“It’s what you do,” Mort said it emphatically as if that was all there was to it. Of course he was correct. So why did he feel so cross about the whole ordeal?
Peter stood abruptly. He needed to clear his head. “I’m going for a walk.”
Mort stood to accompany him but Peter shoved him back down onto the bench. “No. I will go alone.”
“But, my lord,” Mort glanced at the few men close enough to overhear and lowered his voice to a whisper. “We are not known here. You are a…target.”
“Have someone try and capture me for ransom. They’ll soon find they have more than they can handle.” Now why did that statement bring her upturned face to his memory? Her lips parted invitingly, slightly pink from their first passionate kiss.
“Damn me,” he cursed under his breath and headed out the door.
The brisk air was refreshing, but the cold lingered. Winter hung in the mist. The naked trees seemed strange and mystical, silhouetted in the moonlight. An owl voiced its objection to his presence.
“To hell with you, too,” Peter answered. The door opened behind him and he stepped into the shadow of the necessary. The scent of excrement drifted to him. A man stumbled across the stone walk and headed toward the main road. In the direction of the Priory.
Must every thought and feeling that he have somehow evolve around her? Is there nothing else down that road except the Priory? He exhaled noisily and rubbed his hands against the dropping temperature. Mort came through the door and sat on the little bench beside it. He took his clay whistle from his bag and began to play a quiet tune. Peter recognized it as the one Brighit had played that first night.
“Must you haunt me as well?”
Mort stopped playing. He put his pipe in his lap and leaned his head against the straw structure. “Is that what’s bothering you so?”
Peter shook his head. Mort had no idea.
“You’re missing the lass already?”
“Like I’d miss the plague.” Peter’s voice sounded overly loud and defensive. “Another duty seen to. No more. It’s best not to get attached.”
He tried to settle his anger but it had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach.
“Maybe,” Peter said, his voice quieter now.
“She was certainly a beauty.”
“Beauty is fragile. I had a beauty and she wasn’t safe with me. My loving killed her. No woman is safe with me. I’m cursed.” Pain shot through him like an arrow to the heart. “I never even said those words to her. I never said my goodbyes either.”
“Aw. I see. You have regrets.”
Mort was quiet and Peter thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep until he spoke again. “The pain of your loss is very deep.”
The evenness of his tone was calming. And the calming made Peter start to remember. It made him feel again the excruciating pain of the loss. He had been so happy to be home, so looking forward to being with Jeanette. He shook his head to clear it of the memories.
“Loving someone doesn’t always cause pain,” Mort said.
“What do you know of love?” Venom coated every word.
“My lord, you have never asked of my situation and I would not burden you now but I do know of love. I have a wife.”
Peter turned toward him. “And children?”
Mort’s teeth were visible when he smiled. “Aye, hardy boys. She bore them all with no help from me... well except for the making of them. And that I verily enjoyed.”
“So many women die giving birth. Were you not afeared it would be so?”
“Yes. I worried about it but I had to obey the King’s orders. She knew that. As did your Jeanette.”
Peter swallowed hard.Jeanette. The child probably would have had her green eyes. Beguiling all she met just like her mother.
“Not every woman who becomes pregnant dies in childbirth, Peter.”
