“Prefernot to?” He nodded, an odd expression on his face. “Such as?”
“Working beside the other women, listening to their endless complaints about this or that—”
“Wedding me?”
He had the same stoic expression on his face that he oft wore while standing at his father’s side. “I would not say so.”
“No?”
He measured her words as if trying to figure her out. She knew what he was thinking. His every attempt to rekindle her passion had only increased her trepidation. “I wish ye to be happy. I do not appear to do that.”
“Ye have been very… patient and I appreciate that.”
“And yet ye share things with others that ye do not choose to share with me.”
When she opened her mouth to defend herself, he raised his hand and said, “I know. There was nothing.”
He sighed, a sad sound, but his expression softened. “Would ye prefer to ride?”
An eager light shining in his eyes at the suggestion was not well hidden. Did he truly prefer for her to ride with them? With him? And not be tucked away and out of sight?
Brighit ignored her own desire to gallop through the clean air, free and unencumbered. What she preferred mattered very little in the big scheme of things. Having murdered a man in cold blood and then returned home in time to attend her nuptials in the morning, she was having a hard time figuring out who shewas—never mind what she wanted. The things she’d once cared greatly about struck her as unimportant now. And now she would do whatever she needed to do to keep her sin a secret. How far she had fallen from the warrior her father taught her to be…
“I’m fine in here.”
Mayhap it was the clipped way she spoke, or the way she’d turned from him, but the rest of the morning was spent in silence.
Darragh would admit to being greatly perplexed by this behavior from Brighit. She was not an overly talkative woman, not like some he had met, and that pleased him. But she was usually willing to have a discourse. A lively one. Not anymore. No matter how many times he tried to engage her, she shut him down. And he couldn’t figure out why.
It eased his angst some when he noticed her doing the same with the other men in the party. They were his own men, previously unknown to her, but they attempted to be cordial to her. All of their overtures had been met with single word answers, and they’d learned to keep their distance. Terrence stayed nearer to her than the rest, but Darragh never witnessed her speaking with him either. Could Darragh have misunderstood what he’d witnessed? No, Terrence had told him he was missing something so why did the man keep refusing to tell him what he knew?
She’d always seemed so sure of herself, so eager for an adventure—and certainly traveling south would be considered as such. He’d hoped some time on the road would excite her. Instead, she remained aloof and uncommunicative.
With his days filled with preparations for his upcoming meetings, they passed by quickly. While his nights seemed to grown even longer.
This night, as with every other night, he set them up near the fire. He again tried to share with her the mead intended for them as a newly married couple while the rest of his men made themselves scarce. She remained aloof, her disdain clearly directed at him, and it was killing him.
“There’s a skin for every night, Brighit. Ye’re leaving me to drink our mead alone and even after ye’d expressed yer desire to keep to the tradition. It does not bode well for us or our children.”
Brighit barely nodded, so deep in thought with her eyes on the firelight. It was the first clear night they’d had on the road and the warmth was definitely appreciated. The impending rains had shifted north.
“Can ye not even rouse yerself enough to speak with me?” Anger was nipping at him.
She shrugged, her knees tucked up close to her body. “I have nothing to say.”
Darragh watched her as she stared at the sparks flying heavenward. He wanted her the way she used to be, always ready to argue with him. Feisty. The firelight cast her in a soft, seductive glow. He sought to woo her. The more he partook of the mead, the more he wanted her. He held her small hand ever so lightly, testing her boundaries, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. When she didn’t pull away, he caressed the silky locks that fell down her back, holding them close to smell her scent.
“Mmm, lovely.” He opened his eyes to find her looking at him.
“What?”
He smiled, tracing a finger along her jaw. Such soft skin. “Ye look lovely sitting there.”
“I do not feel lovely.” Brighit turned back to the fire.
Sitting close, he kept his voice low. “And that may indeed be our problem.”
“Our problem?”
