Slowly he released her hand and stepped back. He glanced between the other women but they paid him no heed. They were too interested in quickly turning Brighit back toward the entrance. Peter refused to look away. He would watch her safely enter that door. What happened beyond that, he would never know. At least he would be assured he saw her cross the threshold.
“Goodbye dear Brighit.” His voice was barely a whisper for no one else’s ears but his own. The door thudded closed and the unmistakable sound of the bar being lowered echoed in the courtyard. His face tightened. He could still manage to bust the door down. That gave him great comfort.
Peter turned quickly, nearly colliding with Lachlann who was out of breath.
“Did I miss the goodbyes?”
“You have.” Brighit had not looked for him either which gave Peter great satisfaction. “They were rather quick to snatch her up and hide her away.”
The young man’s crestfallen look was genuine. Peter patted his back. “She knew you wished her well.”
Peter turned toward his horse, taking the reins as he mounted in front of Mort who was already mounted. “I’m damn sick of riding with you in case you wondered.”
“But now there is no one else you’d throw me over for so I believe I’m safe.”
Peter snorted a quiet laugh then added. “Really? You believe I would throw you over? Never. Your golden tongue alone is worth... something, I’m sure.”
Mort crossed his arms, effectively poking Peter in the back with the movement.
“We need to head back to York,” Peter said with as much determination as he could muster. “The King will want to hear from us on the situation rather than waste the trip north.”
Mort did not respond. Peter glanced back to witness the expression of a very irritated man.
“Yes, my lord,” Mort said with very little deference.
Chapter Eighteen
The establishment was one big room with several trestles and benches neatly arranged for visitors. It was warm enough. Peter was satisfied. They’d made it by nightfall. However, he had no appetite. Mort, on the other hand, ate like a horse and was licking his fingertips with a lot of ceremony. Fastidious was the only word to describe him. No. Obnoxious worked, too.
“So?” Peter’s voice was flat.
Mort stopped mid-lick and stared back. “So? So what?”
“What did you learn?”
Mort finished his last lick before continuing. “Well, our newly departed dinner companions were happy to chat and assured me that the castle has not been under siege. Recently.” His face showed that was something.
Peter did not feel it was much. “And?”
“And…it will still be closed to you.”
Peter slammed his fist on the worn table. “Damn me.”
No one dare look his way as he was the only knight present. He was probably the only knight for miles. These were the wilds of England. Respect was the very least accorded to him even in this establishment. He couldn’t really call it an inn although they’d given him a bed for the night. He had to share it with Mort and two others but it would be dry.
“Did you expect other news?” Mort’s question intruded on his thoughts. “It is the same Baron in control now as before we were... sidetracked.”
“I’d hoped.”
Mort’s impertinence was becoming tiring. It worked its way under his skin like a burr. Nearly as bad as—no he would not even mention her name. She was safely delivered. Set in her little cocoon. Closely guarded by all. Her virginity sacrificed on the very altar of their Lord and Savior. So why was he still thinking on her? Why could he not remove her from his mind? Be done with it.
“Based on what?” Mort’s stare pierced his. “What is wrong with you?”
“We’ll have a fight on our hands after we arrive.”
“You’re a soldier.”
“And?”
