Mort laughed quietly beside her.
“Why dye him so many colors?” she asked.
“Ha ha, no. I did not dye him. He came that way.”
“Monk’s pepper! Have you never heard of it?” Peter’s irritated voice interrupted what she was about to say. She turned to the cart behind her.
Mort went to Peter’s side. “My lord, are you having no luck in securing the item you seek?”
Peter turned toward them and his gaze fell on her, roaming once again up and down her body. It might have been the dress he saw but the way he focused on her bosom... her breath hitched. His expression spoke of longing. Heat radiated off him. When he brought his gaze to her mouth, she wetted her lips.
“What vexes you so?” Somewhere inside she noticed the breathiness of her question and tried to stop from reaching toward him.
Mort coughed. Peter caught her hand, stilling the movement, then released it. His expression closed off, his inner desires no longer visible. “I find markets annoying—the people, the noise, the smells.” He turned toward Mort. “Do you think anyone here is going toward the Priory?”
“I found only one man headed in that direction but he doesn’t leave until the morrow. He is the entertainment for tonight.”
Peter’s jaw tensed. “So we will have to stay the night as well.”
Her heart sank in disappointment. There had been something in Peter’s look that had promised so much. She’d swear he’d wanted to touch her. Caress her.
When she had awoken in his arms, it took her a moment to make sense of his nearness. She remained still, feigning sleep. His scent drifted to her but she dared not turn into his chest as she longed to. Instead she listened to the steady beat of his heart and his quiet breathing and pretended she belonged there. The man’s arms were as comforting as a boat in a harbor.
The longing she’d just seen on his face brought that all back to her and sparked an ache in her soul. A desire to experience his strength again. And more. To feel his hands gliding over her. His light kisses along her cheek, her jaw, her neck. His warm breath against her skin.
“Come, my lady, let us find a place to settle down and partake of the food we have.” Mort’s hopeful expression included Peter. “My lord? Will you join us?’
“No. I have more pressing matters requiring my attention.”
He brusquely walked away. Her sigh bubbled up from the depth of her disappointment.
Mort led her back to their earlier spot but he seemed preoccupied. Once under the tree, he seemed to force a smile. “The weather is certainly mild.”
She nodded.
“The sky is very blue.”
She glanced up and nodded again.
“Do you enjoy music?”
“Music?” Brighit brightened. “For certain.”
Brighit thought of her mother’s love of music and dancing, knowing she took after her. They ate in silence but her thoughts remained on her mother. Had they stopped in this area so many years ago whenshewas brought to the Priory? Is that where she met her father? There was so little she knew about the two of them save for their happiness. They were a couple deeply in love.
“Are you married, Mort?”
Mort took a sip of mead before answering. “Yes. I am happily wed.” A far off look came to his eyes, one she’d never seen on his face before. The look made Brighit certain he was seeing his wife in his mind.
“You must miss her.”
“Every day.” Mort smiled sheepishly. “And what of you? Had you always known you were destined for the Priory?”
Brighit turned away. The question was not expected and she found it hard to swallow. “No. I was to be happily wed and expecting to be near my family always.” Her voice sounded unusually low. “My father changed my destiny when he told me I would become a nun.”
Mort’s intense gaze searched her face, perhaps seeing more than she intended. She cleared her throat and reached for another piece of cheese although she was no longer hungry. “I will accept my father’s decree.”
“Yes. I can see you would never give him any reason to be ashamed. You are a good daughter.”
