Chapter 22 #2
When they entered the great hall, Darragh avoided looking at her directly but kept her in his sight. He didn’t want her to notice him studying her too intently. He set his troubling thoughts aside, trying to focus instead on the numerous foodstuffs being set upon the trestle table.
“Ye’re busy I see.” His words were for his mother, who was watching over the servants. He kissed her on the cheek.
“Welcome back, son.” The source of her obvious irritation was quickly revealed when Darragh saw Brighit standing with his father.
Her proud demeanor, even dressed in trews and a man’s mantle, took his breath away. She was beautiful. Her shoulders back, her chin high, her long hair hanging down her back.
“And aren’t ye smitten with yer little she-warrior.”
“Hush.” Darragh turned an angry face at his mother, only to realize she was teasing him. “Do not call her that.”
“Never. I would have thought ye’d prefer a milder woman, who ye wouldn’t have a constant battle of wills with.” She searched his face. “Clearly I was wrong.”
Tipping her head, Tisa returned to the kitchen to check on the rest of the meal.
Darragh crossed his arms about his chest, his eyes intent on Brighit now that she no longer returned his gaze. It was as if she’d entranced him with that very first kiss. Could he have ever thought, even in passing, that a calmer woman would be more pleasing? More the fool was he.
“Father.” Darragh smiled at his father, bracing himself to glance at Brighit, praying his feelings were well hidden. He needed that stoic facade now more than ever. “Brighit.”
He kissed his wife’s cheek, his hand lingering on her arm. She seemed to sag against him as if in relief. He lowered his voice. “How fare ye?”
Her eyes downcast, she merely shook her head that she was not well.
Darragh turned to his father, his brows lifted in supplication. “Father, I believe Brighit and I have some unpacking to do. If ye’ll excuse us?”
When his eyes finally fell on the third figure who’d approached the trestle table, the realization that it was Seigine set his anger ablaze. Though he didn’t understand the depth of the man’s involvement, Darragh didn’t trust him. He knew, at the very least, that the man had lied to him.
“Seigine.” Darragh forced the acknowledgement out between tight lips.
“Of course,” Tadhg said.
Seigine paused, his eyes looking at Brighit far too intimately before he noticed Darragh’s scowl. “Of course. We will speak later. Brighit?”
She mumbled something without meeting the man’s eyes and turned, but Darragh quickly wrapped his arm around her so that they left together as if nothing were untoward. Brighit trembled beneath his arm.
“Did the man say something to upset ye?”
She simply shook her head, but when she finally met his eyes, his concern only increased. As soon as they reached the privacy of his room, he pulled her into his arms. She was stiff in his arms.
“Tell me what upsets ye.”
She tugged away and sat on the edge of their bed, her eyes cast downward.
“Brighit. Look at me.” He spoke with a coaxing tone, lifting her chin with a gentle touch. When she obeyed, her light skin was without blemish. His relief was so great, he slid the side of his finger along its softness. “What is amiss? Exhaustion again?”
She simply nodded. He carried the sack of their belongings to the bed. “Mayhap ye have the strength to help me sort through our things?”
Brighit nodded, standing beside him as it was all dumped on the bed. Folding this and shaking out that, she seemed to be far off in her thoughts. Darragh reached for the powder.
“D'ye wish to still keep this?” He held the jar up.
Brighit’s eyes widened with concern and she quickly searched his expression, appearing quite afraid. His heart lurched. He didn’t want to see fear on her lovely face.
“It matters little to me except that ye have no longer been wearing it, which I greatly appreciate.”
He paused, but her eyes kept their roundness as if she feared what he might say.
“Ye can keep it in here if ye prefer.” He put it back in the sack, keeping his eyes downcast. “I did not think ye needed it anymore.”
“Darragh.”
His breath shuttered and he closed his eyes, sending up a prayer that she would open her heart to him and share what had happened.
He slowly lifted his gaze to her, struggling to maintain that stoic demeanor. “What is amiss?”
Brighit nibbled at her thumb, her eyes darting away. “I do not need the powder. Ye are right. If ye did not like it, I should not wear it.”
His nostrils flared, but he held back his disappointment at her lack of trust. Locking the uncomfortable feelings away, he simply nodded.
And yet she did not continue unpacking as if nothing had happened. Rather, she sat on the side of the bed, her eyes unfocused. He swallowed, trying to appear disinterested as he fiddled with this and that, waiting to see if she would speak freely at last.
“The powder came from far away, where a woman’s beauty is judged by how pale she appears.
It covers everything. They use powder to make themselves more beautiful.
” Brighit seemed to be talking to herself, so he didn’t respond.
“They treat the women as if they will break apart if touched too harshly.” A sob brought him closer to her.
“Their women would never dare to confront a man, or… try to defend herself against one bent on hurting her.”
Darragh’s heart broke for the pain in her scrunched-up face when she started to cry. He took her in his arms ever so gently, lifting her from the bed.
“Shhh. I have ye now. Ye’re safe with me.”
She pressed her face into his chest, rubbing it back and forth. “I am a stupid girl, thinking I could see to my own defense.”
The tension fell away from Darragh. She had put to words what he needed to know, but a new sense of purpose rose in his gut. He would protect her. He would avenge her. “Ye are fine with me now. Ye can do more than any other women I know.”
Pulling back, her tear-stained, blotchy face crushed him. “I can do very little. D'ye not see that?”
“No. I see ye can do much. Brighit?” He swallowed, attempting to pull back on the skepticism that had crept into his tone.
He didn’t want to offend, he wanted her to stop berating herself.
“Ye are not a man, but ye have great ability and skill. ’Tis plain.
No one can argue that. If a man was stronger than ye and hurt ye, ’twas not a fair fight. ”
She wiped at her tears. “I was wrong to think I could defeat any man.”
“I’ve seen ye defeat many men.” He wanted to shake her, make her realize how very special she was to him, but even more importantly he wanted the name of the man who’d dared to hurt her. “Tell me who bested ye?”
“He knocked me off my horse.” Her eyes darted away as if again seeing the fight.
“I couldn’t breathe when I hit the ground.
He was livid. He would have taken out his anger on me.
But I couldn’t let him discover I was a woman.
” What could have happened next hung in the air between them, each knowing what he would have done. “I couldn’t let him find out.”
Darragh was beside himself, struggling with what to do, what to say, how much to comfort her. He needed to hear this story in full, however, so he locked his jaw tight, his hands fisted at his sides.
She turned toward him, but not seeing him. “He was massive and his expression was so cruel. I thought—” She looked away, a great sob heaving her chest. “I could best him because I was faster but he showed me how wrong I was.”
Brighit hugged her self tightly, gazing toward the ceiling as if seeing the sky.
“He laughed at me and shoved me away when he could have ended me right there. A fair fight and he gave me a second chance, taunting me.” She dropped her gaze to Darragh.
“He knocked me down and got on top of me. He beat me with his fists and… and I could do nothing.”
She covered her face, her shoulders heaving but no sound coming out of her as she broke down.
He took her in his arms while her body was wracked with sobs. Compassion for her heightened his need to defend her. So close to getting the name of the man, he smoothed down her hair as if she were a child. Brighit shook her head, defeated.
He spoke in a tight whisper. His anger barely contained. “Tell me who did this.”
“It was Cathair.” Her words erupted on a sob. “Cathair beat me… and I killed him for it.”