction as uneasiness because his face hardened, and he drew back. “No matter.”

  He closed the door to the carriage and soon they were on their way.

  The group stopped mid-day for a fortifying meal, resting for a time before resuming their journey. There was some talk about the order in which they’d relay the message to the various kings. If she hadn’t been beset by her own concerns, she would have looked forward to seeing these new sights.

  Watching the men on their horses from inside the carriage, she realized it was her conveyance that was dragging out the undertaking. On horseback, they could have easily made their first destination within a few days’ ride. The mens’ decision to continue through the night made her feel even guiltier. They were accommodating her presence. But when the time came to finally stop and rest, she was more than ready to quit the confining space.

  Darragh’s men saw to the setting up of their camp while he came to assist her.

  “Are ye stiff from yer ride?”

  Brighit forced herself to straighten as they walked away from the carriage. The pain across her body was near unbearable today. “A bit, I’m afraid. I am usually much more active.”

  “Traipsing around dressed as a lad, if I remember correctly.”

  Her sharp gaze took in his teasing smile and she relaxed. He referred to when he’d caught her with the lads a year earlier, not her misadventure with her uncle the night before her wedding.

  “Yer threats certainly saw an end to that.” She was too tired and sore to hide her irritation with him.

  “So yer brother saw the error of his ways?” He was undaunted. “Shame on him for putting the daughter of the king at such risk at all.”

  Brighit glared at him.

  “Not to mention my betrothed.” Darragh’s expression softened and he stroked a fingertip along her jawbone, his voice quieter. “Even with the ash on this face, yer loveliness could not be denied.”

  She swallowed, not sure how to respond. The other lasses were often complimented by lads currying favor with them, begging for time in their presence, but she’d had none of that.

  “I like the powder even less than the ash. I would prefer ye not use it.” He watched her eyes, glancing from one to the other. “Will ye fight me on that as well?”

  Fight him? Brighit couldn’t hold his gaze. He spoke of the bedding, of course, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how to explain what she didn’t understand herself. Not without telling him what she was still not ready to tell.

  “I prefer it on occasion.” When the bruises faded, she would have no further use for the disgusting stuff.

  His eyes were on her. She could feel his gaze boring into her, as though judging her defiant.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Ye have been most kind to me.”

  “And why would I not.” He stepped closer, raising her face so she could no longer avoid him. He studied her intently before he spoke again. “I have taken ye to wife…and ye have taken me to husband.”

  More teasing. She smiled at the reminder of her earlier words.

  “Ah, a genuine smile. I would like to see more of that.”

  When his gaze dropped to her lips, she knew he wanted to kiss her. She wanted the same. The heat pouring from him was intense, but then she recognized the look of resignation crossing his face. Instead of kissing her, he reached for the sack beside him and said, “I need to see to my duties. I will return for ye.”

  Her heart sank, even more so because Darragh didn’t look at her again before slipping off. She wiped away the tears dripping down her cheeks, her palms came away white from the powder. Glancing around, she realized he had taken her belongings with him, including the powder. The lads who’d stayed behind were going about their business, none of them paying her any attention.

  “Darragh?”

  “He’s gone off to catch our supper,” Terrence emerged from the woods, his arms loaded with twigs and dried leaves. “Is there something ye need?”

  He bent down to the ground to start the fire, giving her only a cursory glance.

  What could she do? Darragh had just said he’d prefer she not to wear the powder. It seemed rebellious to now ask for it.

  Terrence finally faced her, the fire catching nicely before him. He looked like he was about to speak, but he frowned instead.

  “What—?” He crossed the distance between them and wiped along her cheekbone. She winced in pain. “How did ye get these bruises?”

  Brighit turned away, draping her hair alongside her cheek to hide herself from him.

  “Not Darragh.” Terrence appeared to be making a statement, but then he moved up close, turning her face to the light. “Tell me it was not Darragh who did this to ye.”

  She could tell he believed it to be true—but was desperate for her to prove him wrong. He searched her eyes.

  “Of course not,” she said immediately, her tone sharp. Her mind frantically searched for an excuse. “I am…susceptible to hives, and when they clear, they leave my skin…marred. I usually cover it with powder until it fades.”

  His brows slashed down and he nodded, but she could read his disbelief. Terrence, whom she had only ever seen smiling and teasing, looked ready to do someone harm.

  She grabbed at his arm, imploring him with her eyes. “Please. That is all it is. Let it go.”

  The sound of the hunting party returning put Brighit in a panic. If Terrence could see the bruises, others, including Darragh, would see them, too, and then…and then she’d have to explain here and now in front of everyone. Her lips quivered. She would prefer to explain the situation to her husband before sharing the truth with anyone else. With a start, she realized she wanted Darragh to tell her what to do. When had she decided his
council was worth seeking?

  “Terrence,” Darragh called to the man.

  “Oh dear,” Brighit said, turning from the fire.

  “Go back to the carriage, I will find the powder and bring it to ye.” Terrence’s whisper was followed by a gentle shove in the right direction.

  Where is Brighit off to?” Darragh held up the sack. “I have her things here.”

  Darragh ruffled through the bag of items and pulled out a skin of mead, blowing out a wooden mug before pouring himself a liberal amount. Terrence gave him his back, tending to the fire while the others saw to the preparing of their meal.

  “Isn’t that meant for ye and yer wife?” Terrence dropped a log onto the fire, the sparks flying high into the air, but he still didn’t look at Darragh.

  “When she returns, I do hope to share it with her,” Darragh answered.

  Settling on the ground, Darragh rolled up his heavy brat and positioned it behind him. The mead would be much better enjoyed the way it was intended, shared between a husband and wife who found pleasure in each other’s company…and enjoyment in each other’s bodies.

  He sighed. Her declaration that he had been kind to her had caught him off guard. If she believed he was kind, why did she keep pushing him away? Mayhap keeping his distance from her was not the best approach. And hiding away in the carriage instead of riding beside him? That did not seem like the Brighit he knew. If it was him that she feared—and he would swear she had found pleasure in his arms—spending time with him should put those fears to rest.

  All he knew was that being near her flooded him with an overwhelming desire to have her again. Like a moth to a flame. That wasn’t anything he’d experienced before, so he couldn’t be certain if the urge was so strong because she was his now or because of the woman herself.

  Terrence grabbed the sack of Brighit’s belongings, jarring him from his thoughts.

  “What are ye about?” Darragh asked.

  The man headed off in the direction Brighit had gone. “Seeing if yer wife needs anything from this.”

  “She is taking a long while to join us.” Darragh glanced down the path she had taken, then narrowed his gaze at his friend. “And why are ye the one to bring it to her?”

  Heaving another sigh, Terrence stopped and turned toward him. “Because ye do not seem to be held in high regard by her.” He shook his head. “And here ye are, seeing to yer own relaxation, oblivious to her plight.”

  “Plight? What plight?”

  Darragh started to rise, but Terrence lifted a hand to stop him. His usually jolly friend gave him the most insincere smile he had ever seen. “Relax. I will charm her with my wit and set her mind at ease.”

  “I did not realize her mind was not at ease.” Darragh realized it was a lie as soon as the words came out. She was extremely ill at ease, only he didn’t understand why. He’d assumed the marriage itself was the cause for her disquiet, but now his suspicions were ignited. Terrence was not a deep thinker. If he had an idea that Brighit was upset with him, he must know something. “What did she tell ye?”

  “Darragh, sometimes ye are an arse.” With that, Terrence followed the dimly lit path back toward the horses and carriage.

  Finally standing, Darragh roughed his hand through his hair and stared down the pathway.

  “A thighearna.” Iain came toward him, a look of concern on his young face.

  “What is amiss?”

  “I believe we are being followed.”

  Relief flooded him. He’d been feeling out of sorts all day, but he attributed it to his problems with Brighit. This new information seemed to confirm his concerns. “Show me.”

  The man led the way across the open meadow before coming to a sudden stop.

  “Can ye make out the firelight in the distance?” Iain asked, pointing off in the distance.

  After watching several moments, the slight flicker showed through the darkness, the hills a backdrop that nearly hid the telltale sign of another camp. “Ye believe they have something to do with us?”

  “I found the tracks of several mounted horses along with a few men on foot.” Iain put his hand to his hip. “They backtracked to where they are now, as if they had followed us, saw that we were staying the night, and left to see to their own camp.”

  Iain was very good at assessing the enemy’s plans and Darragh didn’t need to question that. “D’ye have any thought of who they could be?”

  He shrugged, shaking his head. “I do not. The only clan in the area that did not remain at the festivities was Seigine’s.”

  “And he was beside himself with grief.” Darragh searched his memory and realized Iain was right. There was no reason for anyone to hurry home from the festivities. The harvest was in, and it was expected that visitors would remain until the rains had passed.

  “Mayhap ’twould be best for us to do some tracking of our own? Learn who it is that follows us?”

  Iain nodded, his expression thoughtful. “We could set out after they believe we have bedded down for the night.”

  Darragh nodded, trying to ignore the way his tarse twitched at the word “bedded”—irritated with himself for having the idea of bedding his wife again foremost in his mind.

  “Or we could approach now,” Darragh said. “Take another man with ye. When ye return, we can make our plans.”

  The lad left and he was alone with his aching desire for Brighit. How quickly she’d become a need to him, like eating or sleeping. And like any other need, bedding her again would be the only way he’d be satiated.

  Chapter 12

  Brighit had tried her best to spread what powder remained on her face over the worst of her bruises. It didn’t help that there was no flat surface of water nearby—nothing she could look in to help assess where it was most needed. Her face was sore, but her stomach was even worse. Misleadingly so, since she could sit for a long time and not even think about it, but when she went to stand, the pain was excruciating enough to double her over.

  Near enough to see the others going about their duties, she could just make out Darragh sitting alone by the fire. The rest of the area around her was dark, the leaves in the trees rustling their warning that the rains would soon be coming. When they finally did come, she would be grateful to be ensconced in the carriage. However constricting, it kept her safe.

  “Brighit?”

  She hadn’t heard anyone coming over the wind in the trees.

  Terrence came toward her, the sack of her belongings in his outstretched hand. “I think ye’ll find what ye need in here.”

  She rummaged through it and pulled out the jar of powder. Other men from their group mumbled greetings as they passed them, but the lack of light made it impossible for anyone to see what the firelight had revealed to Terence. Still, she turned away to apply the stuff, then wiped her hands against each other before facing him again. She said, “Hopefully that works.”

  He shook his head, staring at her with somber eyes.

  “No?” As soon as she said the word, Brighit realized he wasn’t commenting on how well she’d covered the damage done her face.

  “I need to hear how the bruises came about.”

  The compassion in his voice unleashed her tears. She gave him her back again and replaced the clay jar, disgusted with herself for such an open show of femininity.

  She cleared her throat, trying for a forceful tone. “I cannot tell ye.”

  “And that concerns me even more.” He shifted behind her. “I am unable to figure out why something hasn’t been said to the rest of us about yer attack.” His hand on her shoulder made her jump. “Unless the person who hurt ye is the same one that should be protecting ye.”

  She squeezed her quivering lips before responding. “Darragh knows nothing about this.”

  “How can that be? The bedding…”

  “I kept it from him and so will ye.”

  “Never! How can ye ask that of me? If someone has abused ye, he will see ye avenged.”

 
; “He cannot.” She slammed her teeth together to keep from saying what was right there on her lips. That man is dead. Instead, she huffed and said, “It does not matter because it will not happen again.”

  “How can ye be so sure?”

  Her mouth opened to shoot off a thoughtless response, but she slammed it closed again. Nodding her head, she said the only thing she could think to say, “Ye must trust what I tell ye.”

  And that was the crux of the dilemma as she saw it. Trust. She had betrayed him by going behind his back and doing as she pleased. The result was that she would be marked as a murderer.

  Ye are a foolish lass.

  He had been, without a doubt, correct. Now she bore the result of her foolishness—and so, too, would he. Overcome with emotion, Brighit dropped to the ground with her head in her hands.

  Terrence was beside her in an instant, his hand on her arm. “Do not fret so. Please.” He paused before continuing. “Is this the reason ye keep Darragh away from ye?”

  She gasped at him. “No…I do not…Oh God!”

  Quick to placate her, he mumbled, “No. He never said as much. I assumed. I did not know. Please. He needs to know.”

  “He needs to know what?” Darragh asked, suddenly behind them. His menacing tone was undeniable.

  Both Brighit and Terrence jumped up, startled.

  “I asked a simple question. I do expect an answer. Simple or not.” He was visibly seething with anger. “And I would like ye to remove yer hand from my wife,” he added.

  Terrence whipped his head around, looking at Darragh with an astonished expression, but he withdrew his hand. “Darragh—”

  “I think I would prefer to hear from Brighit,” he snapped.

  “I…I do not know what he is speaking of. There is nothing.” Brighit was proud of her even tone. Inside she was a quivering mess, and her knees trembled and threatened to collapse.

  “There is nothing I need to know?” Darragh turned to the man, one hand circling the air in front of him impatiently. “So? Have yer say, Terrence. Tell me what ye believe I need to be told.”

  His closest friend dropped his gaze. Brighit could feel the tension coursing through his body, his warring loyalties. And she prayed he would hold his tongue. Darragh was already angry—this was not the right way for him to learn the truth.