Chapter 11
Brighit had been dreaming of her own bed, but it was her husband who roused her from sleep. She groaned, and her eyes flew open. He was leaning over her, a hand on either side of her head, and a knowing smile on his face.
“Were ye dreaming of me?” His voice barely a whisper.
When he leaned closer to kiss her, covering her with his body, Brighit couldn’t take a breath. She panicked, shoving at his chest. “No!”
He yanked back, quite a far distance, and she realized he’d moved more than a knee’s length away. His expression of confusion quickly shifted to irritation. “Get yerself ready. We need to be off.”
Darragh left the room, stopping barely short of slamming the heavy wooden door closed.
The tears came fast and hard. Her dream had been so sweet—she’d been lying across his chest and kissing him back.
Sweet, tender kisses that sent all kinds of delicious sensations throughout her body.
She remembered wanting him to take her again.
But just now, he had been too close to her.
She’d felt trapped. Jumping up from the bed, she quickly bathed in the cold water from the pitcher then dressed.
The last thing she wanted to do was to anger him more by making him wait for her.
When Brighit entered the inner bailey cloaked in her heavy mantle, she was surprised by the number of mounted men gathered there. Darragh approached, the reins of his horse held loosely in his hands.
“Ye’ll ride in the carriage, hidden and well-guarded by my men.”
It was then that she noticed the small wood-sided conveyance.
Attached to a single horse, it could probably hold two people in close proximity.
For once, she eagerly embraced the notion of traveling in a carriage.
She required time to herself, time to think.
Her earlier reaction to Darragh had come from some irrational fear and that did not sit well with her.
She hoped he wouldn’t share what she’d done, for the men would certainly see it as cowardice as well.
No doubt another woman would care very little if the men saw her as a coward, but to Brighit, there was no worst label.
“Let me help ye in.” Darragh joined his hands, fingers locked, for her to use as a step up into the carriage. It swayed like a ship on a sea and she couldn’t sit quickly enough.
His hands on either side of the door frame, he leaned in to look around the inside. “Seems a comfortable enough way to pass the day, would ye agree?”
She tightened her jaw, disgusted with the fact that she wanted to agree wholeheartedly with him. To be in here? Away from prying eyes? Alone to ponder how best to handle the situation? A godsend! “’Twill be most pleasant, I’m certain.”
He tipped his head, his eyes narrowing the slightest bit. “D'ye still wear the powder on yer face?”
Brighit’s bruises seemed even more prominent today, so she’d had no choice. “I do.”
She didn’t dare offer any more information but prayed he would let it go rather than question her. Her own father always insisted her mother was beautiful enough without adding foreign concoctions to her skin. Surely Darragh did not feel that way about her looks.
Ye are exquisite, wife.
The unexpected memory of his words sent a ripple of longing through her. If only the horrible thing she’d done didn’t stand between them…
“I do not remember ye wearing it before our wedding.”
Brighit shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Is there a reason a married lass would choose to wear it? I remember ye having lovely, soft skin.”
Her breath caught at the kind sentiment and she lowered her eyes. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed her at all. He’d always stood there at his father’s side with a stoic, untouchable look, ever the obedient warrior.
He must have read her reaction as uneasiness because his face hardened, and he drew back. “No matter.”
He closed the door to the carriage and soon they were on their way.
The group stopped mid-day for a fortifying meal, resting for a time before resuming their journey. There was some talk about the order in which they’d relay the message to the various kings. If she hadn’t been beset by her own concerns, she would have looked forward to seeing these new sights.
Watching the men on their horses from inside the carriage, she realized it was her conveyance that was dragging out the undertaking.
On horseback, they could have easily made their first destination within a few days’ ride.
The men’s decision to continue through the night made her feel even guiltier.
They were accommodating her presence. But when the time came to finally stop and rest, she was more than ready to quit the confining space.
Darragh’s men saw to the setting up of their camp while he came to assist her.
“Are ye stiff from yer ride?”
Brighit forced herself to straighten as they walked away from the carriage. The pain across her body was near unbearable today. “A bit, I’m afraid. I am usually much more active.”
“Traipsing around dressed as a lad, if I remember correctly.”
Her sharp gaze took in his teasing smile and she relaxed. He referred to when he’d caught her with the lads a year earlier, not her misadventure with her uncle the night before her wedding.
“Yer threats certainly saw an end to that.” She was too tired and sore to hide her irritation with him.
“So yer brother saw the error of his ways?” He was undaunted. “Shame on him for putting the daughter of the overking at such risk at all.”
Brighit glared at him.
“Not to mention my betrothed.” Darragh’s expression softened and he stroked a fingertip along her jawbone, his voice quieter. “Even with the ash on this face, yer loveliness could not be denied.”
She swallowed, not sure how to respond. The other lasses were often complimented by lads currying favor with them, begging for time in their presence, but she’d had none of that.
“I like the powder even less than the ash. I would prefer ye not use it.” He watched her eyes, glancing from one to the other. “Will ye fight me on that as well?”
Fight him? Brighit couldn’t hold his gaze. He spoke of the bedding, of course, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how to explain what she didn’t understand herself. Not without telling him what she was still not ready to tell.
“I prefer it on occasion.” When the bruises faded, she would have no further use for the disgusting stuff.
His eyes were on her. She could feel his gaze boring into her, as though judging her defiant.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Ye have been most kind to me.”
“And why would I not.” He stepped closer, raising her face so she could no longer avoid him. He studied her intently before he spoke again. “I have taken ye to wife… and ye have taken me to husband.”
More teasing. She smiled at the reminder of her earlier words.
“Ah, a genuine smile. I would like to see more of that.”
When his gaze dropped to her lips, she knew he wanted to kiss her.
She wanted the same. The heat pouring from him was intense, but then she recognized the look of resignation crossing his face.
Instead of kissing her, he reached for the sack beside him and said, “I need to see to my duties. I will return for ye.”
Her heart sank, even more so because Darragh didn’t look at her again before slipping off.
She wiped away the tears dripping down her cheeks, her palms came away white from the powder.
Glancing around, she realized he had taken her belongings with him, including the powder.
The lads who’d stayed behind were going about their business, none of them paying her any attention.
“Darragh?”
“He’s gone off to catch our supper,” Terrence emerged from the woods, his arms loaded with twigs and dried leaves. “Is there something ye need?”
He bent down to the ground to start the fire, giving her only a cursory glance.
What could she do? Darragh had just said he’d prefer she not to wear the powder. It seemed rebellious to now ask for it.
Terrence finally faced her, the fire catching nicely before him. He looked like he was about to speak, but he frowned instead.
“What—?” He crossed the distance between them and wiped along her cheekbone. She winced in pain. “How did ye get these bruises?”
Brighit turned away, draping her hair alongside her cheek to hide herself from him.
“Not Darragh.” Terrence appeared to be making a statement, but then he moved up close, turning her face to the light. “Tell me it was not Darragh who did this to ye.”
She could tell he believed it to be true—but was desperate for her to prove him wrong. He searched her eyes.
“Of course not,” she said immediately, her tone sharp. Her mind frantically searched for an excuse. “I am… susceptible to hives, and when they clear, they leave my skin… marred. I usually cover it with powder until it fades.”
His brows slashed down and he nodded, but she could read his disbelief. Terrence, whom she had only ever seen smiling and teasing, looked ready to do someone harm.
She grabbed at his arm, imploring him with her eyes. “Please. That is all it is. Let it go.”
The sound of the hunting party returning put Brighit in a panic.
If Terrence could see the bruises, others, including Darragh, would see them, too, and then…
and then she’d have to explain here and now in front of everyone.
Her lips quivered. She would prefer to explain the situation to her husband before sharing the truth with anyone else.
With a start, she realized she wanted Darragh to tell her what to do.
When had she decided his council was worth seeking?
“Terrence,” Darragh called to the man.
“Oh dear,” Brighit said, turning from the fire.
“Go back to the carriage, I will find the powder and bring it to ye.” Terrence’s whisper was followed by a gentle shove in the right direction.
“Where is Brighit off to?” Darragh held up the sack. “I have her things here.”