He kissed his wife’s cheek, his hand lingering on her arm. She seemed to sag against him as if in relief. He lowered his voice. “How fare ye?”
Her eyes downcast, she merely shook her head that she was not well.
Darragh turned to his father, his brows lifted in supplication. “Father, I believe Brighit and I have some unpacking to do. If ye’ll excuse us?”
When his eyes finally fell on the third figure who’d approached the trestle table, the realization that it was Seigine set his anger ablaze. Though he didn’t understand the depth of the man’s involvement, Darragh didn’t trust him. He knew, at the very least, that the man had lied to him.
“Seigine.” Darragh forced the acknowledgement out between tight lips.
“Of course,” Tadhg said.
Seigine paused, his eyes looking at Brighit far too intimately before he noticed Darragh’s scowl. “Of course. We will speak later. Brighit?”
She mumbled something without meeting the man’s eyes and turned, but Darragh quickly wrapped his arm around her so that they left together as if nothing were untoward. Brighit trembled beneath his arm.
“Did the man say something to upset ye?”
She simply shook her head, but when she finally met his eyes, his concern only increased. As soon as they reached the privacy of his room, he pulled her into his arms. She was stiff in his arms.
“Tell me what upsets ye.”
She tugged away and sat on the edge of their bed, her eyes cast downward.
“Brighit. Look at me.” He spoke with a coaxing tone, lifting her chin with a gentle touch. When she obeyed, her light skin was without blemish. His relief was so great, he slid the side of his finger along its softness. “What is amiss? Exhaustion again?”
She simply nodded. He carried the sack of their belongings to the bed. “Mayhap ye have the strength to help me sort through our things?”
Brighit nodded, standing beside him as it was all dumped on the bed. Folding this and shaking out that, she seemed to be far off in her thoughts. Darragh reached for the powder.
“D'ye wish to still keep this?” He held the jar up.
Brighit’s eyes widened with concern and she quickly searched his expression, appearing quite afraid. His heart lurched. He didn’t want to see fear on her lovely face.
“It matters little to me except that ye have no longer been wearing it, which I greatly appreciate.”
He paused, but her eyes kept their roundness as if she feared what he might say.
“Ye can keep it in here if ye prefer.” He put it back in the sack, keeping his eyes downcast. “I did not think ye needed it anymore.”
“Darragh.”
His breath shuttered and he closed his eyes, sending up a prayer that she would open her heart to him and share what had happened.
He slowly lifted his gaze to her, struggling to maintain that stoic demeanor. “What is amiss?”
Brighit nibbled at her thumb, her eyes darting away. “I do not need the powder. Ye are right. If ye did not like it, I should not wear it.”
His nostrils flared, but he held back his disappointment at her lack of trust. Locking the uncomfortable feelings away, he simply nodded.
And yet she did not continue unpacking as if nothing had happened. Rather, she sat on the side of the bed, her eyes unfocused. He swallowed, trying to appear disinterested as he fiddled with this and that, waiting to see if she would speak freely at last.
“The powder came from far away, where a woman’s beauty is judged by how pale she appears. It covers everything. They use powder to make themselves more beautiful.” Brighit seemed to be talking to herself, so he didn’t respond. “They treat the women as if they will break apart if touched too harshly.” A sob brought him closer to her. “Their women would never dare to confront a man, or… try to defend herself against one bent on hurting her.”
Darragh’s heart broke for the pain in her scrunched-up face when she started to cry. He took her in his arms ever so gently, lifting her from the bed.
“Shhh. I have ye now. Ye’re safe with me.”
She pressed her face into his chest, rubbing it back and forth. “I am a stupid girl, thinking I could see to my own defense.”
