The Gentle Knight (The Norman Conquest Book 2)

by Ashley York

  Ivan pushed to have Brighit ordered out of the carriage to eat with them. All but falling short of ordering her to be dragged to the fire. Peter was not so inclined and said as much. If she wanted to be alone, they should allow her that. He and Ivan had nearly come to blows over it. The man was single-minded and loose-mouthed from the drink. Peter’s insistence jeopardized Ivan’s leadership in the eyes of his lackeys, no doubt. Neither was willing to back down. But when Mort quietly pointed out to Peter that it may be her pride that was keeping her inside, he had second thoughts.

  He approached the carriage to ask her to join them. The door opened and she jumped down again. He couldn’t miss the mumbles of appreciation erupting with the movement or the back slapping from the three at the bawdy entertainment. Brighit seemed unaware of the amount of leg she displayed with every unaided ascent and descent from the carriage. All the way up to her knees. Peter refused to acknowledge that her ivory-skinned ankles and calves were indeed the most comely he’d ever seen. The sudden silence assured Peter that Mort had silenced them with his god-awful glare.

  Brighit returned to her earlier seat. Mort quickly handed her a trencher.

  “My thanks. This smells delicious.”

  The courtesy she displayed indeed spoke of noble breeding but her inability to keep herself completely covered—no, that wasn’t fair—her inability to get in and out of the conveyance without showing far too much leg belied it.

  The men proceeded to pass around the mead throughout the meal, filling in the quiet with their own boisterous laughter and vulgar comments. Peter did not object. Men needed to relax. Even if he found their company far from desirable. So now he lay again in the quiet of the night, thinking. He needed sleep and he fought against it. His sleep was not restful. His dreams were tortured. He didn’t awaken refreshed, he awakened with a raging need for release. Guilt. Misery.

  Peter stood abruptly. The men were settling down now, the fire nearly out. They didn’t notice him. Mort was nearby. He followed the path that led deeper into the woods and isolation. He needed to be alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brighit shifted again. The hard wood of the carriage floor pressing against her shoulder blades made it impossible to sleep. The men had quieted and she knew from experience they were passed out. Peter and Mort had not been a part of their nightly gathering. She wondered where they were. The night before, they had slept apart from the others as well.

  She sat up, hugging her knees into her chest. This was the time of night when she could safely venture out. The men would not hear her. They slept like the dead. As carefully as she could manage, she stood to open the door. No movement. She hopped down.

  The fire was nearly out. She didn’t sense anyone closer. Perhaps Mort and Peter slept in the woods. That would be foolhardy with the wild animals around. She stilled. Maybe it was not a good night for this. An owl sounded in the distance. Fear tripped up her spine. The cold night air left goose bumps where it caressed her exposed skin. The carriage at least was warm.

  Brighit turned to go back inside, the shadow of Mort beneath it. She froze. He shifted suddenly, turning his back to her and pulled the rough, woolen blanket over his shoulder. She smiled. If she called him, he would surely come, but for now she did desire time outside of her tight quarters. Peter was nowhere she could see so she moved closer to the fire.

  Ivan lay on his back, his arms flayed out on either side. He mumbled something but she couldn’t tell what he said. Moving in closer, Cole and Ivan had their possession in close proximity as always. She searched the area beside Andrew but found nothing. She bent in closer then heard a movement behind her. She jumped, glancing back toward the sound at the forest’s edge. A tall silhouette of a man emerged, a sack hanging from his hand. It was Peter. Fully clothed. His sword at his side. He held Andrew’s bag up higher as if to say “Come and get it”.

  Indecision rippled out from her stomach. Peter knew what she was after. She moved in closer.

  “Is this what you search for?” His face was in shadows but he sounded as if he had a smile on his face.

  “Are you stealing from them?”

  He reached inside and pulled out the small whistle, dropping the sack to the ground. “I believe you were looking for this?”

  She snatched it from his hand. Infuriating man. “You’d best not awaken them.”

  Peter stretched his arm the way he’d come, directing her into the woods. She hesitated but a moment before heading down the little deer path she’d noticed earlier. He followed close behind. It gave her a strong feeling of safety to have him with her.

  “Here.” Peter veered to the left and she followed. “There is a small clearing just ahead,” he whispered over his shoulder. “I do not think they’ll hear your music from there.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He stopped abruptly and turned toward her. She stumbled into him, the heat shooting up her arms where they slammed into the solid wall of his chest. She pulled back and righted herself.

  “What do you think you know? One night I played a whistle so you think I do that every night?” she asked.

  He stood up straighter. “I don’t think I know anything. I saw you searching Andrew for the whistle. Was I wrong?”

  “You’ll never know.” Brighit shoved past him into the clearing then stopped.

  Several large trees had fallen, creating a little shelter. A rotting log lay in the center. She settled herself next to it, leaning back, and brought the whistle to her mouth. She blew one long note, then a shorter one, and began her tune.

  In her mind she heard the words of her mother’s favorite song.

  The handsome knight of one score and ten

  He gave his hand to me

  His touch so light I could ner believe

  He came here just for me

  Throughout the night he held me close

  And I cleaved unto him

  For in the morn twould be farewell

  And never more to see

  A sudden sob choked her breath. She dropped her face into her hands, the whistle forgotten beside her. The tears poured out for all she had given up. The security of her family. The loss of her mother and probably even her father now.

  A gentle hand lay against her shoulder and she jumped. She swiped at her tears and stood away from him. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Peter did not touch her again. “Why are you sorry? What wrong have you done that you seek forgiveness?”

  She shook her head, still swiping at the tears. “M-my weak-kness.”

  “Tears are a woman’s right. They come from deep in her soul. You need not apologize for the depth of your feelings.”

  Brighit swallowed hard and struggled for control. “No. It is not right for you to see me thus.”

  Peter shifted slightly closer, his arms at his side. “Do you wish to be alone with your sorrow? Or will you allow me to offer comfort.”

  Her breath hitched.

  He raised his open arms slightly.

  She stepped into his embrace, burying her face in his shirt. He smelled of smoke. The flood of emotions raged within the firm safety of him surrounding her.

  He murmured words of comfort, one hand stroking her back, the other holding her tight. She let loose her fears. The loss of her dreams. She would allow herself this respite, a chance to experience peace. However fleeting or untrue. Shifting against him, she turned her cheek and the strong, steady beat of his heart comforted her. Her tears subsided.

  “I will see no harm comes to you. You can trust in that.”

  His whispered words soothed her and she snuggled closer still.

  “You can trust in that.”

  His lips by her ear.

  “I promise you.”

  Feather light, he kissed her hair.

  “I will see you safe this time.”

  His lips moved against her head. His breath was warm and a shiver swept over her.

  “I vow this to you.”<
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  She pulled her head back to look into his shadowed face.

  “You speak from the heart,” Brighit said. “I feel it in your embrace.”

  Peter stiffened slightly. “I will protect you.”

  There was something—something she could not name.

  “I believe you,” she said.

  Heat radiated from him, swirling through her, the tears forgotten.

  “What pains you so?” he asked in the same low voice.

  “The loss of my family. I am alone here.”

  His arms relaxed as if giving her a chance to step away. She held fast.

  “That is a heavy loss.” His sigh expanded his chest. “You will have a new home.”

  He would bring her home if she asked him to. Her heart quickened. Dare she ask for this from him? Her heart sank at the truth. It was a matter of honor to her family. She could not return now.

  “Yes.”

  He dropped his arms from her. She moved back, the cold surrounding her where his heat had been.

  Peter retrieved the whistle, then gave her a coy smile. “If you would like to play, I can stay nearby.”

  “Stay with me.” Her words came out before she could stop them.

  He searched her face, nodded, then settled down beside where she had been sitting.

  She took the whistle and resumed her spot on the cold ground. As she took a deep, slow breath she closed her eyes and focused on happier times. A memory came to her from when she was young. She brought the whistle to her mouth. It was a celebration between the MacNaughtons and the O’Briens. She played the jig as she remembered it.

  In her mind, she saw Tadhg holding hands with Tisa. That look of love. Her father smiling as he danced the lively step with her mother. Her mother’s warm smile and flushed face. The moon overhead. The laughter surrounding them. She shifted into another tune, then another until her memories receded. She put the whistle down and turned toward Peter. She could make out his smile in the darkness. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.

  “You will have a new home.” He repeated the words.

  She closed her eyes and fell asleep in the warmth of his strong arms.

  Peter jerked awake, a warning sounding in his head. The sun was just coming up over the horizon.

  “My lord.” Mort burst through the trees, a look of surprise covered his face.

  Brighit shifted, awakening beside him.

  Peter’s arm was asleep where he’d been holding her. He came to stand in front of Mort. When the man glanced between the two of them, Peter didn’t miss the I-know-what’s-happening-here expression that flashed across his face.

  “They’ve taken the carriage and our horses,” he said.

  “They’ve taken—”

  Peter shook his arm to stop the pins and needles attacking it and strode the short distance back. He stopped at the edge of the clearing. The blackened earth where the fire had been was the only thing that remained. The carriage was gone. The horses were gone. The men were gone, along with all of their belongings.

  A laugh threatened to erupt. “Buggar me! They have balls, those three.”

  Peter stepped closer to the fire and turned in a circle, assessing the empty view. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Or did not see.

  Irritation slithered into his chest. He turned on Mort. “And where were you?”

  Mort gasped. “My lord, I got up to relieve myself. I realized you were not here and went in search of you. I returned to—to this.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

  Brighit staggered into the field, wiping the sleep from her face. “Where is everything? Where is Ivan?”

  Peter’s fighting instinct took over. Had she been a ploy to lure him into the woods? “And you? Did you know this was their plan?”

  Brighit gave a quick shake to her head and stepped back as if scorched by his accusation. “Surely you jest.”

  She looked as shocked as he did. And she had nothing, too. Peter fought to cool his ire.

  “My apologies. Of course they would not inform you of their plan.”

  “You think they planned this?” Her sharp words cut through his annoyance. “They were not so cunning. They were near imbeciles.”

  Mort’s jaw dropped before he started to laugh. “Methinks she does not think highly of her guardians.”

  “So it would appear.”

  Brighit’s face turned bright pink. She averted their gaze. “Beg pardon, my lord.”

  Peter stepped near her. “Oh, no, fair Brighit. I would not have you apologize for words spoken in truth.”

  She faced him. He sensed the lovely lady he’d witnessed ascending from the carriage, mad as hell, was hovering just behind her stoic features.

  He needed to encourage here so he repeated his earlier words. “You are safe with me.”

  A smile as bright as the sun burst across her face. “They were imbeciles.” She made the pronouncement as if she were a judge declaring her decision.

  He smiled back at her and tipped his head. “And I agree.”

  Mort cleared his throat. “As do I but what are we to do? We have nothing.”

  Peter tapped down the delight he found in her brash statement. He sighed. “You have a point, my friend.”

  A perplexing dilemma because of all he’d lost, but there was only one answer.

  “We walk to the next town.”

  Mort stepped closer and pointed at Brighit with a shift of his head. “What are we to do about our predicament?”

  Peter assessed her. In the bright light of morning the problem became transparent. She stood in her nightdress. A flimsy material. Too short. Too revealing. Although he enjoyed the view.

  Mort and Peter turned to each other at the same time.

  Mort shook his head as if reading his mind. “There is nothing remaining.”

  Peter removed his tunic and moved closer to Brighit. “Please cover yourself.”

  She glanced down at herself and back at him, her eyes wide. “I have nothing else.”

  Peter shoved his shirt at her. “So cover yourself with this.”

  She quickly donned his tunic. It fell well past her hips. She glanced between the two with such a look of expectation. Her ankles remained exposed. Her bare feet as well. And her uncovered hair fell about her shoulders. She looked like a peasant woman for hire.

  “It will have to do,” Peter said.

  Bare-chested now, he paced around the camp. The grass still flattened from where the men had lain sleeping.

  “Although I agree without reservation with your assessment of your guardians, my lady,” Mort started, “I’d venture to say this was their plan all along.”

  “To take off and leave us here? Then why take the carriage? That would only slow them down,” Peter said.

  Mort’s frown turned into sudden realization. “They believe Brighit is still inside!”

  That made sense. They had thought to only be leaving Peter and Mort with nothing. There was no reason for them to believe Brighit was not asleep in her carriage as she was every night. He glanced toward her. Her already fair complexion blanched before his eyes.

  “What will they do when they learn she is not?” Mort put to words what they were no doubt all thinking.

  They tortured her with their vulgar behavior, instilling her with fear, even offering to sell her. Would they just walk away from her?

  “I cannot even venture a guess,” Peter said.

  Brighit dropped to the ground, tucking her bare feet beneath her, but said nothing.

  “If they hadn’t offered to sell her to our Scottish friends, I would say she was of no value, but clearly they were willing to be rid of her,” Mort said.

  Her head snapped up and she glared at Mort but he paid her no heed.

  Peter smiled. Her spiritedness was definitely returning.

  “If she is not found in the carriage, they may indeed return for her.” Peter said. “No doubt that wouldn’t be until they stopped a safe di
stance from here. I believe there was a house not far down this road.”

  At the road, Mort dropped low to the ground. “Perhaps I can tell which way they’ve taken the carriage.”

  “The tracks should be simple enough to find.”

  Mort paused then said, “They’re returning the way we just came.”

  Peter nodded and placed his hands on his hips. “That’s as I had suspected but we will not.”

  Mort stood and brushed off the knees of his hose.

  “It was a ruse that they had missed the turn to the Priory,” Peter said.

  Brighit stood and blew a breath. “They were taking me somewhere else?”

  The three were quickly moving as one down the dirt road.

  “They may have planned on getting you to the Priory eventually,” Mort said.

  “Just not before they saw to whatever was the other way first. Can you think of anything else they might be doing beside what they claimed?”

  Brighit paused. “They talked constantly to all the people we passed on the road. Some were responsive. Some were hostile. I could never tell what was being said. They seemed to take great care that I would not have an opportunity to be seen or speak to anyone.”

  Peter pondered this for a moment. “Did your uncle have any encounters while you were with him?”

  “Yes!” Brighit stopped in her tracks. “There was a tall man at the inn by the mouth of the river. My uncle left me with Ivan to meet him. I assumed it was because he didn’t want me to hear them.”

  “Do you remember anything else about the man?”

  They began to walk again.

  Brighit continued, “He and my uncle were arguing. I had been hoping my uncle wouldn’t leave me with Ivan. I thought surely my uncle would want to know what inappropriate remarks the man was making. My uncle cared very little.”

  She stopped talking, hesitated mid-step, then continued on.

  Peter waited for her to continue until his patience was up. “Is there nothing else?”

  Mort touched his arm and shook his head. Brighit’s head was down so she missed the gesture.

  “My lady, did he threaten you?” Mort asked.