“And that concerns me even more.” He shifted behind her. “I am unable to figure out why something hasn’t been said to the rest of us about yer attack.” His hand on her shoulder made her jump. “Unless the person who hurt ye is the same one that should be protecting ye.”
She squeezed her quivering lips before responding. “Darragh knows nothing about this.”
“How can that be? The bedding…”
“I kept it from him and so will ye.”
“Never! How can ye ask that of me? If someone has abused ye, he will see ye avenged.”
“He cannot.” She slammed her teeth together to keep from saying what was right there on her lips.That man is dead.Instead, she huffed and said, “It does not matter because it will not happen again.”
“How can ye be so sure?”
Her mouth opened to shoot off a thoughtless response, but she slammed it closed again. Nodding her head, she said the only thing she could think to say, “Ye must trust what I tell ye.”
And that was the crux of the dilemma as she saw it. Trust. She had betrayed him by going behind his back and doing as she pleased. The result was that she would be marked as a murderer.
Ye are a foolish lass.
He had been, without a doubt, correct. Now she bore the result of her foolishness—and so, too, would he. Overcome with emotion, Brighit dropped to the ground with her head in her hands.
Terrence was beside her in an instant, his hand on her arm. “Do not fret so. Please.” He paused before continuing. “Is this the reason ye keep Darragh away from ye?”
She gasped at him. “No… I do not… Oh God!”
Quick to placate her, he mumbled, “No. He never said as much. I assumed. I did not know. Please. He needs to know.”
“He needs to know what?” Darragh asked, suddenly behind them. His menacing tone was undeniable.
Both Brighit and Terrence jumped up, startled.
“I asked a simple question. I do expect an answer. Simple or not.” He was visibly seething with anger. “And I would like ye to remove yer hand from my wife,” he added.
Terrence whipped his head around, looking at Darragh with an astonished expression, but he withdrew his hand. “Darragh—”
“I think I would prefer to hear from Brighit,” he snapped.
“I… I do not know what he is speaking of. There is nothing.” Brighit was proud of her even tone. Inside she was a quivering mess, and her knees trembled and threatened to collapse.
“There is nothing I need to know?” Darragh turned to the man, one hand circling the air in front of him impatiently. “So? Have yer say, Terrence. Tell me what ye believe I need to be told.”
His closest friend dropped his gaze. Brighit could feel the tension coursing through his body, his warring loyalties. And she prayed he would hold his tongue. Darragh was already angry—this was not the right way for him to learn the truth.
“Forgiveness, please.” Terrence faced his friend without balking. “There is nothing.”
“Athighearna.”
Iain’s return could have been better timed, but before Darragh could voice his irritation, Iain continued.
“They are Seigine’s men.”
His winded delivery of the information caught Darragh by surprise. Terrence moved closer while Brighit stayed in the shadows. He would have liked to pull her closer, demand that she tell him all, but this news was unsettling. With great effort, he set aside his concern for his wife and looked at the man.
“Is he with them?”
“A thighearna.He is here at our camp.”
Darragh shoved past the man to trot down the path toward the fire, searching in the darkness. The men were not hard to find. Eight of them, standing around the flame and warming their hands.
