The Gentle Knight (The Norman Conquest Book 2)

by Ashley York

  She pulled back slightly and opened her eyes. She smiled. A smile that spoke of a thousand longings. Longings never realized. Longings that result in a lifetime of regret. Longings tucked deep inside the heart. “Now I will go into the Priory with the knowledge of a man’s lips against mine, a very handsome man. A man I could have loved. And every time I sneak away to play my whistle, I will remember this night. I will remember you.”

  Collecting the whistle, she rose and headed back the way they’d come. Peter followed her back. There was nothing left to be said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By mid-day they were walking again. After waiting most of the morning for the man with the carriage to get underway, they were only slightly closer to the Priory. They probably could have walked that far if they’d left when Peter had wanted to. Mort resumed his idle chatter no doubt to try and initiate a conversation. The lack of response appeared not to affect him at all. His constant talking only increased Peter’s irritation.

  “Enough, Mort,” Peter finally bellowed. “There is nothing wrong with walking in silence. You do not need to keep up that incessant babbling. Please!”

  “Why, I never bab—”

  An object whistled by the man’s head. An arrow. He ducked for cover. Peter grabbed Brighit and veered into the gully beside the road. He landed with her safely beneath him.

  Mort dragged himself by his elbows to where Peter lay.

  “Where did it come from?” Peter asked.

  “I saw nothing, my lord.”

  “And I heard nothing.” Peter’s irritation was not well checked, inwardly cursing Mort’s non-stop talk. It made awareness of his surroundings near impossible.

  Mort jerked his head toward him. “Since when is a warrior not able to hear his enemy?”

  “When there is too much noise around him. You are never quiet.”

  “I am not to blame. You had other things crowding your mind.”

  “I’m having trouble breathing.” Brighit’s muffled voice interrupted the squabble.

  Peter looked beneath him and into her wide, brown eyes. He shifted just enough that she could take a breath, still using his body to shield her.

  “Thank you.” She shoved her hair out of her face.

  Peter had taken her down pretty hard. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her expression betrayed her fears despite the brave words.

  “And I plan to keep it that way,” Peter said.

  Mort lifted his head just over the rise. Another arrow flew past, landing just beyond them. Peter grabbed it, bringing it close to his face. “It’s not well made.”

  “It didn’t miss my head by that much, my lord.” Mort had pulled his hat off. His feather drooped awkwardly. Its quill sliced in two. “Not much at all.”

  “They can’t be soldiers. Or they’d have shown themselves by now.”

  Mort lifted his hat above the rise as bait. Another arrow hit with deadly accuracy, ripping it from his hand. It landed to the other side of Mort.

  “What type of feather is that?”

  “OH! It looks like a parrot feather,” Brighit said.

  Both men turned and looked at her.

  “See the green here?” She pointed at the line of solid green mixed in with the brown along the flat end of the arrow.

  “I’d say there are at least two with bows. One shooting from the left. One from the right. Maybe three feet between them.”

  “Who’s to say there are not more?”

  Peter raised a finger to his lips. In the silence was the distinct sound of approaching horses.

  “More back up arriving?”

  Another arrow landed just short of where they lay hidden behind a slight rise in the ground.

  “If they move in any closer, we will be at their mercy,” Peter said.

  Mort rolled onto his back. “So what do we do?”

  A high screech pierced the air just ahead of the horses’ arrival. Dirt sprayed them from the road where at least one horse was pulled up short not far from them. Other horses could be heard from further away. Peter readied his sword and braced himself for the attack. It was never good to go in with brandished swords when the number of attackers was unknown, but he had no choice.

  “Ready?” Peter asked Mort.

  Brighit cowered beneath him. Another high screech pierced the air. Her eyes widening with the sound.

  “I will protect you.”

  “Sir Peter,” a familiar voice called to him. “Reveal yourself.”

  “Is that—”

  The war cry erupted again and it seemed to be coming from the same area as the arrows had. Mort dragged himself in the direction of the sound and snuck a peak above the hill.

  “Ha!” Mort turned to Peter and smiled. He stood up before Peter could stop him.

  “What are you doing?” Peter spoke with a clenched jaw.

  Instead of being pierced, Mort waved then turned and smiled at him. “It’s our Scottish friends.”

  “Your attackers have been disarmed,” the voice he now recognized as Niall called to him again.

  “Do you think I can get up now?”

  Peter immediately released her and stood, pulling her up behind him until he could assess the situation. Aldred and Lachlann had their swords trained on Brighit’s would-be protectors as they forced them to their knees. Their poorly made bows on the ground.

  “Methinks you were under attack,” Niall offered from where he stepped to stand beside his horse, a grin across his young face.

  Peter pressed his lips together. He was in his debt. “Yes. So you’ve saved us.”

  “Give me any reason.” His voice was low and menacing.

  “It appears I have,” Niall said to Peter. He raised one eyebrow in a questioning what-are-you-going-to-give-me-for-it look.

  “My thanks.” Peter tried for finality in the statement.

  Apparently Niall missed it since he was now focused on Brighit.

  “And how are you, fair lady?” The redhead bestowed what was more than likely his most charming smile and bowed deeply, as if he were greeting the Queen.

  Brighit shifted her dress back into proper place and pushed her hair over her shoulders before answering. “I am well. Thank you for your assistance.”

  Lachlann made quick work of tying Cole and Andrew’s hands. They jerked their arms as if to pull away but Aldred adjusted his blade closer to their throats.

  “How did you happen upon us? Is this just a coincidence?” Peter asked.

  “You are a suspicious one. Of course this was not planned.” Niall tipped his head toward his friend. “Aldred, go get the man his horse.”

  Lachlann held his blade against Ivan’s throat, a murderous glint in his eye. Aldred disappeared into the woods.

  “My horse?”

  Aldred quickly returned with Roman, handling him by his lead.

  “Yes, we came upon him in the woods a day ago. Still saddled—” Niall explained. “We searched for any signs of you but found nothing. The palfrey was nowhere to be found either. I’ve never met a warrior yet who would willingly part with his mount.”

  “And you still haven’t.” The horse snorted in recognition. Peter stroked his warm, soft nose. The rest of his items seemed intact. “Look at you. Did you try to find me?”

  It had crossed Peter’s mind that Cole and Andrew’s horse abilities must be great. Anyone able to stop his horse from retuning must have good horse skills.

  “Not a chance he could have returned.” Aldred pulled a black cloth from his belt. “He had this over his head.”

  Snatching the black sack, Peter stalked past Aldred and shoved it in Ivan’s face. “Is this what you did to keep him from returning to me?”

  Peter grabbed him by the tunic. Ivan turned his head, straining against Peter’s unyielding grip.

  “You son of a whore. You bully women and animals?” Peter pulled back his fist, landed it squarely on the man’s jaw, and released his hold. Ivan fell on his
arse with the force of the movement. “You’re a sorry excuse for a man.”

  Aldred smiled. He shifted Ivan to his knees and grabbed back his hands to tie him up.

  Peter returned to stand beside Niall. His anger still simmering.

  “So what will we do with them now?” Lachlann glanced at Niall.

  “Whatever the Norman says to do with them.”

  The three Scots turned toward Peter.

  His anger was still simmering. He moved around the men now kneeling before him. “Have you any defense for attacking us?”

  “Taking back my property,” Ivan scowled at Brighit.

  Peter tensed. He would enjoy breaking the man’s nose with his fist. He glanced toward Brighit not doubting she felt the same.

  “What say you, Lady Brighit? What will we do with them?”

  She gritted her teeth and walked up to the man. With an open hand, she slapped the little man so hard he tipped over. Unable to right himself, they all watched Ivan struggle and sputter incoherent threats.

  Her determination gave her a fierce forced-to-be-reckoned-with look and a great sense of satisfaction swelled inside Peter. He crossed his arms about his chest. Brighit had stood up for herself and her anger did not seem assuaged yet.

  “Who do you think you are to speak of me as your property?”

  Ivan had managed to sit upright. He glared at her but refused to answer.

  “Have you received satisfaction?” Peter addressed Brighit. The small group waited on her command. It was that revelation, no doubt, that put a huge smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.

  “I have. If he is imprisoned, I will have even greater satisfaction.”

  Peter fought to keep a straight face. “Unfortunately, there is a definite lack of laws as well as prisons in the area.” He took Brighit’s place in front of Ivan. It was time to see this matter dealt with. “I’m still waiting to hear an answer.”

  “So you’ll beat an unarmed man?” Ivan sneered.

  “Man?” Peter spit on the ground.

  Cole finally spoke up. “I have no grievance with you, my lord.”

  “Oh, my lord, now?”

  Cole had the grace to look embarrassed. “My lord, my friend and I are simple men for hire. We have no grievance with you and will be happy to allow you to pass without further incident, with or without the young lady.”

  “Allow him?” Niall’s voice cracked. “Ha! You are in no position to be allowing anyone to do anything.”

  Andrew looked away tight lipped.

  “So you wish us to let you go? And you’ll just go about your life as if this never happened?” Lachlann asked.

  “Yes!” Andrew’s quick answer was accompanied by an ever-so-hopeful expression.

  Cole rolled his eyes, shaking his head as if to say his friend was an idiot.

  “No, that’s not going to happen,” Peter said. “Niall, can we speak?”

  “Keep your eyes on these three,” Niall directed Lachlann and Aldred then followed Peter a short distance away.

  “What are you thinking?” Niall asked, speaking in conspiratorial tones.

  Peter smiled. “I am in no position to enforce anything. It will be up to you to see these men get what they deserve.”

  “Do you know of any reason they would be attacking you? Is it really because of the girl?” Niall let his gaze wander over Brighit.

  Peter clenched his hand into a fist at his side. “She may be part of some bigger plan.”

  “She is well worth the trouble.” Niall stroked his bottom lip with his thumb.

  Peter grasped him by the tunic and jerked his face in close. “Do not speak so of the lady. I have a very long memory and you do not want me as your enemy. Do you understand?”

  Niall quickly hid his alarm with a smirk. “I believe I understand completely.” When Peter released him, he adjusted his tunic, and glanced at the others. “Luck was with you that my friends didn’t notice you handling me so... or surely they’d have ripped your balls off. No harm. But I believe we do have an understanding. A Norman as an ally may work out well for me if I ever again travel too far south.”

  Peter clenched his teeth but he nodded.

  “Good. So perhaps we should see our slimy friends back to the coast and give them a shove off?”

  Peter relaxed and smiled. “I think that sounds about right. Any sign of the carriage?”

  “We caught sight of those three as they were coming from the market. They stood out because they weren’t on the path, they cut right across the glen and into the woods on foot.” He pointed to the trees. “You are actually lucky we kept our horses hidden. If we’d walked, we’d never have been here in time to save the day.”

  Niall’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Peter refused to drop his stoic stance. The mild cocker already had one up on him. He didn’t need to confirm that he liked the lad.

  “So how will we do this? I have three people but only one horse now.”

  The redhead paused and rubbed his thumb along his lip. When he turned on him with wide-eyed enthusiasm, Peter knew he was not going to like his answer. “I’ll go with you and we’ll both take a rider. Lachlann and Aldred will have to walk the prisoners back to their horses.”

  “That will work. Mort and Brighit,” Peter said, walking toward his horse, “we’re continuing on to the Priory.”

  Niall trotted into the woods, returning after a short time with the Scots horses. He mounted his black horse in one easy sweep of his leg and urged it toward Brighit. He bent over and reached his arm out to her. “Might I give you a hand up?”

  “What?” Brighit’s confusion was evident. “What are we doing?”

  Peter sighed and closed the distance between them. “They’re bringing your ‘guardians’ back to the coast. We need one of them to ride with us so we can have two to a horse.”

  He glanced over at Niall’s cocky smirk and his blood boiled. “Lachlann! Your horse looks sturdier, what say you come with us and let your leader... lead.”

  Niall caught his jaw before it dropped to his chest then smiled. “As you wish, Sir Peter.”

  Lachlann led his horse to the little group, stopping in front of Peter.

  “You take Mort.”

  “What? No! You take Mort.”

  Mort shifted his feet beside Peter.

  “It will be better if he is with you.”

  “If you wish me to be of assistance, then I will gladly accept Brighit on my horse. She is smaller.”

  Peter glanced at Mort who was shooting daggers. “Very well. Get up here, Mort.”

  Peter soothed his mount and tried not to notice the way Lachlann leaned his strong arm toward Brighit. Or the way she grabbed it and was pulled effortlessly to sit sideways in front of him.

  An arm on either side of her, Lachlann pulled his reins to catch up with Peter. After seeing Brighit wrapping her arm around the man’s side and the man’s grin of satisfaction, Peter refused to look again. When Mort started to wrap his arms around Peter’s middle from where he sat behind him, Peter swatted at his arms.

  “Use your legs man!”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Peter would not have believed his irritation could get any worse until this moment. He felt ready to burst. A jiggling movement behind him that felt suspiciously like suppressed laughter gave him an ideal outlet for his anger.

  “Enough.” The command came in a menacingly low tone. “I see no humor in this situation.”

  A few minutes later, it started again. Peter pulled up his horse and jumped to the ground. He pierced Mort with his look then crossed over to Lachlann and Brighit. The man had moved his reins to one hand so his other arm could wrap around Brighit’s waist. Peter closed the distance and reached up to remove a startled Brighit.

  “Lachlann, can you see that your friends have everything in hand?”

  A questioning frown crossed the man’s face before he said, “Aye.”

  Peter fought for composure before facing Brighit. He
r concern was apparent. Mort stood a few feet away, shaking his head.

  “Can you give us a moment?”

  Mort’s shocked look gave Peter pause. To hell with the man. He wanted to speak to Brighit alone. He waited until Mort withdrew to the forest edge.

  “What is wrong? You seem very upset. Did you get hurt by the arrows?”

  “What? Certainly not.” He took her hands lightly in his, rubbing his thumb across the soft flesh of her palms. They were warm and he had the urge to place one against his cheek. He dropped her hand and took a step back. “I wanted to be sure you were not overwrought by having to ride with Lachlann.”

  “Why—oh, because of the earlier situation? That was all Ivan. They all flirted with me—mercilessly—but Lachlann was nothing but sweet.”

  Sweet? Another screw turned into the pit of his stomach. “So you have no qualms?”

  “It was Niall that Ivan offered to sell me to. That’s preposterous. The lad knows you can’t buy a woman. If he had said yes...”

  She would not be with him now. The screw turned tighter.

  “They were not proper with you.”

  Brighit tipped her head as if considering his words. “You are right but Lachlann was the least improper. He reminds me of the lads who courted me at home.”

  His gut wrenched and his breath ceased. “But that is not who he is.”

  “You are correct. And this is not home.”

  Her fleeting sadness shoved against his tension. He hadn’t meant to make her sad. “You will probably arrive at your destination this very night.”

  A horse came up behind him but Peter ignored Lachlann, his eyes intent on Brighit.