“You will make do as you always have.” He expressed a confidence in her that she certainly did not feel.
She rolled her eyes and pulled away. “I will get by.”
He took her arm with a gentle hand, forcing her to face him. The dark curls fell around his chiseled features, giving him the look of angel. “I’m sorry for this, Brighit. This is not what we had planned for you. All of us wanted to see you wed here, living close by. Now you must travel so far and me not able to accompany you.”
“I know you have things to see to here.” She placed her own small hand over his much larger, stronger one. “I know you would come but there’s naught you could do.”
“The O’Brien could take you, forcibly if need be, and we can’t allow that to happen.”
“That I know quite well.” She fought to keep the bitterness out of her voice but failed. “Maw had never wanted that.”
Tadhg’s jaw dropped. “Wouldyouhave us marry you to that... that warmonger?”
“No!” A shiver of fear slithered down her spine. “That isnotwhat I want.”
Brighit had been warned about the treatment she could expect from the O’Briens. They no longer held the MacNaughtons in high regard. The bad blood had run deep since her mother’s death. And though it made no sense, the O’Brien did covet their land now. Brighit would merely be a means to an end. Surely life as a bride of Christ was a better choice.
“Then you do understand?” His voice was hopeful but his gaze remained severe.
“I prayed as hard as I could that this would not come to pass, that I would not be sent away.” She turned away before he noticed her quivering lip “God has other plans for me. I will get by. I never cared for children overmuch anyway.”
“That’s a lie.” Tadhg’s tone was reprimanding. “You can tell the truth and still do the right thing, Brighit.”
She turned back to him. It wasn’t easy for him either. He had been in love with Tisa O’Brien since they’d been very small, when the two clans had shared all things in common. After the troubles, he had to set aside his own desires for the sake of the clan. Out of respect for their father.
“Yet I don’t hear you sharing the desires of your heart. Why shouldn’t I put on a brave face as well?”
He tipped her chin with gentle fingers. “So long as you keep your heart pure. Don’t be filling it up with lies. Be true to yourself. You’re a gently-bred woman. You’ll have the strength you need whatever happens... but don’t have a false heart.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I won’t have a false heart, Tadhg. I promise.”
There really was no other choice for either of them. Their father was the seventh son of the seventh son and as such, had a special anointing that all Irishmen respected. But their fate had been foretold long ago. Tadhg would take over as leader at his father’s death but being the sixth son, he’d have nothing but troubles. There had been no seventh son issued by their father. After Brighit, no more children came. The joy at having a girl soon faded by comparison to what power and favor the MacNaughtons would have received had she been born the seventh son. Better for them both to avoid any further duress by accepting the inevitable.
“Keep your deepest desires close. Be watchful and see what is planned for you.”
“And you as well.”
Tadhg’s eyes rounded. He pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’ll miss you, little sister.”
She etched the feel of his embrace on her heart. It would give her comfort when she was alone in the Priory.
He released her suddenly. “Now go. Pack quickly.”
He kissed her cheek and turned her from him, as if overcome with emotion.
“You’re to leave at daybreak,” he tossed at her.
She continued down the hall to retreat to the comfort of her own chamber.
Chapter Two
Peter of Normandy was dead. He just wondered why it was taking his brain so long to catch on. No blood. No visible wounds. No rushing need to get up and try to do something—like survive. But lifewasover for him. The blow from Jeanette’s unexpected death left him as broken as if he’d had an axe to the head. Truth be told, he couldn’t possibly live without her. He rubbed the dirt from his hands and turned away from Jeanette’s grave.
Jeanette. The frigid air made it hard to breathe. His gray warhorse, Roman, wandered a few feet away nibbling at the grass, its withers covered with mud from the trail. Although Jeanette was long dead, Peter had pushed the poor beast hard, almost believing if he could just get here fast enough, it wouldn’t be true. She would still be alive.
He stretched the rough, black scarf up to cover his nose from the cold and dug his fingers back inside his coarse, fleece-lined cloak. Peter glanced up at the late autumn sky. Snow was in the air. The babe would have been three months old now. That’s what her brother had told him. Rotten bastard. He probably hadn’t given a thought to her well-being.
Remorse tightened his chest and grief welled up, threatening to suffocate him. He finally let loose and bellowed his pain at the cloud-thickened sky. And again. His throat raw from the deep sound he expelled, like cries from hell. If only he’d known she was with child. It would have changed everything. They’d have been wed.
