by Ashley York
Brighit turned aside, hiding her face and the smile threatening to erupt at any moment. She pressed her lips together before answering him. “Yes, let us go to the chapel together.”
Chapter Nineteen
Screams erupted from the hall when Brighit and Peter left the chapel. It sounded like Ruth, but surely she was abed by now.
“What is that God-awful sound?” Peter reddened, perhaps at his choice of words.
“It sounds like Ru—the baby!” Excitement danced along her arms. Ruth had told her she was due any time and surely this was the time.
Brighit ran toward Ruth’s room. She passed as the curtain where Martha slept was pushed aside. They exchanged knowing smiles.
“It sounds like her babe is ready to be born,” Martha said.
When they entered Ruth’s room, the sight before them was of her sitting up on her pallet, her gown pulled up to her bent knees, sweat dampening her nightgown, her face reddened from the exertion.
Martha checked the progress of the babe.
Brighit went to stand beside the laboring woman. “Your time has come?”
Ruth’s body went rigid. Her face scrunched up in pain, as bright as an apple, but she nodded with quite a bit of enthusiasm.
Brighit brushed the hair away from her face. “We are here, my dear.”
“This babe is coming fast.” Martha’s head was obscured by Ruth’s knees. “Yes, that’s the head. This child has no patience.”
The pain subsiding, Ruth took a deep gasp and smiled. “That is true enough. I awoke in a puddle and sharp pain. I tried not to awaken everyone.”
“It will not be long,” Martha said.
Ruth’s smile shifted to a grimace as she tightened up again. “Sorry about the scream.” It came out in a whoosh.
“You could have just called us, though.” Martha smiled at her own cleverness.
Brighit took Ruth’s hand that was fisting into the straw mattress beneath her. “You can squeeze my hand. That is my usual role in a birthing.”
She bobbed her head and started panting.
“Now, don’t be panting so hard. We don’t need you weakened.”
“It hurts.”
Martha gave her a do-you-actually-plan-on-arguing-with-me-now look. Brighit ducked to hide her smile.
“I’ll try not to.”
“Oh, dear, this babe wants out.”
“All is well?” Brighit asked.
Martha looked up and smiled. “We just need some blankets to swaddle the babe in.”
“Where are they?”
“Behind the altar.”
Brighit nodded. When Ruth finally released her hand, Brighit ran through the curtained doorway and stopped. Peter stood rigid, his back to her, a few feet away.
“Peter, we need blankets.” Brighit could barely breathe in her excitement. “Quickly.”
He didn’t respond. She moved to take his arm. He grabbed it out of her hand. Turning toward her, he looked livid.
“What?” he barked the question at her as if she were some lackey bothering him.
She frowned. “Why are you yelling at me?”
Peter’s features softened. “You startled me.” His eyes darted about the hall before piercing her though. “Is the woman dying?”
Brighit gasped. “No! She is having a baby. ’Tis all.”
“Brighit? The blankets,” Martha called from within sounding a little desperate.
“Maybe I should ju—” Brighit said.
Peter grabbed her arm then loosened his hold. “Please, what do you need me to get? Blankets? Where will I find them.”
He sounded more himself but Brighit was suddenly frightened of this man. His strength. His size. His determination. His rounded eyes begged for... for what? She couldn’t name it but backed away before she answered.
“They are behind the altar in the chapel.”
Peter trotted down toward the open doors.
“Argh.” Ruth sounded exhausted. Poor thing. It may be happening with great speed but it was still difficult work.
Brighit smiled and ran into the room. The little round head was just poking its way out. Tears sprang to her eyes and she went to clasp Ruth’s sweat drenched hand.
“Push the little one out now, Ruthie.”
“Your labor is near over,” Brighit said. She stroked her brow.
Ruth gasped for breath. “Yes.”
“This will be it.” Martha nodded and smiled.
Peter stopped at the entrance and all color drained from his face. Brighit went to him, afeared he may fall to the ground. “What is amiss?”
He shoved the course cloth toward her and backed out. Surely it wasn’t the emerging babe, since Martha was blocking the view.
Brighit turned back to see Ruth’s own surprised expression right before she clenched with the pain again.
“There.” Martha accepted the blankets. “Push now.”
Brighit grabbed Ruth’s hand, steeling herself for the pain that always came at the end. Mothers had an excruciating grip at the end. She’d almost had her hand broken a time or two. Seeing the newborn was a wonderful reward.
The baby’s cry filled the cramped space.
“It is a girl,” Martha said, as if she were making a royal proclamation.
Peter’s head appeared in the doorway. His eyes wide with surprise.
“Come,” Ruth called to him, adjusting her gown. “It won’t bite you. I won’t bite you.”
She laughed and Brighit joined in. “Just do not allow her to take your hand. You’ll ner get it back.”
Peter stepped into the room as if any sudden movement might cause the ceiling to fall on their heads. He screwed up his face in confusion at their comments and stood far to the side of the bed.
“You two are silly.” Martha wiped the child dry then wrapped it in the blanket. “Here you go, my lady.” The babe cried out. “Oh my, she’s a hungry thing.”
Peter’s eyes remained on the small bundle as it went from Martha to Brighit to Ruth, whose face glowed with her happiness.
“Oh, my lovely, little girl.” Ruth kissed the tiny head. “You are a beautiful, little thing. Such a blessing.”
“A blessing?” Peter’s voice was loud with accusation. “How can it be a blessing when your innocence was taken from you? When you were raped?”
The only sound in the room was the babe’s breathing as it worked itself into a hungry wail. Brighit helped Ruth to bare her breast so the child could nurse. With practiced deliberation, Brighit supported the tiny head, shifting until its small mouth rooted solidly onto the nipple. The women gave a collective sigh. If a child was unable to suck, its hopes for survival were very small.
With the babe’s head now cradled in the crook of Ruth’s arm, she leaned back against the wall and looked at Peter. “How is it a blessing? God alone is good. He can make good out of any circumstance.”
Brighit tipped her head. Such wonderful words. Ruth had great faith. She’d said she’d hoped to learn from the Prioress. Perhaps even as Brighit’s own mother had learned from her. A lump swelled in her throat that made it hard to swallow.
If she stayed here and did her father’s bidding, she would never know intimate love or have a family of her own. Was it his place to make this choice for her? No. She should be able to decide for herself. Tears slid down her face. She also loved her father and would honor his wishes.
“Is there no longer fear that Ruth will die now?”
Ruth’s head jerked up. The child was undisturbed by the movement, asleep in its mother’s arms. Her tiny mouth grew lax and she released the nipple with a quiet pop.
“Of course I will live.”
“Why would you ask such a thing?” Brighit swiped the tears from her cheeks and turned on him.
Ruth laid a gentle hand on Brighit’s arm and shook her head. Addressing Peter, she said, “Why would you believe I would die?”
He paused before answering. “No, I don’t suppose you will die. You had these wo
men with you as well. They helped you birth the child.”
Ruth shook her head adamantly. “My lord, I am sorry, but they did not help me birth this child. I did it quite by myself. I assure you.”
“So they were of little use? You could have done this all alone?”
“Women birth their children alone all the time,” Martha said.
Peter’s expression turned hard. Brighit didn’t recognize him. In all the time she’d spent with him, all the things they’d shared, she’d never witnessed this side of him. He seemed a stranger suddenly.
“Well, I’ll certainly have none of that. Life is precarious enough without adding the threat of imminent death with every birthing. Fate will not decide for me again.”
A knife to her gut could not have pained her more. This valiant man, so powerful and strong, just announced he had no need of intimacy. The flash of a memory flooded her like she was drowning in it—his firm lips pressing against her own, his gentle hands grasping her flesh, coaxing her, flooding her with heat, his eyes hooded with his passion and desire. It was not to be. It was never to be. It was a cruel joke. A joke that she was bearing the brunt of.
Peter rubbed his horse down in the shadow of the Priory. He was glad to be away from the women.
“So happy to have you back, my friend.” The crisp air turned both his and the horse’s breath to vapor. “We’ve quite a trek ahead of us. ‘War have you waged, so on to war proceed.’ What say you?”
“Are you expecting the horse to answer?”
Peter jumped at Brighit’s question. He turned and faced her, the horse forgotten at the sight of her wrapped in a heavy, woolen cloak. “Are you going somewhere?”
“I must impose on you again, Sir Knight. Will you bring me to the inn down the road?”
Her words sounded like she offered a death sentence. He wasn’t sure why he felt a sudden chasm breaking out between them. “Is aught amiss?”
“I must send word to the Bishop. Martha has asked if you could take me there.”
“I would gladly do it but why would Martha need to ask? I would do it for you.” He moved closer to her.
“It was her idea. Not mine.” Her voice sounded flat.
In closer proximity, her wide, brown eyes hid their innocent spark and he wondered why that would be. “Are you distraught about the Priest? It was not your doing.”
Confusion covered her face before irritation set in. “Nor did I say that it was. Will you bring me? We need to leave anon.”
Peter opened one arm, directing her to his mount. “I am ready now, my lady.”
Brighit walked with stiff legs to the side of the horse. Peter mounted then offered his arm. She grasped it and was lifted onto his lap with little effort. She sat with a stiff back, refusing to lean against him for support and turned awkwardly to look ahead of them. Something was amiss but Peter refused to question her further. It was just as well. He would see her to the inn and return her. That would be the end of it. His time with this lovely lady would come to an end.
An arm on either side of her stiff body, he held the reins in his open palm and waited. She did not appear inclined to even brush against him. And certainly not to wrap her arm around his side as she had with Lachlann. So be it.
With a flick of his wrist and click of his tongue, the horse darted forward. Brighit slammed into him, then nearly became unseated as the awkward gait made sitting erect nearly impossible. She wrapped an arm around his side and glanced up at him shyly. After a few more jostling moments, she relaxed and leaned against his chest. Peter smiled.
A light snow began to fall, covering the ground, as they moved down the path to the inn. The moon now hidden by the heavy clouds. One knee bent slightly forward, her bottom rested on his thigh. Firm and warm. His hips rocking with the movement of the horse, settled her over his growing hardness as she moved against him. He jerked his cloak tighter between them but it did little to remove his awareness of her breast pressing into his chest and the wiggle of her bottom every time she moved to secure her seat.
Peter took a deep breath and felt her do the same. Out of desperation, he shifted her bottom away from the heightened attentiveness of his male member. He settled his thighs more firmly against the beast and urged it into a gallop. They could not arrive at the inn quick enough.
Unfortunately the motion only increased his attentiveness to every nuance of her enticing form moving against him. From the scent of her long hair wafting to him as it slapped against his cheek, to her bottom’s rise up and down against his hardened shaft with the motion of the horse, his desire increased. Every breath that escaped her. Every touch that reached him. He thanked God the horse needed little guidance because his total attention was on her. He closed his eyes, struggling for composure, and opened them to the view of the small house he’d noticed as a blur on his way to the Priory. He reined the horse with a sudden movement. He jumped down off the horse, setting her on her feet, and quickly moved away from his all-encompassing passenger.
“We need to stop here. The snow is getting too difficult for my tired horse.”
“Can we go back then?”
“When the snow lightens up.”
He walked quickly to rap against the little, wooden door. These must be farmers but nothing nearby signified they worked for themselves. No place to store any grain or supplies. No animals to yoke or provide food. No answer to his knock. He repeated with more urgency. Brighit came up beside him without a sound. The snow covered her cloak and a few flakes were captured by her lashes.
“Is no one home?”
Damn. She may be correct in that. On further inspection, the little hut seemed to have been empty for a while. He glanced up at the heavy flakes falling from the sky and wondered when it had stopped being a light snowfall. Glancing at the cause of his lack of attention, he refused to ask and pushed the door open.
“Is anyone here?” he called out to an empty room.
It seemed as if the occupants had just up and left. A small stool waited beside the cold hearth, a stiff mat of straw covered with a woolen blanket lay against the wall, and an iron pot sat beside the door.
Brighit covered the space in a few steps then turned toward him. “There does not appear to be anyone here.”
He looked out the open door. The snow was falling so fast that the horse was no longer visible even from a few feet away.
“Perhaps he can come in with us?” Brighit asked.
Peter smiled at her hopeful expression. She no longer seemed vexed with him. The urge to bring her toward him and feel her full length pressed against him was strong. The memory of the way she’d felt increased his desire and he took a step closer to her. He gingerly stroked her cheek. Her eyes no longer appeared indifferent. Perhaps their closeness on the horse had affected her as well.
Her skin was cold against the heat of his palm. “You’re cold.”
He removed his cloak and wrapped it around her, breathing in her scent as he pulled it together. Her head just below his chin, he could swear he smelled her arousal. He held his breath to cut off the groan threatening to escape.
When he should have stepped away, he slid his arm along her back. She trembled. She didn’t move away. His breath quickened.
“I should start a fire for you.”
He grasped her shoulder then rubbed her arm lightly as if for warmth, still not putting any distance between them. She yielded to him, adjusting herself to be more fully within the circle of his arms. Her other arm brushed against his chest. Surely she could feel the racing of his heart. He was ready to burst.
With the lightest touch, he tipped her chin up so he could see into her eyes. He tugged her hood back with his other hand and lowered his lips to hers. Watching for any sign of resistance, there was none. Her lips yielded to gentle pressure, parting to allow him full access. His tongue darted along hers, enticing a response, which was quick in coming. She moaned into his mouth. He placed his hands on either side of her face and deepened the kiss. Then sli
pping a hand beneath her cloaks, he pulled her against him. His eager manhood pressed toward her softness. When she reached her arm around him to pull him closer still, he fought against the desire to drop her to the pallet. His body begged to have its way with her, responding to this unrelenting need to take her.
Instead he stroked her back with long, gentle caresses. Caresses became firmer strokes, moving lower and lower along her back. When he grasped her firm bottom and pressed her closer still, he rubbed his rigid shaft against her. She cantered her hips in response as if in encouragement. His own moan startled him. He moved his lips along her jaw, drawn to the crook of her neck, nuzzling her. He cupped both cheeks and undulated against her in a mock display of what his body was so eager for.
“I want to be inside you.” His whispered words were tight.
“Please.” Her plea sounded desperate.
When he pulled away, her flushed face revealed her own desire. Her eyes were closed, her lips loosely parted, her tongue darting out to wet its pink length.
“I fear I am not able to stop. I could ravish you.”
“I wish to ravished by you.” Her words came on a moan, sweeping him along with her passion.
Grasping handfuls of her gown, he dragged it up and out of his way, until he could touch her bare skin. Soft as the finest silk. His manhood pushed against her. With open palms, he fondled her with increasing urgency. Finally cupping her fine arse again, he lifted her against him. He pressed himself against her needing the release.
Dragging the tip of his tongue along the ridge of her collarbone, he dipped down to the swell of her breasts. He released one lovely round cheek to follow along the curve of her side up to the swell of her luscious breasts. Firm and full and overflowing in his hand. With great deliberation he brought his mouth down, capturing the hardened nipple, sucking it even through the material. She moaned and rocked her hips against him.
Kissing her again, he shoved the cloaks over her shoulder and slipped his fingers inside the neck of her gown, slipping the one sleeve down to bare a breast. Feasting on the sight before him, covering it with his palm. He tugged her hardened nipple, damp from his assault. He crushed her against him.