“Yes.” He agreed although he knew it was guilt and lust that kept him from sleeping. “Let us walk back toward the crest of the hill.”
“That would be lovely. I can hear the river but don’t remember seeing it.”
They walked in silence. At the top, she went to the right and led the way through the heather until she found a small clearing where perhaps a deer had been resting during the day. She looked to the east. “I think I can spot the river. Do you see it?”
Peter tore his eyes away from the vision of her visible in the moonlight where her blanket had fallen off her shoulders. “Yes.” The water glistened slightly. “That is the river that runs beside the Priory.”
She glanced back, her face in shadows. “Oh. It’s that close?”
He’d swear her expression was sad now. “It’s further than it appears from here.”
Suddenly remembering the whistle he’d acquired for her earlier and the anticipated pleasure it would give her, he indicated the grass beneath them. “Let us sit. I have something for you.”
He retrieved it and handed it to her. Her delighted gasp pleased him. It satisfied him that the price he’d paid in giving up his smallest dagger that usually lay hidden in his left boot was well worth it.
“Thank you.” She put the whistle to her mouth and played a quick run up then down. “It has a wonderful tone. Is it yours?”
“No. I bought it for you. I didn’t want to hear you were arrested for pilfering from one of the merchants in order to have your nightly concert.” The sound of her quiet laughter encouraged him. “I would have a difficult time explaining that you would have returned it if they’d only given you a few minutes to yourself.”
The sentiment squeezed his heart. That was really all she wanted. A few minutes to herself.
“I don’t know for certain that the nuns will allow you to keep the whistle but I knew it would give you great pleasure now.”
“Yes. Great pleasure.”
He stretched alongside her to enjoy the music. She played a quick little tune then smiled again. “I knew you were a great warrior but, with this, you have certainly shown yourself as my gallant knight.”
Closing her eyes, she played a slower tune. The emotions flitted across her face, giving him a good idea of what the song was about. The blanket slipped from her shoulder and he looked again on her loveliness. Her breasts pressed against the flimsy night dress with each breath and his fingers itched to follow the swell, to let them fill his eager palms. Then following the curve of her waist, he would tuck her close against him. The feel of her firm bottom in his grasp, rocking her against him, urging her closer still.
The music stopped and he reluctantly tore his gaze back to face her. Her expression said it all. She had caught him appraising her. Carefully placing her whistle on the ground beside her, she leaned down toward his face. Her hand moved to his chest. He pulled her gently down to accept his kiss. Timid at first, she soon relaxed her mouth and her lips parted. He deepened the kiss, nibbling her lip, stroking it with his tongue before plundering the depths of her mouth. He worked his fingers into her hair, its softness falling around him, enveloping their kiss within its tresses. When he would have pushed his advantage, his mind going over every part of her he longed to touch in vivid detail, he realized the Monk’s pepper was working. There was no responsive hardening in his groin.
She pulled back slightly and opened her eyes. She smiled. A smile that spoke of a thousand longings. Longings never realized. Longings that result in a lifetime of regret. Longings tucked deep inside the heart. “Now I will go into the Priory with the knowledge of a man’s lips against mine, a very handsome man. A man I could have loved. And every time I sneak away to play my whistle, I will remember this night. I will remember you.”
Collecting the whistle, she rose and headed back the way they’d come. Peter followed her back. There was nothing left to be said.
Chapter Sixteen
By mid-day they were walking again. After waiting most of the morning for the man with the carriage to get underway, they were only slightly closer to the Priory. They probably could have walked that far if they’d left when Peter had wanted to. Mort resumed his idle chatter no doubt to try and initiate a conversation. The lack of response appeared not to affect him at all. His constant talking only increased Peter’s irritation.
“Enough, Mort,” Peter finally bellowed. “There is nothing wrong with walking in silence. You do not need to keep up that incessant babbling. Please!”
“Why, I never bab—”
An object whistled by the man’s head. An arrow. He ducked for cover. Peter grabbed Brighit and veered into the gully beside the road. He landed with her safely beneath him.
Mort dragged himself by his elbows to where Peter lay.
“Where did it come from?” Peter asked.
“I saw nothing, my lord.”
“And I heard nothing.” Peter’s irritation was not well checked, inwardly cursing Mort’s non-stop talk. It made awareness of his surroundings near impossible.
Mort jerked his head toward him. “Since when is a warrior not able to hear his enemy?”
“When there is too much noise around him. You are never quiet.”
“I am not to blame. You had other things crowding your mind.”
