by Ashley York
That now familiar sound of fist-against-flesh cut through the silence.
An unfamiliar laugh. His laugh. A slight tremor responded through her insides.
“Mort,” the handsome man called to someone.
The indistinct image of a shorter man with a gaping mouth came to mind. “Yes, my lord?”
“I believe this man was about to take a terrible misstep with his fist. Does it seem to you these men have a certain…lack of knowledge?” he asked.
What arrogance!
Ivan’s angry face came to mind. She shivered. The handsome man did not know who he was dealing with.
“I would say that it does.” The shorter man was closer now.
“Mayhap some learning is required?”
“Do you believe it’s possible, my lord? Are they trainable?”
“They have a naked woman in a carriage while they fight out here over who will get her.”
She gasped, a soundless intake of air. Like a standard being dropped, the men talked at once. Tears threatened and a few leaked down her cheek. She wiped them away. She was only trying to clean herself not be fought over. Who was he to say such cruel things about her?
The morning had started out so promising. They’d had a nice time breaking their fast with very little interaction at all. Cole’s offer of extra water had come as a surprise but not one she wanted to miss.
Sudden silence. Brighit held her breath.
“And what would your name be?”
“I am called Ivan.”
“And this…young lady?”
This was just getting worse and worse. His words fairly dripped derision.
“Brighit.” She answered for herself albeit through a clenched jaw from within the carriage.
“Ireland? You’ve taken her from Ireland?”
Brighit was surprised at his ability to name where she’d come from. She wished she were still there... any place but here. This was infuriating. She could not go out there now. They may have imagined her naked and their occasional lustful glances assured her that they did. But to have them actually see her was beyond embarrassment. Embarrassment only increased by the fact that at least two of them weren’t even known to her.
“That I have.” Ivan’s smug voice drifted to her.
Whoreson!
“Please clothe yourself forthwith.”
He must be facing her now for he sounded very close. A warmth tingled up her spine. No! His voice may be low and quiet but there was nothing intimate about this situation. She struggled with the ties up the front of her dress.
“It’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Her irritation came through in her tone of voice. Good!
“And I wonder why you have not been successful thus far.” He had the nerve to sound irritated? “Just do it... and be quick about it.”
Arrogance oozed from the man!
“Yes, my lord.” She clipped her words, struggling with her wimple, and hoped her sarcasm carried through the curtain.
“Hurry up.”
“I am hurrying!” Her thick hair refused to cooperate but she was not about to go out there with so much as a single strand visible.
The man cleared his throat. Brighit would like to take a knife to it. He may be pleasant to look at but his manners lacked even the slightest courtesy.
“Can you please enlighten me as to what is going on here?” He was turned away again.
“My ward and—”
“Ward?” His disgust at the word was apparent.
“Yes.” Ivan’s voice was quieter. “Is that a problem?”
“Ward? As in ‘one you are sworn to protect’? So you were merely protecting your ‘ward’?”
“Yes—”
“Not likely!” Niall spoke up. “You tried to sell her to me.”
Brighit stopped her movements. Fear lurched in her stomach and halfway up her throat. Sell her? Is that what Ivan had been planning?
“I did not!” Ivan blurted. “You misunderstood me.”
“I heard you myself.” Brighit recognized Aldred’s voice. In the short time she’d spent with him, she’d use one word to describe him. Sincere.
“You lie,” Ivan accused. “You are ignorant northerners.”
Ivan was the one lying. She knew it in her heart. He had tried to sell her!
“Dare not say that to me, coward!” Niall was closer now. Any charm he’d shown her last night was well hidden. Rage alone encompassed his well-chosen words. “You know the truth.”
“But I didn’t mean you could try her out first.”
Brighit’s gasp sliced through the conversation. Too late, she covered her mouth with her hand. Tears burned. She would not cry!
“Why would I pay so much for soiled goods?” Niall again.
Soiled goods? If Niall “tried her” she would be soiled. How dare they speak of her thus.
Brighit whipped open the door and jumped from the carriage. She glared at each man in turn before finally speaking.
“I am not for sale! And...” she took a step up to Niall, who towered over her. The top of her head barely reached his chest. “I am not to be tried.”
She moved in closer. Niall’s face softened. How dare he even think about using his charm on her now? The tears were there again. This slightest show of compassion for her and she would wallow? Hell no! She swallowed her emotions.
“Enough!” The arrogant man stood far too close to her and shouted his orders about as if all should obey him. She turned to him, put her hands on her hips, and stared.
“Yes?” He finally asked. His honeyed voice vibrated through her. One heavy brow tipped up expectantly. “Did you have something to add to this discussion?” His words dripped with sarcasm.
Brighit snapped. She slapped him roundly on the side of the face. The sound resounded in her ears. “How dare you reveal me in such a state of undress!”
“Had I known why the carriage rocked of its own accord, I would not have needed to pull back the curtain and…reveal you.” His full lips dipped in at the corners as if suppressing a grin. “Perhaps it was not your best idea to be hiding naked.”
Peter’s face throbbed and he wanted to rub his cheek. This time he saw the hand coming and stopped it short of its mark. He gripped her small wrist. Her vein pulsed beneath his fingers. Her eyes black with anger. She was a feisty one.
“Once, I may forgive, but twice will have you over my knee. And I will not mind your embarrassment.” He spoke in a low tone for her ears only.
For a moment, he saw the fear and indecision cross her face. His heart lurched. She relaxed her arm and allowed him to lower it to her side.
“I was merely trying to dress in a very small area. I was not ‘hiding naked’.” She spat the words at him. Her expression spoke of her betrayal at his hands. The unspoken accusation hit him hard.
But she continued her tirade and stomped right over to Ivan and kicked him in the shins. “How dare you try to sell me!”
A fearsome look of rage swept across Ivan’s face. He raised his hand to her so quickly that Peter hesitated, but was able to block the man’s fist, pressing his body between them.
“Desist,” Peter said.
This man had shown little fighting ability among the other men, yet he vented his anger and frustration on an unarmed woman? Not while Peter was nearby. He shoved at him.
A glance behind him revealed a changed woman, like night and day, one who now backed toward the carriage, cowering. He turned to face her.
“What is amiss here?”
Now her wide eyes spoke only of her mistrust. She shook her head and took a shaky breath. “There is naught amiss.”
The memory of her in the carriage, surprised but defiant, flashed through his mind.
Ivan moved closer, swaggering, and pulled himself up to his full height which was only as high as Peter’s shoulder.
“Do you often lay hands on women in anger?” Peter asked.
“She is in my care,” he answered, sounding more like a
growling animal than a man, then sneered at his “ward”.
The implication of that statement came out of nowhere. The sight of her standing naked in the carriage assailed him again. One arm across her lovely breasts which swelled over it, leaving one fetching, pink nipple exposed. Her other hand placed over the silken triangle of hair, merely calling attention to the promised treasure that lay within.
“Are you truly in this man’s care?”
“I am.” Her voice quivered. There was something unspoken. Desperation!
“We appreciate your assistance, my lord,” Ivan’s tone dismissed Peter. “I’m sure we can work this out amongst ourselves from here.”
Ivan extended his hand toward him as if nothing untoward had transpired. Peter seethed. He refused the hand.
Ivan dropped his arm. “I have been given the charge to see her safely to a convent not far from here.”
Peter glanced again at the woman. “Your name is Brighit? Of what clan?”
“The MacNau—”
Ivan stepped in front of her. “She is called Brighit. We are taking her—”
Peter turned sharply toward the short man. “Ivan? Methinks I would like to hear her answer.”
Ivan shrugged as if it were of little importance what she would say. “She’s not in her right mind.”
“What?”
“She’s a bit of a loon.”
Brighit turned her face away.
She didn’t appear unhitched.
“And you’re bringing her where?”
“The Priory.”
“At Tanshelf.” Her voice startled them both and they glanced toward her. She kept her face averted.
The Priory? A ripe body like hers was intended for a man’s pleasure. His sex-starved body immediately reacted, filling in the scene for his imagination. Those dark eyes deepening with passion. Those succulent, sweet, red lips parted into a sensual smile. Those firm, full breasts filling his hands.
He took a moment—and a slow, deep breath—to form a coherent response.
“Tanshelf?” The image of a monastery finally came to him. One of many King William had put under the control of his brother Odo. It solidified his rightful rule of the area. “Are you fleeing there for protection?”
Ivan watched him with a hardened expression. The other men were alert for the answer as well. The tension was thick.
“I am to become a bride of Christ.”
Peter’s chest tightened. The audible gasp from Lachlann mirrored his own disappointment. But Lachlann was young. Peter should know better.
“And where have you come from?” Peter focused on the task at hand. He needed to ascertain if this was really something he needed to become involved in.
“From across the sea,” Brighit answered, then turned to face him. Her eyes rounded. “From Ireland.”
The tenseness of the woman’s body reached out to him. He didn’t trust Ivan’s intentions. He sensed the woman was in danger.
Peter confronted Ivan. “Do you have any thought on how to get there? Do you not know where you’re headed?”
The little man’s eyes narrowed. Peter’s insult hit the mark. “I know where I’m going.”
Brighit took a quick step away from Ivan.
Peter didn’t acknowledge her this time.
“I fear you have been misled,” Peter said.
Peter moved to the center of the group. “Mayhap I should introduce myself.” He glanced around the little group of troublemakers. The Scots and the Protectors. The Normans could use more loyal soldiers in the area. Could these men follow orders? He needed to remain open to the possibility. “I am Peter of Normandy and come here at the behest of the King.”
Their uneasy glances assured him they were now thinking better of the problems they were making for themselves by calling attention to themselves.
Niall spoke first. “Where is the King now?”
Peter translated the question to “How much time do we have to get away?”
“King William will follow anon. Upon his arrival, all men here will be swearing fealty. The cost of not doing so is immediate exile.”
Peter stopped on each man as he spoke, measuring their understanding. Their averted gazes said it all. The Scots may not be intentional troublemakers except they had too much time on their hands. He could certainly take care of that little problem. “If any of you choose to follow King William into battle, I can help with your training once I am settled in the castle.”
“We are proud Scotsmen. We could not fight for a Norman,” Niall explained, speaking as the leader again.
“Well, I believe your leader, Malcolm—”
“King Malcolm,” Niall corrected him.
Peter paused. “You are not in Scotland.”
Niall stiffened at the reminder that he was indeed within Peter’s realm of power.
“Being in England causes you a little problem, Niall.”
Peter did not seek to have enemies right from the outset. If these men could be made to see reason, they might be good allies against any of the few remaining Godwinson and Dane strongholds in the area.
“Will we be given the chance to leave without incident?” Niall stood tall and proud. Peter could definitely visualize this man leading Norman soldiers. He certainly didn’t want to break his spirit. He also could not leave him with any doubt of who controlled the area.
“I believe you have come farther south than you intended. You must be more careful from here on out. These areas are no longer in dispute. These are Norman lands along with all of England.”
The lad’s face became unreadable.
“If you come to see me, I will greet you as a friend,” Peter said.
Niall exhaled and visibly relaxed. The two grasped arms above the wrists as men do in camaraderie and competition. When the lad moved to release his hold, however, Peter held fast. Their eyes met.
“If I have reason to think otherwise, I will not hesitate to kill you,” Peter said.
Niall gave the slightest nod but it was enough. Peter let loose his arm. They had an understanding.
The leader of the Scots contingent glanced once more toward the lady, now modestly covered with a wimple and loose-fitting kirtle. There was no indication of what treasures lay hidden beneath. With downcast eyes, she appeared much younger than Peter knew her to be. The eyeful he’d seen was of a well-formed, womanly body.
Niall and Lachlann helped Aldred to mount and they headed north at a slow pace. One situation handled.
“And you two? What part are you playing in all of this?”
The two exchanged looks of disbelief. The bald man spoke first. “My lord, we are men for hire, paid to see this lady to her new home.”
“And you are?”
“My name is Andrew. We don’t hold any to be our personal responsibility. Understand?”
He did indeed. They had taken pay for a job they weren’t actually seeing to. Peter wished he hadn’t noticed the sadness that passed over the woman’s face before being replaced by a look of nonchalance.
“And who hired you?”
They both pointed to Ivan. He didn’t flinch but glared back at Peter.
If this is the total of the lady’s protection, she didn’t have any. And a sincere attempt to sell this woman? He did not doubt the Scots’ story. What benefits Ivan received from her as his “ward” Peter had yet to ascertain.
The real question was whether she was she headed for the Priory as a soiled dove or a virginal sacrifice. If she left her home as a virgin, her protectors would need to see her arrive at the Priory in the same condition. And if she was a soiled dove? That didn’t mean she was to be used by those protecting her. She could even be with child. A picture of Jeanette holding an indistinct bundle in her arms flashed through his mind. His chest hurt. Perhaps at the Priory, there were ways to see a child and mother safely through delivery. He exhaled to ease the tightness.
Either way, they were passing through King William’s land and that alone gav
e Peter the right to step in. Fear for her safety, however, hardened Peter’s resolve. He would see her to the Priory. And he would see her safely ensconced, whatever her condition. His arrival at the castle in York would be postponed.
He was surprised to see Mort staring intently at the woman in question. He cleared his throat and turned away with feigned disinterest only to find Peter’s eyes on him. The man’s color deepened. Peter glanced toward Brighit, trying to discern the reason. Her downcast eyes. Her hair primly out of sight. Her hands demurely clasped—Peter checked himself. Two nipples, perfectly outlined against the dampening material of her gown, were now quite visible. The chemise beneath appeared to be the source of the wetness.
“So, gentlemen,” Mort’s suddenly lilting voice caught the group off guard, giving him a chance to grasp each of their shoulders and turn them back toward the fire and away from Brighit. That left Peter with Ivan and Brighit.
Peter blocked her from the little man’s view. “Ivan, I’ve decided I will be of assistance to you—”
“Oh no need, my lord.”
Ivan’s sudden stiff-lipped deference turned Peter’s already soured stomach.
He shifted to move around Peter.
“I insist.” Peter shifted with him, adjusting his shoulders to block her as well. “I cannot possibly allow the lady... and her entourage... to travel these lands without proper protection.”
No doubt Ivan saw through the veiled threat.
“Then I accept your offer. Come, Brighit.” Ivan reached around Peter and grabbed her elbow.
Her entire body tightened like a bird captured in the claws of a starving cat. Fear and loathing wiped away any feigned nonchalance from her face. Something snapped inside him. She was not a loon and if Peter did not quickly put that lie to rest, the little swine would be using every opportunity he could to lay hands on her.
“Ivan, I must insist however,” Peter gently took Brighit’s arm out of his grasp, turning her away from the other man’s perusal, “that we treat this future bride of Christ’s with greater esteem than I have seen demonstrated thus far.”
Peter released her arm. “I believe it is unacceptable to have a woman of the cloth, so to speak, to be exposed to handling or ribald treatment of any kind which would include fighting. Am I correct?”
