It had been a long while since she’d had an opportunity to speak of her home or family. She swallowed. “What would you like to know?”
“Where do you come from?”
“I am of the MacNaughton Clan.”
“Ah, a name I am not familiar with.”
She giggled. “Your accent tells me there are probably more names you could say that of than not.”
He blushed slightly. “That is true enough but I have a wonderful memory and pride myself on remembering such things.”
Brighit glanced out the window. Ivan caught her gaze where he rode his horse. Her stomach lurched but he averted his face. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he seemed fearful. When she’d passed him earlier, he’d not a word to offer to her.
“Ivan seems to be keeping to himself.” Brighit regretted the words as soon as they were spoken.
“I believe that is in response to advice he recently received.”
She faced Mort. “From you?”
Mort’s look of shock was almost comical. “Oh no. Certainly it is not my place.”
Brighit hesitated before asking, “Does Peter lead us?”
“Yes. He sees to all the arrangements for your journey now.”
A weight was lifted from her shoulders. She needed to understand where she stood though. “And Ivan is allowing this? Is he p-paying him as well?”
Mort’s gasped. “My lord would never accept money for doing what is right.”
Relief flooded her. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to impl—”
“Ivan has no say in the matter, Lady Brighit.” Mort searched her face before he spoke. “Sir Peter is from the King’s personal guard and acts in his stead. There is no discussion. There is only his will.”
Brighit shivered slightly at the idea of Peter’s will being tantamount.
“Thank you for sharing that with me.”
With nothing to add, Mort nodded then leaned back and closed his eyes.
She turned to watch the scenery. It wasn’t the hills and glens she saw but the glistening body of her dream lover.
He came to her again last night. His hands hot on her skin and so much more real now that she’d actually experienced Peter’s touch. He’d barely noticed her this morning. She had willed him to look on her again, to see the appreciation that had been there before. And have him touch her with hands that spoke of a desire to handle her even more intimately. To have his mouth on her lips, her neck, her bare skin. Skin that begged for more. Her pulse quickened. Her breath quickened. Her heart quickened.
Brighit closed her eyes. In her dreams, Peter wanted her desperately. She stroked her lips, remembering every sensation from his kiss. Her first kiss had not been disappointing. His lips had been coaxing, his tongue tracing her lips as her fingers did now. His arms were strong but didn’t crush her. Instead he drew her into his own body, surrounding her with his heat. Again, her stomach did that little flip. Opening her eyes, she turned toward Mort who appeared fast asleep. Brighit blew out a slow, inaudible breath.
Last night, Peter had indeed seemed like the man in her dreams but today that man was gone. Not even sparing more than a glance her way. No interest at all. Perhaps what the red-headed servant girl had told her was true. Quite talkative, that one. When she should have just helped Brighit to lace her dress and brush out her hair, she’d prattled on and on about her other duties at the inn and her encounter with “the knight”. Brighit would have wished her to keep her mouth closed as she had the night before but no. Ursula had even shown her the gold coin Peter had given her after he’d lain with her.
Brighit said nothing. She was shocked to hear someone speak so brazenly about something she knew little about. She was also curious. Did he kiss her? Did he stroke her? Was his touch hot? Of course she’d said nothing. She listened to her speak of Peter in that way. Her chest tightened.
And as if all that wasn’t enough, the servant had stopped at the ladder and said in a very matter of fact tone, “And he doesn’t even like virgins.”
The afternoon dragged by. Several times, Peter stopped for a respite. The men would dismount and stretch and go out of their way to avoid him. He didn’t seem to notice. He was always busy seeing to the carriage, the supplies, the horses, the road.
Mort, however, saw to her. He made sure she had everything she needed. A drink. A blanket. A helping hand out of the carriage. A comfortable rock to rest on. He even went so far as to stand guard when she saw to nature’s call. Peter gave her only a cursory glance.
When Peter gave the order to stop for the evening, it was just past dusk. He delegated who would build the fire, unpack supplies, and see to the horses. There was no grumbling in response. Something had definitely changed since they left the inn. Despite her questions, Mort had refused to elaborate on what his master’s course of action had been. He assisted her out and saw her settled in front of the fire before seeing to his own duty—the food preparations.
Brighit stretched, her arms reaching over her head. Her deep breath turned into a big yawn. It felt good to relax a little. There was a calm around her that hadn’t been there before. It had to be due to Peter’s presence. Her stomach rumbled and for the first time since she’d left her home, she found she looked forward to the evening meal.
