The Gentle Knight (The Norman Conquest Book 2)

by Ashley York

  “Come, my lady, let us find a place to settle down and partake of the food we have.” Mort’s hopeful expression included Peter. “My lord? Will you join us?’

  “No. I have more pressing matters requiring my attention.”

  He brusquely walked away. Her sigh bubbled up from the depth of her disappointment.

  Mort led her back to their earlier spot but he seemed preoccupied. Once under the tree, he seemed to force a smile. “The weather is certainly mild.”

  She nodded.

  “The sky is very blue.”

  She glanced up and nodded again.

  “Do you enjoy music?”

  “Music?” Brighit brightened. “For certain.”

  Brighit thought of her mother’s love of music and dancing, knowing she took after her. They ate in silence but her thoughts remained on her mother. Had they stopped in this area so many years ago when she was brought to the Priory? Is that where she met her father? There was so little she knew about the two of them save for their happiness. They were a couple deeply in love.

  “Are you married, Mort?”

  Mort took a sip of mead before answering. “Yes. I am happily wed.” A far off look came to his eyes, one she’d never seen on his face before. The look made Brighit certain he was seeing his wife in his mind.

  “You must miss her.”

  “Every day.” Mort smiled sheepishly. “And what of you? Had you always known you were destined for the Priory?”

  Brighit turned away. The question was not expected and she found it hard to swallow. “No. I was to be happily wed and expecting to be near my family always.” Her voice sounded unusually low. “My father changed my destiny when he told me I would become a nun.”

  Mort’s intense gaze searched her face, perhaps seeing more than she intended. She cleared her throat and reached for another piece of cheese although she was no longer hungry. “I will accept my father’s decree.”

  “Yes. I can see you would never give him any reason to be ashamed. You are a good daughter.”

  Mort brushed the crumbs from his hands and stretched out. The afternoon dragged by. She regretted her harsh decision to leave Andrew’s whistle behind because of the memory it would stir. Being at those men’s mercy was not something she wanted to remember.

  Mort’s loud snoring grated against her patience and his words echoed in her heart. She was a good daughter and would never shame her father or her clan. He wanted her to take her vows. Vows that would make her spend her life alone with no one to love.

  Tonight, though, she was not secluded. Tonight she was here. Tonight she was surrounded by new and exciting things and would take full advantage of her situation. She wished Mort would take her back to the market.

  The sun finally began to set in the distance. The sound of carts being closed up drifted to her. They were led into a wide circle in preparation for the impending festivities. One by one, lights appeared out of the dusk, hung from the cart posts, all adding to the magical feel of the evening. The fireflies came out in force to twinkle among the heather and tall grass that grew across the meadow beyond.

  “It sounds as if the evening’s entertainment has begun.”

  “It does.” She twisted her hands in her lap, struggling to tap down her excitement.

  “Do you wish to join them?” The sounds of music drifted to them.

  Brighit took a deep breath, not wishing to betray her enthusiasm. “Yes. I believe I do.”

  Mort’s knowing expression, however, assured her she had not been successful. He stood, extending his hand. “Then let us be off.”

  The scene was indeed surreal. After her days stuffed inside a carriage, afraid to speak, afraid to look askance, afraid to listen to the conversations around her, she was being escorted with great care into a gathering that promised her frivolous entertainment and her heart soared.

  Vendors were transformed from unbending purveyors to easygoing participants, even changing into more festive outfits for the occasion. Musical instruments appeared from carts and wagons and several vessels of libations were generously being passed from person to person.

  The mead went down smoothly and Brighit enjoyed the sweet warmth spreading through her limbs. For this night, she would relax and enjoy her surroundings. Her time with Ivan was over. She was safe with Mort. He would never let any evil befall her. Nor would Peter.

  The stringed instrument was a surprise. It was played by the ebony man. His parrot squawked in its cage. She stood off to the side. The man’s deep voice resonated through her. He sang in a language she didn’t know, but with enough passion that she knew it was a song about love. When he finished his song, the silence hung there. Then the listeners in the small area broke into spontaneous applause. He bowed.

  “Wonderful.” Brighit joined the clapping with enthusiasm. “That was beautiful.”

  The man tipped his head in her direction.

  “He has a mighty voice,” Mort said, taking Brighit’s attention away from the entertainer.

  “Oh, he does! My brother has the voice of an angel as well.”

  The memory squeezed at her heart but she set it aside. Music meant celebration. Tonight was a celebration of her freedom.

  “My fair lady.” The tall, dark man stepped up beside her, bowing at the waist. With a suddenly coy expression, he handed her a large, blue flower. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady.”

  “Oh.” Brighit took the flower to her face to fully appreciate its heavenly scent. “It is lovely.”

  “You put the flower to shame with your beauty. It blushes to be in your presence.”

  Brighit couldn’t hold back her pleasure at the compliment, her smile widening even more.

  Dancing started behind him, both whistle and drum beginning a lively tune.

  He raised his eyebrows, offering her his arm. “May I have the pleasure of your company for this dance?”

  Brighit gasped in pleasure. “Oh, ye—

  “This lady is spoken for.” Peter stepped up from behind and gave his back to the man. His eyes were overly bright and a smile played across his lips. Extending his own hand toward her, he asked, “Brighit?”

  The string player dropped his head in acquiescence and backed away but brought his hand to his heart as if injured. “Of course.”

  Brighit’s breath ceased at the touch of Peter’s firm fingers on her hand. She gladly allowed him to lead her into the dance. The effect of the mead increased her awareness of his long length beside her, his handsome face smiling down at her. This was her celebration of freedom and this handsome man was her love.

  One dance led into another. The sweat trickled down her back. She couldn’t even try to curtail the smile on her face. To and fro she danced, her hands lightly held by Peter. They sashayed up the line and back, pressing toward each other, then retreating. The whistle and drum were quickly joined by the string player. When they passed him in the circle, he smiled at her. No bad feelings.

  The full moon rose in the sky as the night progressed. A few men appeared among the dancers with masks covering their faces and hay tucked inside their shirts. They were the Mischief Makers. They darted along the dancers, stopping to steal kisses from the ladies and making mock challenges to the men. All laughed in good fun.

  The late evening chill finally took its toll on the worn out crowd. One by one, and sometimes in pairs, the crowd dispersed. Peter led her to sit beneath a tree, the moonlight filtering around her. She leaned back, waiting to catch her breath and he returned with a bursting skin of some sort of liquid.

  “Wonderful. I am parched.” She accepted the offered skin. It was lighter than the mead and very refreshing.

  “You dance well.” He rested his elbow on his bent knee where he sat beside her, his face obscured in the darkness.

  “We loved to dance, my brothers and me. My mother and father, as well.”

  “Brothers? How many do you have?”

  Brighit handed back the skin and wiped at the juices that d
ripped down her chin. “I have six brothers. Well, I had six brothers.”

  A cloud passed in front of the moon and she felt the weight settling back onto her shoulders. “Three of my brothers have died in battle over the years and two moved farther south to protect their wives’ clans, leaving just me and my brother. Now Tadhg is the only one who remains.”

  “And he will be clan leader now?”

  “At my father’s passing. He is the strongest of all the six boys. Our clan will be well guarded under his leadership.”

  Not that she would ever know for sure how well they fared. The night’s happiness seemed to be slipping away. She would have liked to hold on to it a little longer.

  Peter wiped his face and brushed the hair back from his forehead. The evening’s festivities had taken their toll on him or perhaps it was the Monk’s pepper. God knows his reaction watching Brighit’s shapely figure, now displayed for all to see in her well-fitted gown, dancing about in total abandonment certainly hadn’t indicated it was working. The growing urge to pull her against him and allow his hands free reign over those curves hadn’t lessened in the least. Were the Monk’s actually successful in using it to alleviate lustful thoughts? He certainly had his doubts.

  “Did you find your Monk’s pepper?”

  He started slightly before he realized she hadn’t read his mind but was remembering what he had been searching for earlier in the day. “Yes.”

  She nodded then turned away.

  “And I see you’ve been very careful with the flower you received.”

  She brought the flower to her nose for the hundredth time and smiled. “Yes. I wonder how long it will last.”

  “Most flowers don’t last very long once they’ve been cut off the plant.”

  “That’s very true.”

  “They need to be fed from the plant to stay alive. Once they’re separated, it’s just a matter of time before they wilt and die.”

  She kept her eyes on the flower and nodded but the look on her face spoke volumes about her attachment to this flower.

  “You can put it in water. Perhaps that will keep it alive longer.”

  She nodded again.

  It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps they were no longer speaking of the flower, but of her. That realization quickened the blood in his veins.

  “Are you going to the Priory against your will?”

  Brighit snapped her head up and looked at him with wide eyes. “Of course not. You’re not making me go.”

  “Is it not where you wish us to bring you?”

  She swallowed loudly, as if fighting other words that wanted to come forth, before answering. “It is where I must go.”

  “I will take you wherever you want me to, Brighit. You need only ask.”

  Her bright eyes remained on him, searching his features, and his temperature rose. The moment dragged on. And the monks were lying about their guarded pepper.

  “No. I will honor my father’s agreement with the Priory and do as he bid me.”

  “You speak of honor as if you were a man.”

  “Why would a woman not have honor as well?”

  “My experience is more with woman who display their wiles and prefer to have their whims seen to than rather than to behave with dignity and go without hesitation as they are bid. You surprise me.”

  “Perhaps if I were able to reveal my heart, you would not be so surprised.”

  She had enjoyed the dancing, accepted the gift of a flower, and now sat in resolute determination to see her family bestowed with the honor of a grateful daughter who reveres her father’s wishes rather than stating her personal desires even when questioned. “I have much admiration for your stalwart attitude. I will see you arrive at the Priory unharmed and unmolested.”

  Mort’s sudden arrival made Peter’s suspicious that the man had been listening.

  “Ah, shall we see our ward gets a good night’s rest, my lord?” He stood off to one side, as if waiting to assure he had chosen his moment correctly.

  Peter rose with a heavy sigh. “Of course.”

  “I have acquired a small blanket for your comfort, my lady. Let us return.”

  “Thank you, Mort. You are very good to me.”

  She rested her hand on the little man’s arm and they headed up the hill.

  “It is my pleasure to see you comfortably settled for the night.”

  They continued on the road but Peter remained where he was, watching them. Had she just professed that she would prefer to not be taking vows at the Priory? It did seem so. Did he have any other choice for her? No. She was indeed a determined, virginal sacrifice for her family and would wear the mantle until the very end of her days no doubt.

  The idea somehow managed to enflame his desire rather than quench it. Pulling the small jar from his pocket, he swallowed down the rest of the tincture before following them to their camp. His need for sleep would go unmet again this night he’d wager.

  A short time later, Mort snored where he was curled up beside Peter, his two hands tucked between his knees for warmth. It was going to be a long night. His own stomach growled loud enough for everyone within a mile to hear. He didn’t realize the Monk’s pepper would take his appetite for food and make him forget to see to his evening meal.

  Covered with a blanket, Brighit lay a short distance beyond. She lay on her back, her hand tucked beneath her head. It made her appear not as one in sleep but one who lay patiently waiting for her lover. Peter turned away. His imagination was running amuck. Perhaps the pepper was not fresh. That must be it.

  At some point, hopefully sooner rather than later, he would acquire the fresher weed and would no longer be racked with lustful longings he could not satisfy. As long as it didn’t lessen his fighting ability or stamina on the battlefield, the herb could easily become a mainstay in his diet. It would keep his focus where it needed to be. He just needed to remember to eat.

  His stomach growled again.

  “Your stomach seems to have a mind of its own.” Brighit’s quiet comment surprised him.

  “I believed you to be asleep.”

  “I am very sensitive to the noises around me. Between your stomach and Mort’s snoring, I am unable to sleep.”

  Mort mumbled and shifted. Peter leaned in closer to see if he was awake as well.

  “I’d say he sleeps like the dead,” Brighit said.

  Peter laughed quietly. “And so he did when we were traveling alone. I thought perhaps with you nearby to guard, it would be less so.”

  She sat up and the blanket fell to her waist. He quickly looked away since he didn’t know whether she slept in her newly acquired gown or her sleep chemise. He didn’t need to know.

  “Would you like to take a walk?” Peter wanted to slap himself. Why would he ask her to come away from the only protection she actually had, when he had such a strong desire to seduce her?

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  No, Peter didn’t mind getting her alone. He shoved his urges back into his gut and rose. “Of course I wouldn’t mind.”

  She was again clothed in her night shift but sensibly kept her blanket pulled tight around her and joined him.

  “I appreciate that you are a light sleeper as well.”

  “Yes.” He agreed although he knew it was guilt and lust that kept him from sleeping. “Let us walk back toward the crest of the hill.”

  “That would be lovely. I can hear the river but don’t remember seeing it.”

  They walked in silence. At the top, she went to the right and led the way through the heather until she found a small clearing where perhaps a deer had been resting during the day. She looked to the east. “I think I can spot the river. Do you see it?”

  Peter tore his eyes away from the vision of her visible in the moonlight where her blanket had fallen off her shoulders. “Yes.” The water glistened slightly. “That is the river that runs beside the Priory.”

  She glanced back, her face in shadows. “Oh. It’s that clo
se?”

  He’d swear her expression was sad now. “It’s further than it appears from here.”

  Suddenly remembering the whistle he’d acquired for her earlier and the anticipated pleasure it would give her, he indicated the grass beneath them. “Let us sit. I have something for you.”

  He retrieved it and handed it to her. Her delighted gasp pleased him. It satisfied him that the price he’d paid in giving up his smallest dagger that usually lay hidden in his left boot was well worth it.

  “Thank you.” She put the whistle to her mouth and played a quick run up then down. “It has a wonderful tone. Is it yours?”

  “No. I bought it for you. I didn’t want to hear you were arrested for pilfering from one of the merchants in order to have your nightly concert.” The sound of her quiet laughter encouraged him. “I would have a difficult time explaining that you would have returned it if they’d only given you a few minutes to yourself.”

  The sentiment squeezed his heart. That was really all she wanted. A few minutes to herself.

  “I don’t know for certain that the nuns will allow you to keep the whistle but I knew it would give you great pleasure now.”

  “Yes. Great pleasure.”

  He stretched alongside her to enjoy the music. She played a quick little tune then smiled again. “I knew you were a great warrior but, with this, you have certainly shown yourself as my gallant knight.”

  Closing her eyes, she played a slower tune. The emotions flitted across her face, giving him a good idea of what the song was about. The blanket slipped from her shoulder and he looked again on her loveliness. Her breasts pressed against the flimsy night dress with each breath and his fingers itched to follow the swell, to let them fill his eager palms. Then following the curve of her waist, he would tuck her close against him. The feel of her firm bottom in his grasp, rocking her against him, urging her closer still.

  The music stopped and he reluctantly tore his gaze back to face her. Her expression said it all. She had caught him appraising her. Carefully placing her whistle on the ground beside her, she leaned down toward his face. Her hand moved to his chest. He pulled her gently down to accept his kiss. Timid at first, she soon relaxed her mouth and her lips parted. He deepened the kiss, nibbling her lip, stroking it with his tongue before plundering the depths of her mouth. He worked his fingers into her hair, its softness falling around him, enveloping their kiss within its tresses. When he would have pushed his advantage, his mind going over every part of her he longed to touch in vivid detail, he realized the Monk’s pepper was working. There was no responsive hardening in his groin.