Brighit’s mouth opened, her gaze sharpening with incredulity. “And no one thought to share that with me?”
“Share that with ye?” The man scratched at his heavy brow in a thoughtful way. “To what purpose?”
Her nostrils flared, but she pressed her lips together and remained silent.
“Ah, I suppose I should have thought of it.” Francis was clearly saying whatever he thought would get him out of her bad graces. “Let me help ye dismount.”
They entered the small area alongside the castle, equipped with a standing block of stone. Francis gallantly lifted her from the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all. Despite his age, he was as strong as he looked.
When he raised his arm to her, Brighit placed her hand on his forearm and walked with him to the entryway, only to be met by Tisa, whose expression quickly fell. “Oh my.”
“Good day, Tisa.” Francis dipped his head, his arm still raised for Brighit. “If ye’ll allow us to pass, I believe Brighit would like to rest by the fire.”
“Of course,” Tisa said before she reached up to kiss him on the cheek, her eyes still rounded with obvious concern as they perused Brighit’s trews.
“Come, fair Brighit,” Francis said in his courtly tone.
She would admit she greatly appreciated his attendance on her as they passed through the wide opening to the great hall. Relief flooded her at finding the hall nearly empty. They’d arrived before the evening repast and only the sound of the servants moving about broke the silence.
“I must see to my horse, if ye’ll excuse me,” Francis said. “She is not kind to others laying hands on her… much like my wife.” He grinned and was gone in a moment.
Brighit was taken aback by the sight of Tadhg at the far end of the hall. She hadn’t noticed him when they’d arrived. He was in close conversation with another man, not even his voice carried. Her gaze took in the back of the large man sitting opposite him. The sight of his wolf-skin mantle sent chills through her.
No.
Tadhg shifted away and his face brightened when his gaze landed on her. He stood. “Brighit. How lovely to welcome ye home at last.”
Seigine stood as well and turned toward her, quirking a brow when her mouth dropped open. “Welcome home, Brighit.”
Darragh waited until the others had passed them before confronting Terrence.
“Finish what ye started. Tell me everything ye know.”
The man sighed, looking uncomfortable. “Someone took a fist to Brighit’s face.”
“What?” The word was more a growl. Duncan had lingered behind and revealed himself now. He was livid.
Darragh ignored the outburst and directed his question to Terrence. “Did ye ask her where the bruises came from?”
“She tried to tell me it was from hives.” The man’s face reddened. “And assured me ye’d never hurt her.”
“Ye needed her to tell ye that?” Darragh shook his head, his hands at his waist.
“I didn’t believe her since ye’d said nothing to us about it. What other reason would there be for ye not to let us know what had happened?”
Than if ye had inflicted the bruises yerself.
Darragh finished his friend’s unspoken thought. If this man—whom he’d counted as his closest friend—knew him at all, he’d know there was nothing that could cause him to hurt anyone except another warrior. Damn him for keeping such a thing from him.
Clearing his mind, he tried to recall every time he’d seen Brighit prior to the wedding. If the powder was intended to hide her abuse, she had only started using the stuff that day. He had risen early that morn to watch for Brighit, and there’d been no sign of any early-morning visitors.
But he did remember the late-night revelers.
Niall.
“A group of men came late into the hall the night before the wedding. Niall may have been among them.” Darragh spoke more to himself.
His jaw dropped right before he slammed it tight. “And that morning the lads were less attentive than usual and seemed tired. What was it Seigine had said? They were attacked?”
