Peter fought for composure before facing Brighit. Her concern was apparent. Mort stood a few feet away, shaking his head.
“Can you give us a moment?”
Mort’s shocked look gave Peter pause. To hell with the man. He wanted to speak to Brighit alone. He waited until Mort withdrew to the forest edge.
“What is wrong? You seem very upset. Did you get hurt by the arrows?”
“What? Certainly not.” He took her hands lightly in his, rubbing his thumb across the soft flesh of her palms. They were warm and he had the urge to place one against his cheek. He dropped her hand and took a step back. “I wanted to be sure you were not overwrought by having to ride with Lachlann.”
“Why—oh, because of the earlier situation? That was all Ivan. They all flirted with me—mercilessly—but Lachlann was nothing but sweet.”
Sweet? Another screw turned into the pit of his stomach. “So you have no qualms?”
“It was Niall that Ivan offered to sell me to. That’s preposterous. The lad knows you can’t buy a woman. If he had said yes...”
She would not be with him now. The screw turned tighter.
“They were not proper with you.”
Brighit tipped her head as if considering his words. “You are right but Lachlann was the least improper. He reminds me of the lads who courted me at home.”
His gut wrenched and his breath ceased. “But that is not who he is.”
“You are correct. And this is not home.”
Her fleeting sadness shoved against his tension. He hadn’t meant to make her sad. “You will probably arrive at your destination this very night.”
A horse came up behind him but Peter ignored Lachlann, his eyes intent on Brighit.
“Yes. My new life.” She looked down, avoiding his gaze. “A new adventure?” She faced him. “Do you think?”
Peter exhaled slowly and allowed himself to trace the side of her face with his fingertips. So soft. So lovely. Such a waste to be locked up in a convent with no hope for a future or a family. “Will all be well with you, sweet Brighit?”
“I pray it will be.” Her voice was quiet. “Will you pray for me as well?”
Peter couldn’t speak. He nodded. He took her hand, led her to Lachlann’s horse, then allowed the lad to pull her back up in front of him. “Let me know if you need to rest.”
“I will.”
A sudden tightness settled into his chest as he mounted. He grabbed Mort’s arm and pulled him up behind him. He gave the horse his lead. She would soon be left behind with her life and he would need to go on with his. He just wished he had more of a life to get back to.
Chapter Seventeen
The sun was low in the sky when they crested the last hill and the Priory finally came into sight. It was smaller than Peter expected. It appeared to be under construction by the amount of small rocks piled at the gate. From the flourishing tall grass and wild heather that grew around it, however, he’d say nothing had been done recently. Narrow arrow slits along the top of the building seemed to be the only source of light, giving the building an overall dark and forbidding appearance.
He spotted four, heavily robed women working in the field, one of which was very pregnant. Peter remembered how he had thought perhaps Brighit was with child and that might be the reason she was being brought to the Priory. When did he begin to see her differently? When he’d kissed her? When Ivan cowered her in front of him? When he’d gazed upon her naked loveliness which showed no visible signs of being with child?
The closer they got to the gate, the slower they all moved. Even Mort ceased his talking as if the atmosphere required a reverent silence. A lump rose in Peter’s throat. A tightness in his chest as if bound by a heavy cord that, with each breath, drew more taut. He did not want to leave her here with no one to look after her. Her life would now become all about her vows, her orders, her devotion. Brighit the woman would all but disappear. And she would be completely alone.
They halted their horses but no one moved to get down. When Brighit caught him watching her, she offered a reassuring smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I will be well,” she spoke the words aloud before turning to Lachlann. “Can you help me down?”
Peter was there before the Scot’s foot touched the ground, spreading his hands about her small middle and lifting her down. She weighed next to nothing. He didn’t immediately release her. She stood close enough to feel her warmth. She was close enough to kiss. She was close enough to still press against him.
“Lachlann, can you get the horses some water?” Peter asked, his eyes remaining on Brighit.
Lachlann moved in close. He glanced at Peter. Then at Brighit. He sighed as if in resignation then led both horses down the little hill. From the opposite direction came the women that were in the field.
