The Gentle Knight (The Norman Conquest Book 2)

by Ashley York

  “Uh, I can’t say that I know—” Ivan said.

  “Yes!” Brighit’s face lit up at his suggestion and she turned toward him, unaware of her dampened, and now nearly exposed, state. Peter tapped down the sense of pleasure her relieved expression gave him. He had to force himself to not look lower than her smile.

  “Then let us allow you the privacy you have lacked thus far.”

  Her face relaxed.

  “Please return to your carriage and join us when it suits you.”

  Ivan opened his mouth to protest but Peter roughly took his elbow as the man had just done to Brighit.

  “Come now, Ivan. Surely her being in your care does not allow for an invasion of her privacy.”

  The little man harrumphed. Peter all but dragged him to join the group at the fire. A backward glance caught him a glimpse of Brighit retreating into her carriage. If she had a few moments to herself, perhaps she would change the chemise soaking her gown and giving him another eyeful of her bounty before anyone else noticed.

  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.

  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 th
e 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 fol
lowed 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.