Conveniently Wed to the Viking Read online

  ‘May the angels guard your footsteps, my lady.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘You must see my lady wife, Bertana. Get food for your journey. An empty belly never did anyone any good.’

  Ceanna’s stomach grumbled obligingly.

  ‘There, it is all settled. Eat before you faint. I remember your mother’s funeral, my lady.’

  Ceanna ground her teeth. She had collapsed at her mother and brother’s funeral, but it had been from the grief which had locked her knees and the knowledge that her father intended to remarry far too quickly.

  The last time she’d eaten was yesterday evening and goodness knew how long it would be before she could eat again. She had to be practical. A few words to Bertana who had always been kind would not hinder her journey. ‘Briefly.’

  The tavern owner tapped his finger against his nose. ‘I know, my lady, I know.’

  * * *

  No one made a fool of Sandulf Sigurdsson, particularly not a diminutive woman with a haughty tilt to her nose who was dressed more for a day at court eating sweetmeats, exchanging gossip and playing the lyre than tramping through the dust, and who would undoubtedly make unreasonable demands on everyone once the journey began. If the journey to Nrurim ever began. He’d witnessed the look which had passed between her and the tavern owner and he knew that Urist had left instructions for her on where to find him.

  Sandulf gritted his teeth. For all her obvious failings, that preciously dressed woman was his best hope of fulfilling his quest and finding the murderous butcher who had slain his sister-in-law. He knew his eldest brother had lost their father’s kingdom and that the new ruler was his aunt’s husband. He also knew nothing he could do would bring the dead back to life, but he could ensure those who had killed Ingrid were punished.

  Sandulf struggled to hang on to his temper now that he was out of the tavern. He contented himself with kicking a stick hard and sending it skittering down the road.

  A large wolfhound lumbered out of the shadows and returned the stick to his feet with an earnest expression on its face. Sandulf picked up the stick and threw it again, harder this time. The dog chased after it and returned it swiftly, dropping it at his feet. Sigurd smiled wryly. One creature in this benighted place liked him.

  ‘What do you think, dog? Does she know where my guide is?’

  The dog sat on its haunches and pointedly stared at the stick until he threw it again.

  ‘I will avenge Ingrid’s death. I will fulfil my vow. I will return to my family,’ Sandulf muttered when the dog returned for a third time. In the years since he had left Maerr, he had learned the hard way what to do when his problem required a different approach. He had ceased to be the headstrong warrior who had rushed down the slope to engage the enemy without a thought towards strategy. He knew the value of watching and waiting until the time was right.

  A wet nose nudged his hand. Sandulf automatically reached into a pocket and gave the grey wolfhound a morsel of dried meat and hard cheese. The dog gave a soft woof in thanks.

  ‘At last, a creature who understands I mean no harm here.’

  The dog tilted its head to one side and gave another bark, this time pointing her nose towards the tavern and wagging her tail. Sandulf noticed the fine iron collar which was about her neck. There was only one person in that tavern who could own such a creature.

  ‘Is your lady in some sort of trouble?’ he asked the dog. ‘Is that why she appears to be fleeing Dun Ollaigh?’

  The dog tilted its head even more to one side and barked again.

  Sandulf laughed. ‘As if you’d know. You see, this is what comes from being on my own—I start speaking to animals as if they’d answer back. My brothers used to say I was touched in the head but they always found a reason to belittle me. The one thing I haven’t missed is their continual ragging.’

  He fingered the arm ring he’d wrenched off the scar-faced assassin that fateful day.

  Since his arrival on these shores, one of his brothers, Rurik, had forgiven him and Sandulf had begun to feel hope that one day they would believe he was worthy of being their brother and their equal. After some persuasion, Rurik’s new bride, Lady Annis of Glannoventa, had provided him with the name and location of the man who had brutally murdered Ingrid and her unborn child. He was called Lugh and was hiding in a monastery near the town of Nrurim. Sandulf had accepted Rurik’s word that he and Lady Annis had put the past behind them and both wanted to savour their future together.

  Regaining one brother’s trust was a start, but it was only the first step on his road to redemption. He still avoided his reflection in ponds or in burnished glass. The prospect of seeing his father’s eyes peering out at him, rebuking him for his many failures, was far too great.

  Sandulf shook his head, went further into the shadows and concentrated on the tavern, willing the woman to emerge.

  The door opened and an urchin ran out, banging straight into Sandulf. Sandulf allowed the boy to bounce off him while the dog gave a low rumble in the back of her throat.

  ‘Ugh, what did you have to do that for?’ The lad rubbed the back of his head. ‘Why don’t you watch where you are going?’

  ‘Maybe you should watch where you’re going,’ Sandulf said menacingly, putting his hand on his sword.

  The colour drained from the lad’s face. ‘The Northman.’

  ‘You are in a hurry to get somewhere.’

  ‘To Dun Ollaigh. To tell them...to tell them that...’ The boy’s face creased. ‘You ain’t going to harm me, are you? I know what your kind are like.’

  ‘You’re going to tell them that the woman they are no doubt searching for has been safely found and is at the tavern.’ Sandulf inclined his head and permitted a humourless smile to cross his lips. ‘Safe for a hefty price, I’d imagine. I, too, have encountered men like that tavern keeper before.’

  The boy’s eyes bulged. ‘My Lady Ceanna shouldn’t be wandering around on her own, getting lost and into mischief. My master decided...given that...the Northman warrior...that is to say...’

  His voice trailed away again, but Sandulf knew he was being used as a scapegoat.

  ‘I’m a good guesser.’ Sandulf struggled to contain the surge of excitement. Provided he kept feather-brained Lady Ceanna alive and progressing on her journey, he stood a chance of arriving in Nrurim before Lugh learned of him. She knew where the guide was and no one, particularly not the tavern owner and his lad, would keep him from achieving his goal. Lady Ceanna would be going to Nrurim if he had to carry her every step of the way. ‘Your task will have to wait.’

  The lad closed one eye and peered at him. ‘To wait? Why?’

  Sandulf reached for a length of rope. ‘Your lady has business elsewhere.’

  Chapter Two

  No one lurked outside the tavern in the late afternoon sunshine. Even the handsome stranger with the hard eyes had vanished. Ceanna shut the door with a quiet click. Her luck had held, but she wondered about unseen eyes watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake. She quickly shook her head. Far too late to worry about them.

  She snapped her fingers. Vanora, her wolfhound, trotted out from the shadows. The dog gave a sharp bark and licked her hand. There was something in the way Vanora held her head that made her seem overly pleased with herself. Ceanna dismissed the notion as fanciful. She needed to break her habit of making Vanora seem more than she was. Another saying for her list: dogs were dogs, not people.

  ‘Some guard you are.’ Ceanna crouched down and gave her dog’s ears a stroke. ‘It looks like you’ve been busy searching for food. We need to go now before they start looking for me in earnest. Bertana could talk the hind legs off a donkey. I was certain she was stalling for some reason, but she ran out of excuses and I escaped.’

  Vanora looked longingly back towards the shadows. Ceanna peered into the darkness, but nothing moved.

  ‘I mean it
, Vanora, now. I’ve wasted enough time. Our luck holds.’ Ceanna held out a meat pie. ‘Bertana sent this for today’s journey. You need it more than I do.’

  Vanora downed the pie in three gulps. She then sat on her haunches and looked hopefully for more.

  ‘We go now. No looking back. Or hoping for more. That’s all I have until we reach Urist. And he will be waiting. I know it.’

  Vanora nodded as if she understood.

  Ceanna quickened her footsteps away from the tavern, putting distance between her and the building, turning this way and that as she went towards the river and then doubled back to the track which led towards Taigh an Uillt and the Pass of Brander towards Ben Cruachan.

  Once she was in the woods properly, she paused to take a lungful of fresh air and tuck her gown higher. The narrow skirt made walking normally nearly impossible and she dreaded to think about the state of the slippers she wore. Stout boots and a roomy wool gown were safely tucked away in the trunk Urist had appropriated. When she found him, he’d wish he had chosen a different course of action.

  Vanora did her usual circling about her. She noticed that the dog kept going behind her, but every time she glanced around, nothing was there and Vanora did not appear to be unduly worried. Ceanna pushed the concern away. Her stepmother’s lover wasn’t that subtle. Nerves—that’s all it was. She would stop jumping at shadows starting now. Face forward.

  On the bend before the river, a twig snapped in the stillness. She quickly turned and saw the Northman from the tavern following her. When he spotted that she had seen him, he gave a little wave.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that he was following?’ she asked Vanora. The traitorous dog smacked her lips, sat down and refused to move.

  ‘Is that your dog?’ he called.

  Ceanna wrapped her arms about her waist. Out here, he loomed larger than he had in the tavern.

  ‘I should warn you that she can be quite fierce if provoked.’ Her voice sounded unnaturally thin and high. She pushed an errant plait behind her ear.

  ‘Saves her fierceness for your enemies, I assume. We became friends earlier.’ He crouched down and beckoned to Vanora who obediently trotted over. He handed the hound a morsel of dried meat.

  The traitorous dog licked his hand and looked up at him in mute adoration. Ceanna ground her teeth. Normally, Vanora was wary of strangers and particularly men. However, she appeared to have made an exception with this man from the North.

  ‘I refuse to think it is mere coincidence.’ She stomped her slipper hard against the dirt.

  ‘Coincidence can be a wonderful thing.’ He made a bow, the sort which was more suited to the King’s court than a muddy track in the middle of nowhere. ‘Under such pleasant circumstances. I suspected this delightful creature belonged to you, Lady Ceanna.’

  He stroked Vanora under the chin. The dog flopped down beside his boots and revealed her tummy. Ceanna wished she would display a little more dignity. And somehow, this man had discovered her name.

  Ceanna tugged Vanora’s collar and the dog gave her a hurt look. ‘She can be quite ferocious. Truly. One word from me and...’

  ‘She senses I mean you no harm. We both want the same thing—to travel to Nrurim untroubled.’

  No harm.

  Ceanna knew what men from the North were like and how they raided. She took several steps backwards when her feet caught in the gown and she went tumbling. A very unladylike oath emerged from her throat.

  ‘I saved your life earlier, Lady Ceanna, if that makes any difference to your attitude.’ He held out his hand. It was long fingered and well made. There was a little scar at the base of his thumb.

  Ceanna ignored his hand and scrambled to standing. Her gown tore under her arm and she tightened her fists.

  ‘Saved my life? What nonsense are you spouting?’ She gave vent to her utter frustration. ‘Out with it, man. What have I ever done to you? Why are you plaguing me? What right do you have?’

  ‘That man who runs the tavern sent a runner towards Dun Ollaigh. That runner failed to reach his destination.’

  ‘I never asked you to kill for me.’ Ceanna put her hand over her mouth.

  ‘He became entangled in some ropes. He’ll be found in due course—safe and well.’ His eyes sent a chill through her. ‘I kill when necessary. It wasn’t necessary.’

  ‘Good to know.’

  The Northman nodded towards Vanora who was now wagging her tail. ‘Your dog provided invaluable assistance.’

  ‘Why did you do it? I’ve nothing you want.’

  ‘You’re going to get me to Nrurim, even if I have to carry you the whole way. I, Sandulf Sigurdsson, give you my oath on this.’

  Ceanna stared at him for a long time, her throat working up and down, but no sound emerged.

  Vanora gave a sharp bark and the noise seemed to release her voice.

  ‘You could have approached me when I left the tavern. Why follow me in such a way?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to alert anyone.’

  ‘I see. You were looking out for my welfare rather than afraid to take the risk.’

  Sandulf stared at Lady Ceanna with her tangled mess of plaits and bedraggled gown. Giving his oath was supposed to make her accept him with open arms, not question his motives further. She should be grateful that he was willing to risk his sword arm for her, rather than berating him.

  ‘Because—’ he said, ready to lecture her, but stopped.

  A fleeting uncertainty and vulnerability flashed in her eyes which she quickly masked with a frown. A long-forgotten memory of how hard he’d tried to be brave when he changed ships and the enormity of what he’d done washed over him. He, too, had had to learn to be grateful of a stranger’s help.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. She was right. He had not wanted to take the risk. Getting to Nrurim meant far too much to destroy this chance for reasons of pride or gallant behaviour.

  How to explain without giving the full story, but enough to give her reason to trust him? Trust was a far more precious commodity than he’d realised when he was a boy. And he needed her trust or it would be harder to fulfil his quest, except his mind was a blank as to why she should trust him.

  ‘Because...’ he said again, hoping the right words would magically appear in his mouth.

  ‘Because is not an acceptable answer, not even the second time you try it.’ She cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. ‘I’ve switched my course often enough to know you must have been deliberately following my footsteps. The truth, if you please. Do you intend to slit my throat or harm any of my relations?’

  Sandulf regarded her for a long time. Despite her overly primped appearance, this woman possessed a backbone—or perhaps it was simply foolhardy naivety. Few women would speak to a warrior in that tone. His mother or Aunt Kolga maybe.

  He forced his voice to be low and slow with more than a hint of honey. ‘If I’d confronted you outside the tavern, all it would have done was alert our trussed-up friend and his pals. I reckoned you wanted to keep your departure quiet. I considered it was time to make my presence known as I am now sure we are not being followed. You can cease being frightened.’

  She wrapped her arms about her waist. ‘I’m not frightened.’

  ‘Startled, then.’

  Her features relaxed, reminding him of a blackbird he’d tried to tame as a boy. He had taken the time to feed it crumbs and it had eventually trusted him. Alarr had laughed at him, saying he was wasting his time, but the bird had eventually ridden on his shoulder. Until his father had decided that his son needed to concentrate on his sword skills and the bird disappeared.

  ‘That was the reason you showed yourself now? The knowledge that I had managed to lose all my pursuers except for you?’

  Sandulf reached down and gave the dog a bit of cheese. ‘Your dog wanted more to eat.’

>   She rolled her eyes. ‘Vanora’s hunger. Is that the best you can do?’

  ‘Vanora is an unusual name for a dog.’

  ‘Stop trying to change the subject.’

  He slowly rose and held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘I apologise if I frightened you. My sole intention is to travel to Nrurim and attend to my business there. Take me to our guide.’

  Her teeth worried her bottom lip. ‘How do you know I am going to meet Urist?’

  Sandulf exhaled. Finally. She was listening.

  He ticked off the points on his fingers. ‘Earlier, the tavern keeper was insistent that he had no idea of Urist’s travel plans. You show up and he mutters some words to you in Gaelic which seemed to indicate that Urist was making for the ford. He immediately insisted I leave. I assumed Urist left another message for you. The ford makes little sense for someone travelling across country to Nrurim.’

  Her blue-grey gaze widened. ‘You worked that one out quickly.’

  ‘I went through the ford on my way here. Why go back that way? I followed my hunch. Waited and watched. Made friends with your dog. Dealt with the potential threat to your escape. You need me, Lady Ceanna, as much as I need you.’ Sandulf held out his hand to the dog who gave it an obliging lick. ‘Why is she called Vanora?’

  ‘After Arthur’s Queen. You know Arthur—the one who saved the Picts and the Celts from Saxons and who will return in our hour of greatest peril.’

  Sandulf rubbed the back of his neck. Lady Ceanna’s accent was very different from his Northumbrian sister-in-law’s and the other Gaelic women he’d met on his travels, but nevertheless pleasing to the ear. ‘I have heard the story, but I thought the Queen had a different name. Gwenevere or something like that.’

  ‘In Pict land, or what used to be the country of the Picts, it is Vanora.’ The woman arched her chin higher. ‘Like most in this kingdom, my dog has good reason to be wary of men from the North.’