by Ashley York
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.
Chapter Four
Between avoiding Ivan’s lecherous “protection” and trying to make out the land across the sea, it wasn’t until Brighit was deposited on the curragh that she realized her uncle was not joining her.
“Why are you not coming?” Her words were quick. Irritated.
Uncle Ronan stared at her before he answered. “Do you hear anything besides your own prattling in that head of yours? These men know the area much better than I. They will get you safely to the Priory.”
He puffed out a sigh then took both of her hands. Was he finally aware of her dilemma? His lecherous friend stood close enough behind her that she could feel his breath on her neck. No, her uncle didn’t seem to notice and was not aware of her distress.
“My dear niece,” he said and kissed her primly on both cheeks. “You will arrive safely and your new life will be all that you could have imag
ined.”
He had no idea what she was imagining. She leaned away from him. Ivan’s hands grasped her bottom. She squeaked, twisted away, and shot a glare at the little man. He smiled innocently.
Her uncle frowned with a why-are-you-interrupting-me look. He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, my dear, Ivan will stay by your side.” He misunderstood the exchange. “No harm will come to you under my watch.”
She yanked her hands away. “But it’s not your watch. You’re handing me off. Does my brother know of this?”
His eyes narrowed, tightening at the corners. “Do you question me, girl? I was afraid that tongue of yours might be the very reason you are still not wed. They do not allow for such disrespect where you’re going.”
He turned away and mounted his horse without a backward glance. The curragh left the shore, jerking Brighit forward. The choppy water immediately made her nauseous and she leaned to the side rope, emptying the contents of her stomach until there was nothing but dry retching.
Exhausted, she dropped to the bottom of the small craft, one hand still on the side rail, and prayed for death to come quickly.
By the time they made land, her head was swimming and nothing seemed as it should. She was pushed and pulled up the grassy hill by strangers to a carriage even smaller than her family’s. Rough hands grabbed at her to lift her none too gently and placed her beside a small cart. Bile flooded her mouth.
“There you go, lady.” Ivan stood beside the bald-headed brute who dared to handle her as if she were a sack of potatoes. More than a head taller, he made Ivan appear even smaller. “You’ve arrived unscathed.”
She pressed back against the wooden side of the conveyance and away from the three men now surrounding her. Her skin crawled under their close scrutiny. But she looked right back. None offered the protection of which she was so desperately in need. She pushed her shoulders back and addressed the bearded man to her left. He had in no way participated in her mishandling.
“My thanks.” She brushed down her skirts and tried not to appear as molested as she felt. “I’m truly sorry I was so ill.”
“That is the way of it for some.” He shrugged, then crossed the short distance to a disorganized pile of items, presumably their belongings. The bald-headed man followed close behind.
“I’ve seen you safely across.” Ivan pronounced and crossed his arms. An arrogant smile puckered his lips. When he spoke, the scent of herring and turnips drifted toward her. She swallowed hard against the nausea that threatened to overtake her again.
“That should lessen after you get a good night’s sleep.” The heavily bearded man stopped behind her, bowing stiffly, a sack in each arm. “My name is Cole.”
“Thank you, Cole, for your assistance.” She moved away from Ivan. “Are you our guide?”
“Aye, I’ll be taking you to Father Tinsley—”
“Father Tinsley?” Brighit had never heard of a Father Tinsley just Sister Elizabeth. “What about Sister Elizabeth?”
“The Prioress? She died, must be five years ago now. Father Tinsley. He keeps the place.”
What of the agreement with the Prioress? Did this Father Tinsley know anything about her or her family? A rock settled in Brighit’s stomach. She assessed the strange faces of the men before her. None could be trusted. Ivan had made that quite plain. She needed to convince them to do the right thing.
“Then the Priory may not be the best place for me to go.” Her voice was quiet. She avoided direct eye contact.
This could indeed be the perfect opportunity for her to return home. She had no need to go to a Priory that was not expecting her. She steadied her breathing and prayed for that response from one of them.
Ivan snorted and continued as if she’d spoken not one single word. “Cole knows the land here very well. He will get us safely to our destination. Fear not.”
“And then what?” Brighit snapped. “They’re probably not even expecting me.”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed in warning. “Rest assured. Father Tinsley is expecting you.”
Cole refused to even acknowledge her, glancing over her shoulder. Brighit turned to look, too. She saw nothing untoward.
“Will someone else be joining us?” Her tone was laced with irritation.
Cole jerked back and searched her face. “No.” He cleared his throat. “We need to get a few miles between us and the sea before we stop for the night.”
He took the high seat of the carriage. Ivan was there beside her, gripping her arm and forcing her inside the conveyance before she could protest. His hand grasped her backside once again before giving her a shove. She turned on him, the cart dipping with the movement.
“If you touch me like that one more time, I will carve out your heart.”
His nostrils flared and his smile grew. “I like a good fight.”
“Augh!”
The fact that she had no weapon to defend herself with was something she decided to take care of at the first opportunity. Unfortunately, they didn’t stop at an inn that night where she might have been able to obtain a dagger, but rather in the woods with the sounds of unfamiliar animals howling in the distance.
She lay flat on her back, fully clothed, in the bottom of the cramped carriage. Heavy curtains covered the windows. Earlier, the men said they would be sleeping on the ground outside and assured her she would be well protected.
However, sleep was not on their minds. They were deep in their cups, talking loudly. The strains of Andrew’s poorly played whistle permeated her little space. A lone howl pierced the night and the abrupt silence told her they listened as well. That was the last thought she had before falling into a deep sleep.
The tempting smell of the fire and the promise of food awoke her with a start. She found the curtains were pulled back all around her. A strange feeling that someone had been watching her slithered up her spine. Glancing down at herself, she was relieved to find nothing out of place except for the tight cap that had slipped off her head. The wimple lay in a crumpled ball at her side. Her long, thick hair fell in disarray around her. She sat up and shoved her hair back into the little hat. The carriage rocked beneath her with each movement.
“’Bout time you woke up, lady.” It was the bald man—Andrew.
She swallowed a sarcastic retort and said, “I’m sorry if I overslept. You could have awakened me.”
The looks they all exchanged with little knowing smiles startled her. The vaguest memory of a dream flooded her thoughts where she had been stroked and touched by the same unimaginable creatures she’d heard in the night. No. She’d slept like the dead except for those dreams. It was the seasickness, draining her to the point that almost anything could have happened and she wouldn’t have known.
She finished tucking her hair up before facing them again. Ivan caught her eye and winked. The other men laughed, sheepishly glancing her way.
It was not safe for her to be the only woman with these men, none of which were a relative of hers. Her brother would never have allowed it. Her father would never have allowed it. Her uncle could apparently care less. He’d even taken offense at her questioning if she was being protected. These three did not appear to value her as one that should be well-cared for.
Ivan had insisted she was not “the treasured, virginal sacrifice.” Flashes of a memory, of rough hands on her. Of low moans of pleasure. No, that couldn’t be what happened. She would have awakened had anyone touched her person. Surely. Tadhg had assured her it would take less than a fortnight to get to the Priory and learn her fate. That seemed a very long time.
The days dragged by with Brighit confined inside the carriage. They traveled by way of the Great North Road along the River Wharfe. She was kept inside the carriage with the windows covered. She didn’t mind the added warmth, or not seeing where they traveled, or protection from prying eyes but she didn’t dare ask any question. Instead she listened.
The men talked to each other in low tones. They took turns driving the carriage and, on
occasion, one of the men would ride with her. Never as a companionable guest but more like a stiff-mouthed guard. By the fourth day, Brighit discerned that the timing of these visits coincided with her guides being joined by other travelers. It was almost as if the men were ensuring she did not call attention to herself. Then their voices would be loud, friendly.
This realization stoked her rebellious spirit. Were the other travelers a threat to her? Or was it more likely that part of her “protection” was making sure no one saw her? She doubted other travelers cared about her one way or another. Irritation rose, making her itch to show some type of defiance to this predicament.
Andrew sat across from her, using his dagger to clean his teeth after their midday repast. She glanced out the window. Three unknown men now rode abreast of Ivan. As different as three men could be, one had a long, dark hair and a big smile. Another was fair-haired and shorter than his companions. The last man had the red hair of the northerners—a Scot. They were having a lively conversation with Ivan and Cole, who was driving the carriage. She cleared her throat.
“Ivan.” She stuck her head out the small opening before Andrew could react. “I need to see to nature’s call.”
Andrew leaned forward, his hands flexing at his side, but stopped short of pulling her out of the opening. She leaned back against the wooden seat and smiled sweetly. He growled and tapped the side of the carriage to signal Cole to stop.
Ivan and the other men did the same a short distance away. She jumped from the carriage and the jaws of the three visitors dropped at the sight. Apparently other travelers may indeed have some interest in her.
“Gentlemen,” Brighit said, tipping her chin in acknowledgement before heading toward the side of the road. She paused. They were in an open field without so much as a bush to hide behind. Brighit squared her shoulders and headed to the right of the road.
“Hold!” One of the three men dropped from his horse and ran to her. “Might I assist you? There is a small area to this side of the road just a ways.”
It was the man with black hair and a beguiling smile. He had bright, green eyes. He took her elbow, directing her the opposite way from which she had been heading.