The Gentle Knight (The Norman Conquest Book 2)

by Ashley York

  “I need to be inside you, Brighit.” He whispered the words, watching her reaction. He took a shaky breath. “I need it more than my next breath.”

  She dragged his hand under her gown, parting her legs for his touch.

  He worked his fingers into her soft, drenched flesh. “As do you.”

  Her moan resonated from deep inside.

  Nothing could stop him from slaking himself on this woman. Repeatedly. And the fates be damned.

  Chapter Twenty

  The wind howled against the primitive shelter that offered little more than a stool and the possibility of a fire. Peter’s scent enveloped her, adding to her overwhelming desire. His fingers stroked her, rubbing her sensitive flesh, sending ripples of pleasure through her core.

  “Have your way with me,” Brighit said. Her plea came from deep inside. Her deepest longing. Her body ached to feel him more intimately. His mouth on every inch of her. His hands igniting everywhere he touched.

  “Now, Peter.”

  Brighit’s sudden urgency was not having the desired effect. He should have lowered her to the pallet. Covered her body with his.

  Instead he withdrew and took a deep, shaky breath. Still within his arms, she opened her eyes to find him surveying her face, her body, as if he had received a precious gift and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

  “Do not stop.”

  He finally looked her in the eye. “I do not want to stop.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “This doesn’t seem—”

  “I need you... inside me.”

  His eyes rounded. “Brighit, I don’t want it to be like this for you.”

  She glanced around, noticed the cold air against her skin where he had pulled away, the dirt floor, the darkened corners. For the first time she wondered if there were rats seeking shelter nearby as well. Suddenly embarrassed, not because of the location, but because she had been so swept away by her passion. She backed out of his arms, adjusting her dress, and pulling the cloak back in place, allowing his to drop to the floor. Her face reddened with shame. She wanted him to make love to her. Still wanted it.

  She walked about the room, rubbing her arms, and felt his eyes on her. She wanted him to take her in his arms, put his hand between her legs, and stroke her again. The dampness there was near impossible to ignore. Just to have him love her one time. To know the feel of him. Like a treasured memory she could hold on to. Now she would never have that. He was correct. This was no place for them to be together.

  “Will you build us a fire?” She sounded much more in control than she felt, almost demanding. Finally she turned to face him.

  “Is that what you would have me do?” he asked. Deep lines creased his forehead.

  “No. I told you what I wanted.”

  He picked his cloak off the floor, shook it, and put it on. He moved toward her. “Brighit, I didn’t me—”

  She raised her hand.

  “No. Do not touch me again. You are correct. This is not the best place.” She turned away. “Please just make the fire if you would. It’s bitter cold in here.”

  The door shut behind her and she fell to her knees on the straw pallet. She’d acted like a wanton woman and her unquenched desire still held her in its grip. He had clarity even in his passion and she showed none.

  The scrape of his footfall at the door had her sitting on the pallet. He came in covered with snow and carrying a pile of small twigs in his arms.

  “I found a shelter almost big enough for my horse and a pile of dry kindling.” She saw his glance but she refused to look at him. “I’ll take care of him after I get the fire going.”

  He dropped the twigs into the open hearth, striking the flint by the hearth, and waited for it to catch a flame.

  “I need to bring in more wood.” He stood beside her. “”Brighit, I want to te—”

  “Do not. It is done. When the snow stops, we continue to the inn and get word to the Bishop as I have been asked to do. If you could please return me to the Priory, you can be about your duties.”

  “That is not my want.” He stared at her until she relented and turned to him. “I want you still. I did not want this,” he gestured to their surroundings, “to be the memory of our love making.”

  “Yes. I see you are concerned for me.” Her nostrils flared but she swallowed down the tears. “I understand also that I will not have another chance for such a memory.”

  “So I am to give you your memory? And then be done?” he asked.

  Her composure slipped but she refused to respond.

  “That is not to my liking either.” He left, pulling the door tightly behind him.

  “But that is the way it must be.” She rolled over, pulled the cloak tightly around her and rocked herself to sleep.

  A short time later, Peter awoke her by gathering her into his arms.

  “Hush. You sleep. Just let me hold you.” He kissed her lightly on the head.

  It felt so right in his arms. He was warm and smelled of horses and smoke. She snuggled into his chest and struggled to make words then drifted off again.

  The wind busting the door open jerked Brighit upright and out of Peter’s embrace. He slept with his back against the wall. She had been against his chest. Snow blurred her vision but there appeared to be a man standing in the doorway. She shook Peter.

  “Peter! I think someone is here.”

  “What the hell are you doing with my sister!”

  Peter pulled himself to standing, the tip of a sword pointed at his chest.

  “Answer me or I’ll run you through.”

  Brighit stood as well. “Sister?”

  Covered from head to toe with a thick coating of snow, Brighit could not make out the man. The voice was familiar.

  Peter raised his hands. “Do you know this man, Brighit?”

  “Do not be disrespectful to my sister by using her given name.”

  Brighit got up close to peer through the single opening around his face which revealed the brown eyes she knew so well. “Tadhg! What are you doing here?”

  She reached around to hug him but he refused to lower his sword. She moved to shut the door and cut off the heavy snow. It left a coating everywhere and threatened to smother the fire struggling to survive.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked again.

  “Perhaps you could tell him that you know who I am,” Peter said, his eyes on the unwavering blade.

  “Tadhg, I do know him.”

  “Yes. I could see that you know him. I want to know why that is and what is going on here.”

  Standing akimbo, she stared him down. How dare he insinuate anything about a situation of which he knew nothing. She didn’t know him, even if that was her deepest desire and she would never deny it.

  “Please lower your sword.” Her voice was low and menacing. “This is the man that offered me his protection.”

  Tadhg snorted. “Protection? He appears to have taken full advantage, dear sister.”

  Brighit fumed. “And you do not know of what you speak. That slippery uncle of ours put me in harm’s way and Pet—Sir Peter saw me to the Priory.”

  She hoped he hadn’t heard her slip.

  Tadhg lowered his sword, suspicion still etched on his face. “Yes. I found our uncle was not true to his word when I found him at the O’Brien’s.”

  “You went to the O’Brien?” Her voice rounded in sympathy. “Oh, Tadhg, why would you do such a thing?”

  Peter did not wait for the sword to drop completely before shoving Tadhg against the wall and using the same weapon against him. “Explain yourself.”

  “Peter!” She yanked on his arm where it held the sword against Tadhg’s throat. “Do not kill my brother.”

  “Did you not hear him? He insults you!”

  She threw her arms in exaggeration and half turned before stomping her foot. “Please! Desist!”

  With Tadhg’s sword grasped firmly in his hand, Peter jerked away. A stern visag
e. A man of duty. “Reveal yourself.”

  Standing as stiffly as a man about to be given his last rights, Tadhg yanked his hood off.

  Peter narrowed his eyes and peered closely as if he could decipher for himself the truth of the statement. Brighit waited, nibbling the inside of her cheek. He finally turned toward her. “I see a resemblance. Not much.”

  Peter felt an overwhelming need to deck this brother. The first words out of his mouth had been an insult to Brighit.

  “So you’ve finally shown up?” Peter crossed his arms. The sword in his grip hung like an unvoiced threat.

  This other man was no bigger than he. He could easily best him, he felt certain.

  “I’ve come to get my sister.”

  All sound ceased. Peter dare not breathe. This man could take her away from him.

  “Get her and take her where?” Peter could gut the man right here. He glanced at Brighit. She probably would not appreciate it.

  “Back to Ireland where she belongs.”

  Peter tucked in his chin for his best over-my-dead-body look. “I do not believe that is going to happen.”

  “You have no say in the matter.” Tadhg’s eyes narrowed.

  “I have every say in the matter.”

  “By what right do you—”

  “The right as her protector. While you left her in harm’s way, I saw her saf—”

  “I did not know of the dang—”

  “Stop! Allow me to speak.” She faced both men in turn before proceeding. “Tadhg, of what do you speak? I am bound for the Priory as father—how is he?”

  “He passed before you had even crossed the sea.”

  Her expression showed her deep despair and Peter longed to take her in his arms. His own father’s death had created little loss in his life. He had stronger feelings of pain from the strike of the man’s hand.

  “I am sorry for your loss, sweet Brighit.” He gently stroked her cheek but kept his distance otherwise.

  Her brother shifted.

  Peter ignored the other man. “Was he ill?”

  “He was gravely ill but he feared for my safety and sent me away.” She faced her brother. “I understand you came when you realized our uncle was a rat, but I am safe now. Pet—Sir Peter came to rescue me.”

  The man with the face of an angel crossed his own arms and turned to Peter. “Oh did he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And was some payment exchanged for his rescue?” The man’s gaze did not waver.

  Brighit’s face reddened. “Of course not.”

  Tadhg pressed his lips into a narrow line.

  Peter was hard pressed to observe Brighit’s request for his silence. Ire was working up from the depths of his gut, itching to be released. With word. With deed. With finality. Finality that would shut this man’s mouth.

  “And yet here you are. The two of you. Alone.”

  “The snow was impassable. We came in for shelter,” Brighit said.

  Peter merely cocked an eyebrow in answer.

  Brighit glanced between the two of them, shaking her head as if searching for an adequate response. Nothing would satisfy this man. Her brother. He intended to take her away from Peter. There was only one way Peter could stop him from doing the unthinkable.

  She rubbed her hands together, her mouth moving like a fish out of water. When she looked at him with pleading eyes, Peter accepted the silent request for his assistance at last.

  “You’ve sincerely no need to defend your sister’s honor.”

  Tadhg’s mouth tightened perceptibly. “I’m sure you can understand my own misgivings about believing you in this instance.”

  “Of course.” Peter glanced at Brighit. She was about to become very angry with him, but he saw no other recourse. “If I had trusted my sister’s protection to a relative who cared so little about her welfare, I’m sure I would be defensive as well.”

  Tadhg’s face turned darker and darker red with each word Peter spoke.

  “A relative that would allow her to be insulted and mistreated.”

  Tadhg’s eyes bore into Brighit who stood rigid between them. “Of what does he speak?”

  Brighit glared at Peter before answering her brother. “Fear not. Sir Peter protected me. I was not harmed or molested.”

  “What have you been subjected to? Who insulted you? I came as soon as I realized how false Ronan was.”

  “Uncle Ronan’s lackey—Ivan.”

  Tadhg took her in his arms. “Tell me he didn’t touch you.” His whispered words were spoken in sincere desperation.

  “He did not.” Peter didn’t flinch under the man’s scrutiny. “I found an innocent woman in the care of a lecherous whoreson and his men. She was an innocent who needed protection from those men. I rectified the situation.”

  Brighit looked into Tadhg’s face. “He speaks the truth. Sir Peter vowed to get me to the Priory unharmed. He never broke that vow.”

  “Did you learn why our uncle abandoned you?”

  Brighit shrugged. “No. He must have had other plans. He met with a man at the inn while we waited for the curragh to bring us over. Uncle Ronan was arguing with him, assuring him I wouldn’t be a problem. The man hid his face from me.”

  “You? He said you wouldn’t be a problem?” Peter asked. She had not been so certain earlier.

  “Well he said ‘she will not be a problem’ so I assumed it was me. I think he called him Leo-something.”

  Peter’s mind reeled, every one of his senses alert. “Leofrid?”

  Brighit lit up as if he’d guessed the right answer in some game. “Yes! That was it.”

  Peter raked his hand through his hair. Leofrid Godwinson was connected to their uncle? He’d actually met with him?

  Peter’s closest friend, John, had exiled the man to Ireland against the King’s expressed orders that if Leofrid were found to still be alive, he was to be put to death. The man was cousin to John’s wife, Rowena. Her entire family had been defeated and killed when William, Duke of Normandy, was crowned as King of England. John didn’t want to increase her loss. He’d sent him to Ireland with another thorn in his side, Abigail, a mad woman from John’s past, who was obsessed with him. They’d all believed that would be torturous enough.

  Surely Leofrid was not so well connected that he could seek support against King William in Ireland.

  “And your uncle’s man was looking for Tostig’s soldiers. I believe that is Leofrid’s father. What do you know of this uncle.”

  “Very little,” Tadhg answered for the both of them. “I don’t think my father cared for him overmuch but when he needed to get Brighit safely out of harm’s way, he called on him.”

  “And he abandoned you at first chance,” Peter said to Brighit.

  Tadhg rubbed his lower lip. “Ronan had been the one to bring our mother to the Priory. That was where my father met her. I think our mother’s clan had bad feelings with my father from that time on. She never spoke much of them even though she was Celtic royalty.”

  Peter could definitely see Brighit as royalty. It fit her.

  There were many powerful families across Ireland. If their uncle was one of the forces in Ireland still working to overthrow King William, that could pose quite a problem. A problem for Peter. A problem for Tadhg. A problem for John who had allowed him to live.

  “Did your father ever speak of the Normans or King William?”

  Tadhg smiled. “Yes! Keep them far from here! That was his most fervent wish.”

  “Do you believe he would fight against the Normans?”

  “We prefer peace but we have ties to other clans that we must support.”

  “And you said you saw Ronan with the O’Brien?” Brighit asked.

  “Yes. They were quite friendly. Roland called him a powerful man of great influence. When I realized he had abandoned you, I could not speak a single word to even question him. I left immediately. Please forgive me, sister.”

  Brighit hugged her brother in a tight embrace
. “It is forgiven. You were weighted down with many things.”

  “If he is in collusion with the Godwinson, I’d venture his deception is quite good,” Peter said.

  Tadhg dropped his head as if in preparation of something unpleasant. Peter braced himself. He could not allow Tadhg to take Brighit from him. Not now.

  “Unfortunately, Sir Peter, I cannot overlook what I saw when I came in here. You were clearly abed with my sister.”

  “Oh, Tadhg, not as you make it sound. Look at me! I am fully clothed.” She gestured to Peter. “He is fully clothed. What has happened here changes nothing in our lives. Please let it pass.”

  Tadhg faced her. One eyebrow went up. Then the other. Raising one, long finger, he pointed to an area of Brighit’s chest. She dropped her head to see at the same time Peter turned to look. The sight of one very round, very wet spot, the size of Peter’s mouth and then some, revealed the outline of her dark areola. The spot of Peter’s attentions had yet to dry with the lack of heat in the room.

  Peter expected it should be guilt that coursed through his veins at being found out but it was the tantalizing memory of that pearled nipple rubbing against his tongue that assaulted him. Desire shot to his groin.

  Brighit’s eyes met his.

  Neither spoke.

  In a different place, he would have taken her. He would have loved her the way she deserved to be loved. To worship her body—a splendid body that roused him beyond anything he’d ever known. He would have lavished his love on her until they lay sated in each other’s arms, still refusing to let go. Ever. The tightness in his groin became unbearable.

  “No defense?” Tadhg asked.

  Peter knew that tone very well. He used it himself quite often. The one where you’ve caught someone in the act and there is no denying the facts. Although it wasn’t true in this instance, the cost of denying the facts was too great. Intimate details were not to be shared. Intimate details that were certainly not regretted. Intimate details he planned to repeat at the first available moment with a much more satisfying conclusion. Why deny facts that would get him exactly what he wanted.