Chapter 15
The heavens unleashed rain in the middle of the night.
Their travels were slowed by the heavy, unrelenting downpour, which washed out the trails the carriage needed to travel.
The mood of the group quickly plummeted.
Heavy clouds pressed against them and blocked out the sun, and nights were spent huddled under leather braits that didn’t provide much warmth and never allowed their clothing to dry completely.
“A roundhouse ahead.” Terrence came back into the group of riders that halted and encircled him. He’d been sent up ahead in the hopes of finding some place dry they could rest. “’Tis a small house but no doubt hospitable.”
The men’s eyes lit up, their expressions relaxing for the first time in days. Darragh looked forward to the respite as well. He’d been avoiding Brighit again, but they needed to come to an understanding. They were bound together and could not continue this way forever.
“Will ye go ahead and see if they’ll open their doors to us?” one of the men asked, speaking loud enough to be heard over the rain pouring down around them as they stood huddled under a tree.
“I will go ahead with my bride.” Darragh glanced toward the carriage that had stopped half a wheel deep in the mud. “But ’twould probably be easier to travel by horse.”
“A cumbersome vehicle to be certain, but no doubt it gives her some comfort,” Terrence said.
Darragh bristled at the protective way he spoke of her, as if he were the husband, but he also knew she showed him no preference despite the way he spoke of her.
Terrence nodded. “And if they’ve no room for the likes of us to stay, they will certainly make room for ye and Brighit. Rest assured a warm meal would be welcome enough to us.” The others added their agreement.
Darragh appreciated the suggestion that he and his wife could use some distance from the others, but Terrence’s attitude toward Brighit still baffled him. There seemed to be nothing untoward between them, and yet…
Did his friend believe Brighit needed an ally? Against him?
“I will see to it.” Darragh opened the carriage door to find Brighit leaned against the far side, a heavy wool wrapped tightly around her. “Did ye hear the news?”
Brighit’s eyes seemed unusually bright, and her teeth were chattering as well. Immediately concerned, he pushed his way inside to kneel before her, warily raising a palm to her forehead. “Ye’re burning up with fever.”
He was struck by the fact that she was sick and hadn’t felt it necessary to tell him. How little did she think of him? He’d been more than attentive and still she held herself at a distance. Even now, she shook her head to deny the truth while her eyes drooped closed again.
“Ye most certainly are.” Over his shoulder, Darragh shouted the men into action. “Water! Start a fire as best ye can and see to some warm broth.”
Terrence moved in close to look at the two of them within the wood-sided conveyance. “What is amiss?”
“She has a fever.”
“Some of the men were not well this morning. Was it something they ate that’s sickened them?”
“I’m not sick.” The weakness of her protest belied her statement.
“If not, then why are ye soaked through in your own sweat?” He pulled off the blanket and then immediately opened her cloak, blocking the other man’s view of the curves nicely displayed through the dampened material.
“Terrence, can ye fetch a cloth for cooling her? And ask the men to set up a shelter for her. She’ll not be able to travel to the roundhouse like this. ”
“Cool? When she’s taken a fever?”
Darragh realized that wasn’t the normal procedure, but it was the only thing that made any sense to him. Why keep her bundled when she was so hot her skin was reddened? “Please do as I ask.”
A short time later, an older man came to the door with a mug of a hot brew. “A few herbs to cool her fever.” Duncan was the oldest warrior among them and, as such, much respected.
“My thanks.” Darragh held the clay vessel to her lips. She had trouble swallowing so he adjusted it until it was easier for her. “Healing herbs?”
“’Tis what my own mother would give her. The others that were sick are fine now.” Duncan remained in the entrance, his large gray mustache drooping over his turned down lips, watching them.
Darragh felt the tension working into his shoulders. “Is there something ye wish to say?”
“I wonder how long she’s been with fever.” The simple question was full of accusations. Darragh may be in command, but without question, it was Duncan whose advice he sought out most often.
Darragh brushed the dampened hair from her face and pulled at the ties to slip the mantle from her shoulders. “As do I.”
“A new husband should know these things.”
Darragh held his retort, the man was right and he had little defense. “She seeks neither my company nor my bed.”
“Nor d’ye seek hers.”
The man had an answer for everything. Darragh’s ire rose, but wisdom oft came with age. If Duncan had something to say, he’d be a fool not to listen. “I’d hoped to give her some peace.”
“Peace?” The older man spat the word out like a fish bone. “She needs coddling, not isolation.”
“I do not need protection.” Brighit mumbled even as her head lolled back, coming to a rest on Darragh’s shoulder.
Duncan and Darragh exchanged glances. “I know ye have yer work cut out for ye but seeing to the men to avoid seeing to yer own bride on yer honeyed moon is not the way to go about being a happily married man.”
Darragh wanted to ask how a man never married would know such things but knew better.
“Ye’ve left her to herself almost every night.” And the man was relentless.
“She prefers it that way.”
Duncan’s thick brow lowered. “And how d’ye know that is so?”
Done with the niceties, Darragh turned to face the man, though he was careful not to jostle Brighit awake. “Because when I did my husbandly duties, she felt it necessary to knee me in the groin for my effort. Message received, thank ye.”
Duncan’s dark brown eyes widened, and then he nearly fell to the ground laughing.
Darragh only scowled. “Ye can stop acting like an arse.”
Duncan appeared unable to stop, laughing so hard he was grabbing his sides and bending over. Terrence appeared with the cloth and cool water.
“What are ye about?” he asked of Duncan, but his eyes remained on Darragh as he lightly rubbed the cloth over Brighit’s face.
“She kneed our young man.” Duncan spat out between bouts of laughter. “Right in the balls!”
Darragh rolled his eyes. It had been a poor lapse in judgment to tell this man what had happened. He’d hoped for some bit of advice, understanding in the very least.
Terrence’s frown darkened. “Why would she do that? What did ye do to her?”
Duncan shrugged, getting himself under control, but Darragh was surprised by the question. There it was again—Terrence’s strange protectiveness toward his wife, which neither of them would explain.
“I did nothing a husband is not expected to do.” Darragh’s explanation left little room for comment. He ignored them both, turning his attention instead to Bright, who appeared to be rousing.
“I’m sorry. I am very hot. I didn’t mean to bother ye,” she said.
“What ye are is sick. This damn rain is making us all sick.”
“’Tis nothing. I’ll be fine.”
Her head rolled to the side and all three men jumped forward to catch her before she fell.
“We’d best get her some place dry,” Terrence said, and Darragh bit back a retort.
Clasping her small body in his arms, Darragh did his best to protect her from the unrelenting rain as he followed the other men, who had finished setting up a small lean-to for her.
The fire within cast a gentle glow and the men had made a heap of whatever dry material they could find and covered it with a heavy fur for a makeshift pallet.
Darragh removed her soaked mantle before gently laying her down. Duncan retreated with the others while Terrence handed him a freshly cooled cloth.
“She’s pale, Darragh.” He spoke loudly to be heard above the rain.
“I can see that.” Darragh struggled to keep the irritation out of his voice. Her dark eyelashes against her cheeks made her look even more vulnerable. He felt his own failure miserably. It was his job to look out for her.
“Terrence? Check the accommodations at the roundhouse. I need to get her some place dry come morning.”
His friend left without a question, closing the flap to their makeshift alcove, leaving them alone together. Brighit’s clothing was damp and he worked at the ties, loosening her outer gown until he could work it off her. She lay there in her chemise, vulnerable and pale.
Supporting her head, Darragh held the cup to her mouth until she had finished the warm drink. When he dipped the cloth into the water and rubbed it along her neck and chest, Brighit still didn’t stir.
He refreshed the cloth, “Ye have my sympathy.”
“No. No sympathy.”
Darragh snorted, working the cloth beneath the neckline to cool her breast. “I did not say ye deserved my sympathy, only that ye have it.”
“I do not want it.”
His hand stopped midway to the bowl of water.
Her words cut him to the quick, but it struck him with sudden clarity why she didn’t want him caring for her.
Even in her weakened state, she would behave as if she disliked him?
How she’d hate him caring for her. With sudden clarity he realized it was a lie.
She needed him, but she didn’t want to need him. It was her damn pride.
He thought back over these past two years, how easy it had always been to bait her. How her eyes would flash with resentment when he selected the best meat for her, offering it to her on his own dagger. How very irritating she was to him… and how much he wanted her.