The mother and son stopped and waited.
“How can I be of assistance?” the mother asked.
Brighit moved in closer and smiled at the little boy. She touched the flower at her ear. “My thanks, again. Do you remember passing a wooden carriage a few days ago?”
“Of course,” the mother answered. “It near blocked the path and the men were rude. Did they bother you as well?”
Peter gave Brighit an expression of encouragement, so she continued. “Did the men say anything to you.”
“Aw,” the little boy’s mouth dropped open. He screwed his face up. “You mean the dirty men? They asked if we knew where we could find Tostig’s soldiers.”
His mother nodded. “They were crazy. Tostig’s been cold and dead for a long time now. We just rushed by them. Loons.”
Peter nodded. He patted the little boy on the head. “My thanks.”
They returned to walking toward the market.
“My thanks, Brighit.” Peter smiled at her. “I’m glad you recognized them.”
“There wasn’t much else to do but look out at the people we passed. The boy was very cute. He carried a sack for his mother.”
“They must live in the area somewhere,” Peter said. “Just who are these men and what are they doing here?”
“Now we know they’re asking about a Godwinson,” Mort said.
“Yes. The one who held the territory in this area. But he was killed just as Harold and the rest of the family.”
Lowering his head, Peter caught a glimpse of Brighit’s near naked state. His eyes again perused her shapely calves. He blew a noiseless whistle. Mort noticed his focus shift.
“Perhaps we can find something for Brighit to wear at the market ahead?” he asked.
“Chances are better there than a single home,” Peter said.
At the crest of the hill, a wide, green valley spread out before them. Perhaps ten different vendors lined the road with colored flags waving from their carts. The din of caged animals and voices hawking items for sale drifted to them.
“We cannot dally here. Just renew our supplies,” Peter said.
The view of the castle was obscured from this direction and the reminder that he had other duties he should be seeing to made Peter ill-tempered. That and other distractions.
A glance at Brighit showed her excitement at the prospect of a market day. Peter smiled to himself. Ivan had made things quite difficult for her and being without a proper gown just made it that much worse. She wasn’t part of the Priory yet. These worldly things would be a part of her past very soon. He couldn’t begrudge her a few minutes to take in their wares. Her features turned dark suddenly.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
She turned toward him, an incessant shaking of her head adding to his trepidation. “I cannot be seen like this.”
He didn’t need to be reminded of her shapely calf and near transparent clothing but his eyes wandered of their own accord, stopping at the precariously placed flower in her hair.
“We know that,” he said and immediately regretted the harshness of his tone.
She pushed her shoulders back in a determined stance. “All will be well. Whatever you may find for me to wear, I will be grateful.”
Her voice was clipped as if reassuring herself as well as him.
“We will do our best,” Peter replied.
Her bravery was admirable but he noticed her step slowing as they approached the carts tightly gathered at the crossroads ahead. Why wouldn’t she be embarrassed to be seen in her night dress? Even one covered by a man’s long tunic. She could easily be mistaken as a kept woman and the tunic, along with his bare chest, certainly marked her as his. Ivan had been treating her as such throughout the trip. He snorted and stopped.
“Mort will you look ahead to see what can be found for Brighit to wear? We will wait here.”
