When Mort shoved at him to obey, reality felt like cold water splashed on him. However, Peter was in no condition to face her. His hardened cock bulged quite visibly against his hose and he had no tunic to hide it with. Ever observant, Mort noticed and quickly retrieved Peter’s tunic. Peter pulled the clothing over his head and tugged it down over his demanding appendage. Unfortunately her scent surrounded him, fighting against any inward resolve to cool his ardor. He breathed in deeply, giving in to the memory of her shifting against him in submission. Clearing his throat, he steeled himself before turning to face her. His jaw dropped at the vision before him.
The tightly-fitted gown was made of a simple material but the way it hugged her womanly assets, it might as well have been silk. The generous swell of her bosom strained against the material so much so that her pearled nipples were clearly visible. Peter’s mouth went dry.
“You look lovely,” Mort offered, no doubt to cover Peter’s foolish response, and stepped in front of him.
Brighit accepted his compliment with a smile. She glanced shyly at Peter, the flower gone from behind her ear. Like a parched man, he drank in the fluidity of her graceful curves. His gaze gliding along her narrow waist to the swell of her hips. Mort cleared his throat. Peter glanced toward him again.
“The color becomes you, Brighit.” Peter frowned slightly and turned away.
In his mind’s eye, he saw her again as she had looked standing in the carriage. Her spirited response more desirable than the willing red-haired wench he could have easily slated his sexual desires with. The vision he had of Brighit was of a passionate woman whether in anger or... and Peter knew he was taking liberties even thinking about it... in his bed. Briskly, he began walking the rest of the way toward the market.
“Are you coming?” he asked without actually turning back.
He breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind. Celibacy required a certain deadening of the senses that he had yet to master. Her scent drifted to him again from his tunic. He pulled the offending material over his head and tossed it to the ground.
“Can you see to this, Mort? I believe I require some new garments, as well.”
Brighit’s voice could be heard behind him. She questioned Mort about his response but Peter ignored her, walking even faster. The sooner he got to the little group gathered at the market, the quicker he would be able to... Peter didn’t know what he planned to do but he needed distance from this woman.
As he’d hoped, the first cart he came upon had several tunics. He grabbed the first dark tunic he found.
“How much?” He pulled it over his head. It was tight in the shoulders but it smelled of wool which was better than to have Brighit’s scent teasing him. Mort stepped forward to pay the required amount. Brighit moved closer to Peter.
“Have I done something to anger you?”
The man beside the cart heard her question and looked toward Peter, waiting for his answer.
“Of course not.”
She turned away and moved along the table, admiring the items for sale.
“Are you looking for something else?” The man spoke in a low voice and looked sideways at him. “I can find almost anything you need.”
It was the way the man said it that Peter recognized his offer to find him a willing wench. Either Peter was going to commit to celibacy or find some release. “Yes.”
Mort turned toward him. “My lord!”
“Monk’s pepper,” Peter said. “Where can I find it?”
The tradesmen looked Brighit up and down and smiled. “Third cart on the right side of the road. That’s where all the herbs can be found.”
Chapter Fifteen
Brighit soaked in the scene before her. A dozen tables laden with every imaginable necessity from pots to swords to spices to fowl to clothing to breads. Brightly colored banners fluttered in the breeze every few feet as if heralding in the festivities. Strange smelling herbs and bleating sheep all vied for her attention. She hadn’t been to market day since before her mother had passed. The MacNaughtons of late had little to offer to sell and even less to buy something with.
Peter provided her with clothing and she was grateful. She wanted to thank him but he seemed irritated. He wanted to buy something... Monk’s pepper? She didn’t even know what that was. Mayhap later on she could thank him... with a kiss. Her lips curled into a secret smile. A pleasant thought but never would she be so bold.
Mort offered his arm, escorting her down the little swell in the road toward the other carts. She went from vendor to vendor, each one offering more exotic items than the one before. It wasn’t possible for her to keep the grin from her face. It was easy to forget her circumstances and become entranced by her surroundings.
“And you, my lady,” an ebony-skinned man called to her. His eyes as dark as his skin, drew her toward him. “This flower would look exceptional on you.”
The table behind him held fresh flowers, several small jars of various hues, and a brightly colored bird in a cage hanging from the corner. She gawked at it.
“Ah, you like my pet?” he asked.
“What is it?”
“It is called a parrot. I won him in a game of chance from an interesting traveler I met. The man has gone both north and south, east and west in his travels on the sea. This—this fine feathered friend is from one of those trips.”
