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 the 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.”
