“I vow this to you.”
She pulled her head back to look into his shadowed face.
“You speak from the heart,” Brighit said. “I feel it in your embrace.”
Peter stiffened slightly. “I will protect you.”
There was something—something she could not name.
“I believe you,” she said.
Heat radiated from him, swirling through her, the tears forgotten.
“What pains you so?” he asked in the same low voice.
“The loss of my family. I am alone here.”
His arms relaxed as if giving her a chance to step away. She held fast.
“That is a heavy loss.” His sigh expanded his chest. “You will have a new home.”
He would bring her home if she asked him to. Her heart quickened. Dare she ask for this from him? Her heart sank at the truth. It was a matter of honor to her family. She could not return now.
“Yes.”
He dropped his arms from her. She moved back, the cold surrounding her where his heat had been.
Peter retrieved the whistle, then gave her a coy smile. “If you would like to play, I can stay nearby.”
“Stay with me.” Her words came out before she could stop them.
He searched her face, nodded, then settled down beside where she had been sitting.
She took the whistle and resumed her spot on the cold ground. As she took a deep, slow breath she closed her eyes and focused on happier times. A memory came to her from when she was young. She brought the whistle to her mouth. It was a celebration between the MacNaughtons and the O’Briens. She played the jig as she remembered it.
In her mind, she saw Tadhg holding hands with Tisa. That look of love. Her father smiling as he danced the lively step with her mother. Her mother’s warm smile and flushed face. The moon overhead. The laughter surrounding them. She shifted into another tune, then another until her memories receded. She put the whistle down and turned toward Peter. She could make out his smile in the darkness. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.
“You will have a new home.” He repeated the words.
She closed her eyes and fell asleep in the warmth of his strong arms.
Peter jerked awake, a warning sounding in his head. The sun was just coming up over the horizon.
“My lord.” Mort burst through the trees, a look of surprise covered his face.
Brighit shifted, awakening beside him.
Peter’s arm was asleep where he’d been holding her. He came to stand in front of Mort. When the man glanced between the two of them, Peter didn’t miss the I-know-what’s-happening-here expression that flashed across his face.
“They’ve taken the carriage and our horses,” he said.
“They’ve taken—”
Peter shook his arm to stop the pins and needles attacking it and strode the short distance back. He stopped at the edge of the clearing. The blackened earth where the fire had been was the only thing that remained. The carriage was gone. The horses were gone. The men were gone, along with all of their belongings.
A laugh threatened to erupt. “Buggar me! They have balls, those three.”
Peter stepped closer to the fire and turned in a circle, assessing the empty view. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Or did not see.
