“Sister Mary?” Peter bellowed then clamped his mouth, trying to check his irritation. “It is not Sister Mary we care about. We wish to see our ward, Brighit.”
“I will see what is taking so long.”
Once alone, Mort turned on Peter. “My lord, Sister Mary must be her name now.”
Peter threw his arms up to the heavens. “She has barely arrived. How can she already have a different name? She is not a different person!”
“Please try to calm yourself—”
The door opened and Peter gasped at the sight of Brighit covered in several layers of rough linen, from the tip of her head to the bottom of her feet. If not for the expressive, brown eyes, he would recognize anywhere, he wouldn’t have known her.
“Forgive me for taking so long. I didn’t mean to worry you,” she said.
He recognized the voice as well and relief swept over him. He stepped toward her. Martha and Ruth, who were right on her heels, moved to stand on either side of her. They halted his approach with a look.
“May we speak in private?” He refused to hide his hostility.
“NO!” Martha used the same tone he had earlier. He reddened again.
“My apologies for my earlier surliness. Her safety has been my concern of late... it is hard to let go.”
Martha nearlyharrumphedher irritation. “No. You may no longer spend time with her alone.”
“Then just a few feet away? Within your sight? Just so I can be sure she is well?” It galled him to ask for their permission. He’d noticed Brighit’s fearful expression at his earlier outburst. It was out of concern for her that he attempted to quell his resentment now.
“No. You may speak to her in front of us.”
Peter ground his teeth again. Focusing on Brighit’s face, the little he could see, he took a slow breath, then smiled. “How does it seem? Will all be well?”
She gave a half-hearted smile. “I will adjust. Do not fash yourself. I will be fine.”
He began to nod. “Oh.” Peter reached into his sack and pulled out her flute. “I didn’t want you to forget this.”
Martha would have grabbed it but Ruth stilled her hand and said, “We do not have music at this time. Perhaps we can let Father Tinsley care for it?”
Brighit allowed the younger woman to take the flute. Peter was enraged but cooled his ire. Upsetting Brighit further was not his intent.
“So you wish to stay? Even now?”
Despite the confusion that passed between the other two women, Peter knew Brighit understood his question. Without her music, would she be able to get by?
“Yes.”
An awkward silence covered them like a heavy blanket. Suffocating. Peter struggled with what to say. This felt wrong to just leave her here. Mort moved in close, took her hand to his lips and bestowed a feather-light kiss.
“All the best for you, Lady Brighit.”
Martha inhaled sharply in protest but Ruth put her hand on her arm.
He stepped back, retreating to the horse. Brighit searched Peter’s face and waited.
“You are very good at practicing patience.” He spoke in quiet tones. “You wish for me to leave you here? Would you prefer that I stay longer?”
“You may leave me here.”
Peter took her hand as Mort had and pressed his fingers into her warm palm as he brought it to his lips. He held her gaze. Her brown eyes bright but clear, then kissed her knuckles.
“All the best indeed.”
