“You have missed the turn off to Tanshelf,” Peter announced to the group.
Ivan’s face screwed up as if trying to discern if Peter spoke English. “What are you talking about?”
Peter blew an exasperated breath. “You have missed the turn off to the Priory.” His tone was precise and impatient.
Brighit took the offered biscuit from Mort who then sat beside her. Her stomach turned to mush. Could they have intentionally missed the turn? She kept her eyes downcast.
“I’m sure you are mistaken,” Ivan responded.
Brighit could tell by his tone he was lying through his crooked, yellow teeth.
“I am not,” Peter said. “You did say you knew where you were going?”
Ivan sat perched on the edge of the rock, his cup of mead halfway to his mouth. The innocent look she had become so accustomed to stuck on his face. “I know I can trust my lead man, Cole, and he mentioned no such turn.”
Peter licked his lips before turning rounded eyes to Cole. “If you know the way to Tanshelf, then you know you’ve passed the turn off.”
Cole tipped his head back, his lips puckering in thought. “I recall no such turn.”
“Recall or not,” Peter’s tone demonstrated he was out of patience, “I am telling you,” his tone was low and menacing now, “we will go back. You missed the turn.”
Cole rubbed at his dark beard, mayhap considering the wisdom of the man. “Yes. Yes, you could be right. I may have forgotten the turn. My thanks.”
Peter relaxed his stance, nodding his head as if in answer to some internal question and began to pick up his few belongings from around the fire. “We leave shortly. Finish breaking your fast and make provisions for our water. There is little available between here and the next village.”
He came close beside Brighit, but she assumed he was leaning in to speak to Mort.
“Methinks you may call attention to yourself a purpose. Fear not, I aim to be certain.”
She drew back and watched him walk away. Mort’s finger under her chin, gently closing her mouth shut, brought her out of her shock. He smiled at her.
“Did I hear him a right?”
Mort shook his head. “Methinks you did indeed.”
“Why does he speak to me so?”
“Brighit!” Ivan barked at her. “Gather our things.”
She glanced toward Peter, knowing full well that Ivan’s use of the words “our things” just gave Peter the proof he sought of her intimate relationship with the disgusting man. She pulled together the few items strewn about. Let the arrogant knight believe whatever he would of her. She didn’t deserve it but that seemed to matter even less.
Mort handed her his bowl, a small smile on his lips. “You missed this, my lady.”
My lady?That title was foreign to her ears of late. Although not usually used in Ireland, she accepted it as a title of deference. She was the daughter of the clan leader after all.
“My thanks, kind sir.” She dipped her knee before walking toward the carriage.
Mort treated her kindly, even reverently. How could he easily see what his master could not? Surely, it was apparent to all who came upon her. She was a lady, nobly bred. Why did it matter? Their time together was limited. What he did or didn’t believe about her should not matter at all. But it did. That was the most frustrating. She wanted him to think better of her. She wanted him to see her goodness. She wanted him to see her for who she really was. Why that was, she couldn’t explain.
Chapter Eleven
Peter was anxious to get to the inn. He and Mort had passed it a few days earlier but certainly it could be reached by nightfall if they hurried. He wasn’t just anxious to have a roof over his head and a warm bed to sleep in, but to find some female companionship. Most inns had at least one woman for hire. He could forge steel with his unrelenting erection.
To slake himself now would surely help him keep his mind focused for the trip to the Priory. One day on the road with these four and Peter was at his rope’s frayed and tattered end. He’d had more ornery travel companions in the past, so it had to be this unreleased sexual tension driving him.
When they arrived, Peter strapped his sword to his side as he perused the inn, such as it was. No surprise he had given the inn so little attention. It had a more comfortable looking shelter for the animals than for paying guests. There was not a person in sight. His heart pounded quickly with barely controlled anger. He shoved his way through the door.
“Hail.” Peter peeled his gloves off sweaty hands and allowed his irritation free reign with his booming voice. “Is anyone here?”
