Conveniently Wed to the Viking Page 17

  The warmth drained out of his eyes, leaving her chilled. ‘That is your choice, but never say that I refused you the option of remaining behind on dry land.’

  * * *

  While Sandulf took Vanora outside for some exercise, her aunt came in and inspected the bedding. The older woman proclaimed that the marriage had been well and truly consummated and, in a lower voice, she told Ceanna that with luck she might not have to endure such a traumatic night again.

  ‘Did Brother Mattios leave anything behind, Aunt?’ Ceanna asked in desperation, trying to halt the awkward conversation about her marriage rites, and to stop from spilling her heart out about her worries. ‘Anything at all for you to look after?’

  ‘Why do you keep asking about Brother Mattios, Ceanna? He has nothing to do with you or your new husband.’ Her aunt peered at her hard.

  ‘Does he have any personal possessions? Anything that might give a clue to his previous life? Are you sure he is everything he said he is? I’d like to question him myself, but that is impossible.’ Ceanna put her hands against her eyes and tried to think rapidly. It was a gamble, but she had to follow her instinct and show Sandulf she could assist him before he ordered her to stay behind.

  ‘Why are you obsessed with Brother Mattios, Niece?’ She blew out a breath of air. ‘He came from Jarrow, St Bede and Benedict Biscop’s old monastery. We were fortunate he decided to favour us and stay, rather than returning to his former home.’

  ‘And he left, claiming that a Northman assassin would arrive.’ Ceanna reviewed the situation. ‘As my new husband is a Northman and the only one to arrive recently, something which no one should be bothered about, naturally I wonder why a monk felt the need to flee. And now I consider it, it is highly unusual for a monk from Northumbria to travel so far north. Why did he leave Jarrow?’

  ‘Because he did.’ Her aunt waved a hand. ‘It is uncommon for a monk to change orders, but he said he admired the way I ran this double monastery and had created a place of such contemplation.’

  ‘Why did he come here in the first place?’

  ‘He had heard rumours of our library. Less extensive than the one at Jarrow, of course, but we’ve one or two excellent manuscripts. The Kings of Strathclyde, particularly King Aed’s father, were generous benefactors.’

  Ceanna raised her brow. Her aunt wore the same expression her mother had done when she was trying to get Ceanna to believe in heroes who would rescue her. ‘Humour me, Aunt, and I won’t bother you about this again. I will leave with Sandulf and start my new life well away from here.’

  Her aunt’s sigh reverberated off the walls. ‘When a person dedicates his or her life to the order, they give their possessions away. We take a vow of poverty, Ceanna dear.’

  ‘But you have the tapestries from Dun Ollaigh, The ones my mother said you always loved even as a child. I spied them in your room earlier.’

  Her aunt’s mouth flattened into a thin white line. ‘What are you trying to imply? Perhaps it is as well you decided not to join my order. Your trouble with obedience continues to astonish.’

  ‘When did he suggest taking the late King’s children away from this place of safety?’ she asked, trying another tack. ‘After my father’s messengers arrived? Or before?’

  For the first time, her aunt appeared uneasy. ‘I suppose it was after, now that you mention it.’

  ‘Shall we ask them?’ Ceanna straightened her gown, enjoying the rush of confidence. She gave her aunt her best imperious stare. ‘I assume they have not vanished in the night.’

  Her aunt was the first to look away. ‘I will summon them to my scriptorium. It would not be suitable here in this bedchamber.’

  * * *

  The scriptorium smelt of ink, vellum and dust. The area was now vacant except for Ceanna and Sandulf with Vanora at their feet. Ceanna had gone and discovered him in the physic garden once her aunt had agreed to the meeting with the guards. Although Sandulf was impatient to leave and return to Northumbria, he did agree to wait until Ceanna had finished her enquiries. Her stomach knotted. Her gamble had to be right.

  She heaved a sigh of relief when one of the guards—one of her father’s more faithful retainers—entered in her aunt’s wake. He immediately knelt before Ceanna.

  ‘My lady! Good that you are well. We heard rumours. Then you refused to speak to us and insisted on marrying a heathen. I feared the worst.’

  ‘I’ve married. But my husband is a good man, Ecgbert.’

  He gave Sandulf a wary look and said in Pictish. ‘Is he really a good man? Did you do this of your own free will?’

  ‘One of the best,’ Ceanna replied in Gaelic, aware that Sandulf was trying to follow the conversation. His Pictish had improved, but he still had some way to go.

  ‘Your stepmother will be unhappy,’ the guard continued in Pictish. ‘She is a very determined woman. She desired this match between you and Captain Feradach.’

  ‘My aunt has given us her blessing.’ Ceanna marvelled that she could say the words without her voice trembling. ‘I hope I can count on your loyalty to me and my new husband.’

  ‘We are loyal to you and your father.’

  Sandulf tilted his head to one side. ‘Do you think you can speak in Gaelic so I can understand?’

  ‘I will have to redouble my efforts in teaching you Pictish,’ Ceanna said in a low voice. ‘But all is well. This man is loyal to a point.’

  ‘I look forward to your instruction, then.’ The husky undertone to his voice did strange things to her insides.

  ‘Good,’ she said, making her voice sound brisk, but knowing that her cheeks had suddenly become heated. ‘Before you go, Ecgbert, what I wanted to know is whether you were tasked with a special message for Brother Mattios as well as one for my aunt.’

  ‘Captain Feradach’s brother?’ the guard said, switching to Gaelic. ‘Funny you should mention him. Brother Mattios was most insistent that there must be a message from his brother and followed me about asking and asking. When we arrived here, the vellum with the message on could not be found, but the most junior member of my team said that Captain Feradach had made him repeat the message five times over because vellum had a way of going missing.’

  ‘What was the message?’ Sandulf asked.

  ‘“A Northman asks the way to Nrurim. I’ve need of your skill. Leave immediately, but have a care.” I could not make sense of it, but then Captain Feradach and I have not seen eye to eye for a long time.’

  Ceanna’s neck muscles eased. She had done it. She had shown there was a connection. The next time, maybe Sandulf would not be so quick to dismiss how important it was to have her at his side. She could prove her worth to him. She could be his Skadi in truth, his warrior woman.

  ‘Feradach sent this message to his brother? Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?’ her aunt asked sharply. ‘Why is Captain Feradach ordering my monk about? I am the one who decides who can leave and who can go.’

  The guard bowed deeply. ‘Yes, my lady abbess. Brother Mattios went whiter than snow and rushed off to find you. I thought you knew.’

  Her aunt put her hand to her throat. ‘I don’t know what to say. Brother Mattios told me quite another tale about the sons of King Aed needing to depart. He became agitated, but he persuaded me with his argument.’

  ‘And you let him leave with them?’

  ‘Yes. They are to go to their aunt in Éireann, away from the whims of the new King or his Regent. He promised.’

  ‘Now will you allow Brother Mattios’s possessions to be examined? Please,’ Ceanna said.

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘Because if he is who my wife and I think he is, he will have kept one or two trinkets from his past exploits,’ Sandulf said very slowly. ‘One of his fellow conspirators said that the man I seek always did. From the victims he particularly enjoyed killing.’

 
Her aunt gave an exasperated sigh.

  ‘I suppose there is no harm in it. Brother Mattios is not here to defend his reputation, but I suspect the mystery will be easily solved. He did, as I recall, put a few small trinkets to one side, safekeeping for his brother in the advent of his death.’

  Sandulf squeezed Ceanna’s shoulder after her aunt left. ‘Thank you for your persistence, Skadi, for ensuring that this happens. I was wrong to dismiss your instincts earlier. I’m sorry. You knew how to handle your aunt far better than I could ever have done.’

  ‘You are welcome, Husband.’ She inclined her head as the dreams started to grow. ‘If Brother Mattios is who we think he is, those royal children are in grave danger. They may already be dead.’

  Her aunt returned with a small, intricately carved wooden casket. ‘Brother Mattios left this with strict instructions that it must go to his brother if he failed to return from his mission. It appears he secured it with beeswax and a seal of some sort.’ She shook it. ‘It sounds as if there is something in there. Make of it what you will. I am beginning to wonder if there is not something in your tale, Northman, and I would like the matter resolved.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sandulf took the box from the nun. His stomach knotted. He owed Ceanna a great deal. Her swift thinking had made this possible. He had nearly left for Glannoventa without her. It was like the man who had saved his life on board the ship explained—assassins are like Loki, double dealing and entirely untrustworthy.

  He broke the wax seals, opened it and started to shake. On the top of a folded linen cloth lay a small gold figurine, holding out a shield, slightly battered but as shiny as when his father had first shown it to him. He stared up at the ceiling, struggling to get hold of his emotions.

  The memories from that day when Ingrid was first given it flooded his brain—his father’s preening at the figure’s sheer weight in gold; Brandt’s look of absolute horror and fury when his father presented it to Ingrid in a brief ceremony; his mother’s anger that her husband should seek to embarrass their son in such a fashion through offering a morning gift to his daughter-in-law as if his eldest son possessed nothing; and how Ingrid had smoothed everything over with a few well-chosen words.

  When he felt he could trust his emotions, he handed the box back to Mother Abbe.

  ‘Satisfied?’ The old woman gave a disingenuous smile, holding her hand out for the box to be given back to her. ‘Ceanna, you must return with your father’s men. Your husband—’

  ‘Turn that gold figurine over, please,’ he said. ‘I want you to do it, not me. You saw I only looked at it, but did not touch it or turn it over.’

  ‘The statue? I must say it is an odd interpretation of Our Lady, but who am I to argue? It was important to Brother Mattios.’

  ‘If you look closely, you will see that it is a Valkyrie with a shield. She has cats at her feet. On the back will be the rune for Ingrid, the wife of my eldest brother. The figurine belonged to my sister-in-law, who sometimes wore it as a pendant. It was her morning gift after their marriage. I am certain of it.’

  With a faintly trembling hand and an over-confident smile, the abbess plucked the ornament from the box. Her smile faded to nothing. ‘I can’t quite make it out, but something is there. I do not know how to read runes.’

  ‘May I see it?’ Ceanna took the gold figurine from her aunt and held it up to one of the torches. ‘There are definitely markings on the back. Can you scratch the ones for Ingrid in the dust, Sandulf? I want my aunt to see the truth. I want the scales to drop from her eyes.’

  He didn’t deserve a woman like Ceanna. She’d believed in him. His sense of responsibility towards her filled him, pressing down on his lungs with a choking certainty. He picked up a stick and quickly scratched the runes.

  ‘See, Aunt.’ Ceanna passed the figurine to her aunt. ‘Sandulf has scratched the runes in the dust. They match precisely with what is on the figurine’s reverse. There is no way he could have seen them.’

  ‘I... They...could be the same markings.’ The abbess’s voice was little more than a thread on the wind. ‘You mean it is not Our Lady, but some heathen idol?’

  ‘It seems mighty peculiar to me that someone as devoted as Brother Mattios held such store by something which is so blatantly heathen. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know and that is why he sealed the box.’ Ceanna tilted her head to one side. ‘What do the runes mean, Sandulf?’

  ‘They mean I belong to Ingrid. My father gave the figurine to my eldest brother’s wife as a morning gift from the family. My father said it was because a woman would need the heart of a warrior to breed strong sons from his eldest son.’

  Ceanna looked down at the ground, her cheeks flaming. ‘I see.’

  ‘I carved the runes myself during the night. Something for a younger brother to do on the occasion of his eldest brother’s wedding, or so my father proclaimed.’ Sandulf forced a smile. Brandt had shouted at him when he discovered Sandulf’s part in it, but Ingrid had been understanding about why he hadn’t defied his father. It was then she had really won his heart—telling him to ignore Brandt’s cross words. ‘Ingrid thought it sweet of me, but kept it locked away, saying it was far too expensive to wear every day. My father insisted on her wearing it the day of the massacre as my eldest brother had been called away.’

  ‘Was it lost in the massacre?’ Ceanna asked.

  Sandulf concentrated and brought the terrible scene to mind. Blood everywhere. Ingrid’s clothes ripped. He could not remember seeing it then. Or even earlier, now that he came to think of it. Ingrid had kept a shawl wrapped about her body even as they sat in the longhouse. ‘I don’t remember it on her corpse, but she would have been wearing it; she won’t have wanted to risk my father’s temper on such an important occasion for my family. She was like that, always eager to ensure things ran smoothly.’

  Ceanna took the figurine from her aunt’s hands and placed it back in the box. She handed the box to Sandulf. ‘This belongs to you and your family, not to the man who calls himself Brother Mattios.’

  His throat closed with the emotion. With his fingers tightening about the box, he nodded.

  ‘Do you have an explanation, Aunt, for how this could have come into Brother Mattios’s possession?’ Ceanna crossed her arms and gave her aunt her hardest stare. ‘Or may I finally draw the obvious conclusion? Brother Mattios was not the same Brother Mattios who left Jarrow. Sandulf’s intelligence was accurate after all—you have unwittingly been harbouring a fearsome assassin.’

  The abbess shook her head and took a step backwards. The colour had drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaking. ‘He had the correct papers. We were anticipating his arrival, you see, to view a manuscript whose provenance was in dispute. Father Callum warned me that he was not all he seemed, that his Latin was not very good for a scholar sent on such a mission, but then Father Callum unexpectedly sickened and died. You must understand that Brother Matt—that that man was utterly charming. So devoted to prayer. So dedicated to silence. Seemingly gentle despite that awful scar on his face.’

  ‘No one told me about a scar.’ Every sinew in Sandulf’s being tightened. ‘Was it in the shape of a shooting star?’

  ‘He called it his angel’s kiss,’ her aunt said. ‘And said it made him more devoted. I liked that about him, that he saw God’s hand in everything.’

  ‘Ingrid’s murderer, Lugh, had a scar on his face which resembled a shooting star,’ Sandulf said.

  The abbess’s hands shook. ‘Maybe it could be called a star, a double star with a cross.’

  ‘Who nursed this Father Callum in his last days?’ Ceanna asked. ‘I take it that he was very healthy until Brother Mattios arrived.’

  ‘Your stepmother and Brother M—’ The abbess sank to her knees. ‘May God and all the angels forgive me. Father Callum was a good soul. You must take the box far away from here. Destroy it. It must be cursed.�
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  ‘That heathen idol, as you called it, meant a great deal to my father,’ Sandulf said, unable to prevent the words spilling out. ‘Any curse came from the assassin you sheltered.’

  Ceanna put out her hand. ‘Sandulf!’

  Sandulf gave an unrepentant bow. ‘I do beg your pardon, my lady, for my words. It would be my pleasure to take this back on behalf of my family, for whom it has great value, Lady Abbess.’

  The old woman turned her face away.

  ‘Helping us will ensure Father Callum gets some justice,’ Ceanna said softly. ‘Something which has been denied to him.’

  The woman’s skin turned the colour of old parchment. ‘From what your husband has been saying about this killer, those little boys are probably dead. I thought I had been firm in doing my duty, but I have been betrayed. Miserably. In my arrogance, I sent them to their deaths, Ceanna.’

  ‘Did you know Captain Feradach before this Brother Mattios arrived?’

  ‘He came to visit...the man who claimed to be Brother Mattios shortly after he arrived from Jarrow. He said that Feradach was his brother. It was why I recommended him for advancement with your father.’

  ‘I see.’ Ceanna stood up straighter—a lady demanding justice prevail in every sense of the word. ‘You appear to have made a number of grave errors, Aunt. There is every reason to believe this Mattios—or Lugh, as Sandulf calls him—will be headed towards Dun Ollaigh, seeking to use those little boys for his own gain rather than delivering them to their aunt in Éireann as he promised.’

  Sandulf ground his teeth. Dun Ollaigh—the one place where she’d be in the most danger. The danger from her stepmother and this Feradach had increased immeasurably. His stomach churned. He wanted her with him, but he had to be sensible. He would fight better knowing that she was safe and that somewhere safe had to be here. He silenced the little voice deep within which protested. Once everything was resolved and he had earned the reward of a better life, then he could return here and start their marriage together properly.