“Darragh, sometimes ye are an arse.” With that, Terrence followed the dimly lit path back toward the horses and carriage.
Finally standing, Darragh roughed his hand through his hair and stared down the pathway.
“A thighearna.”Iain came toward him, a look of concern on his young face.
“What is amiss?”
“I believe we are being followed.”
Relief flooded him. He’d been feeling out of sorts all day, but he attributed it to his problems with Brighit. This new information seemed to confirm his concerns. “Show me.”
The man led the way across the open meadow before coming to a sudden stop.
“Can ye make out the firelight in the distance?” Iain asked, pointing off in the distance.
After watching several moments, the slight flicker showed through the darkness, the hills a backdrop that nearly hid the telltale sign of another camp. “Ye believe they have something to do with us?”
“I found the tracks of several mounted horses along with a few men on foot.” Iain put his hand to his hip. “They backtracked to where they are now, as if they had followed us, saw that we were staying the night, and left to see to their own camp.”
Iain was very good at assessing the enemy’s plans and Darragh didn’t need to question that. “D’ye have any thought of who they could be?”
He shrugged, shaking his head. “I do not. The only clan in the area that did not remain at the festivities was Seigine’s.”
“And he was beside himself with grief.” Darragh searched his memory and realized Iain was right. There was no reason for anyone to hurry home from the festivities. The harvest was in, and it was expected that visitors would remain until the rains had passed.
“Mayhap ’twould be best for us to do some tracking of our own? Learn who it is that follows us?”
Iain nodded, his expression thoughtful. “We could set out after they believe we have bedded down for the night.”
Darragh nodded, trying to ignore the way his tarse twitched at the word “bedded”—irritated with himself for having the idea of bedding his wife again foremost in his mind.
“Or we could approach now,” Darragh said. “Take another man with ye. When ye return, we can make our plans.”
The lad left and he was alone with his aching desire for Brighit. How quickly she’d become a need to him, like eating or sleeping. And like any other need, bedding her again would be the only way he’d be satiated.
Chapter 12
Brighit had tried her best to spread what powder remained on her face over the worst of her bruises. It didn’t help that there was no flat surface of water nearby—nothing she could look in to help assess where it was most needed. Her face was sore, but her stomach was even worse. Misleadingly so, since she could sit for a long time and not even think about it, but when she went to stand, the pain was excruciating enough to double her over.
Near enough to see the others going about their duties, she could just make out Darragh sitting alone by the fire. The rest of the area around her was dark, the leaves in the trees rustling their warning that the rains would soon be coming. When they finally did come, she would be grateful to be ensconced in the carriage. However constricting, it kept her safe.
“Brighit?”
She hadn’t heard anyone coming over the wind in the trees.
Terrence came toward her, the sack of her belongings in his outstretched hand. “I think ye’ll find what ye need in here.”
She rummaged through it and pulled out the jar of powder. Other men from their group mumbled greetings as they passed them, but the lack of light made it impossible for anyone to see what the firelight had revealed to Terence. Still, she turned away to apply the stuff, then wiped her hands against each other before facing him again. She said, “Hopefully that works.”
He shook his head, staring at her with somber eyes.
“No?” As soon as she said the word, Brighit realized he wasn’t commenting on how well she’d covered the damage done her face.
“I need to hear how the bruises came about.”
The compassion in his voice unleashed her tears. She gave him her back again and replaced the clay jar, disgusted with herself for such an open show of femininity.
She cleared her throat, trying for a forceful tone. “I cannot tell ye.”
