Conveniently Wed to the Viking Read online

  At her mistress’s words, Vanora came over to her, gave a lengthy sigh, bared her teeth at Sandulf in a half-hearted manner before settling at Lady Ceanna’s feet—as if to say that even though she considered her mistress to be making a mistake, she sided with her. Sandulf respected the dog’s loyalty.

  ‘Vanora let me know that lad was not to be trusted,’ Sandulf said, keeping his voice gentle. ‘She has chosen me as your protector.’

  Ceanna knelt and buried her head in the dog’s fur. ‘She is a good dog. The best. She appears to trust you.’

  ‘You should, too.’ Sandulf willed her to accept his words. ‘With me at your side, you won’t need to go three times around a copse unless it is common practice among the people in these parts.’

  ‘Was it three times or are you guessing?’

  ‘I counted after the first circuit. It helped to pass the time. You repeated the action with three other copses. Repeating manoeuvres does little to shake off pursuers.’

  ‘And your former guide refused to take you further for what reason?’ Ceanna forced a smile. She refused to explain that the copse manoeuvre had come from one of her favourite tales when she was small. Another reason, if she needed it, not to believe in anything but her own ingenuity. But he had a point about the repetition. Another thing to add to her list.

  ‘Personal.’ His eyes sparkled like summer sunshine on the bay below Dun Ollaigh. ‘I’m certain you will understand, since we are not yet intimate companions, personal remains personal.’

  Ceanna mentally shook herself. Intimate companions indeed. Her destiny was to be a holy maid, a nun, not a warrior’s woman. He expected his charm to carry him through as if she was one of those women who fell into a fluttering heap at the slightest hint of promised affection. She knew the limited extent of her charms, even without her stepmother’s long recital of her flaws this morning.

  If he wanted her help in getting to Nrurim quickly, he was going to have to answer questions rather that spout innuendo and suggestion. He was going to discover that she was serious, not all sighs and soft words as she suspected most women were with him.

  ‘How did you threaten your guide?’ she enquired with a honey-laced voice. When he merely looked at her, she continued in a sterner voice. ‘I must warn you that men from the North are not well liked around here. We know what the Northmen from the Black Pool did on our shores last summer and how hard we had to fight. My father still bears the wounds he received in the defence of Dun Ollaigh.’

  Wounds which refused to heal and which made him irritable. The truth was that her father had not been the same since her mother and young brother had died. And he’d changed even more after he married her stepmother. This last illness combined with the wounds had seen him acquiescing to his wife’s demands that Ceanna marry while he could still give his blessing to the match.

  The Northman brought his fingers together. ‘We had a slight disagreement on the way forward. He has returned to Northumbria without shame.’

  Slight disagreement or was he put in fear for his life? She suspected the Northman rather understated the situation. She somehow doubted that the stranger was entirely innocent in the matter. But she was prepared to play along with his ruse. ‘What doesn’t he like about Dun Ollaigh that he left you stranded?’

  ‘He saw someone he wished to avoid.’ Sandulf Sigurdsson lowered his voice. ‘He has a complex relationship with the various women in his life. I’m sure you understand the predicament.’

  ‘A trait shared with many guides, it seems.’

  He gave a snort of amusement. ‘He didn’t leave until I had made arrangements with our missing guide.’

  ‘Who left without you. Did he fear you?’ She tugged at the cuffs of her gown and heard another tear from the shoulder region. The gown was more sausage casing than a garment suited for any sort of strenuous activity. She swore softly.

  ‘We’re both inconvenienced, my lady.’ He gave a decided nod. ‘Urist ab Urist ought to have known I wouldn’t give up, particularly not when I have parted with gold. My previous guide warned him what I’d do if anyone attempted to cheat me. He rather embroidered the tale of me on the voyage and how I declined a pirate’s offer to go to Éireann.’

  Ceanna tugged Vanora closer. The traitorous dog merely made eyes at the stranger and licked her chops as if he were her new favourite person. Honestly, that dog. ‘Impressive company you keep.’

  ‘I make no claim about the faithfulness of guides. Some can be cowards. Some can be cheats. Some can be honest men who have another agenda.’ He tilted his head. ‘Did he demand payment from you in advance? Or did he expect to be paid at the end of the journey?’

  ‘I paid him half in advance and the rest was hidden in my trunk—the one he appears to have taken with him,’ Ceanna admitted, inwardly wincing and trying not to think about the trunk she’d deposited with Urist and everything it contained. She’d been naive in the extreme. ‘I know the route he must have taken.’

  ‘I guessed correctly in following you, even more so in making myself known. You no longer have to be afraid.’

  His smile transformed his face, making him seem more approachable. With its high cheekbones, full lips and aquiline nose, it was the sort of face to haunt a woman’s dreams. Ceanna made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. If she intended to convince her aunt that she had had a sudden vocation to become a holy maid, she had to stop noticing the shape of a man’s face or the breadth of his shoulders. Holy maids spent their waking hours in contemplation and uttering cryptic remarks about the future. Ceanna wondered if their knees ached as badly as hers did after any service or if holy maids kept their minds on more spiritual matters.

  ‘What is your name?’ she asked in order to stop thinking about such things.

  ‘Sandulf Sigurdsson, at your service until we find our guide, my Lady Ceanna.’

  Ceanna kept her hands at her sides. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘The lad who was sent to go to Dun Ollaigh told me.’

  ‘Voluntarily?’

  Sandulf Sigurdsson’s face settled down into far harsher planes. All warmth fled from his eyes. ‘I take no pleasure from torture. The lad lost nothing but his dignity from me. You have my solemn oath I’ll keep you safe.’

  ‘And you are a man who makes a lot of oaths. Do you keep them?’

  ‘Without honour, I am worthless.’

  ‘I will bear that in mind.’ Ceanna turned and started walking briskly along the track, ignoring the way her gown curled about her legs like a rope bent on tripping her.

  ‘Here, where are you going?’

  ‘The sooner I get to Urist, the sooner I can rid myself of you, Oathkeeper.’

  * * *

  Keep this woman safe.

  The words pinged around Sandulf’s brain as he slowly made his way along the increasingly muddy and narrow track at Ceanna’s side. The late afternoon sun gave way to a gloaming twilight which caused the shadows to lengthen while wisps of mist began to rise from the loch, making the going that much more treacherous. He knew what had happened the last time he’d tried to keep a woman safe: he’d failed. He tore his mind away from the image of Ingrid’s body and the events in Maerr on that terrible day.

  Once they’d discovered the whereabouts of their guide, his responsibility towards the Lady Ceanna would end. Sandulf regarded her from under hooded eyes. She was the sort of person a man might overlook the first time, but his gaze kept straying back and finding new things to focus on—the curve of her neck, the length of her fingers, the precise shape of her mouth.

  Her clothing, with its heavy gold-brocade trim and tight sleeves, was not the sort one travelled in and had rapidly become mud-splattered. The deep crimson red might be fashionable, but it did little for her complexion. And her slippers were made for dancing rather than tramping through the sticky mud on the track. However, no complaints pa
ssed her dawn-kissed lips. She simply stepped around the next puddle.

  His mother and aunt’s complaints would have blistered his ears if they had been caught in the same predicament. He’d heard the nasal whines about one injustice or another throughout his entire childhood. His father had assured him all women complained about every inconvenience. All women, it would appear, except Lady Ceanna.

  She stumbled over a root and put out a hand to break her fall, but Sandulf caught her elbow and managed to keep her upright. Up close he saw the dark bruised shadows under her eyes and the pinched whiteness of her mouth. Their breath interlaced for a long heartbeat.

  Her sigh hissed out through gritted teeth. ‘I am perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet.’

  ‘The polite thing to say when rescued is thank you.’

  ‘Thank you for breaking my fall. I did not see the root. Will you please release me? I stand on my own feet quite easily. I’ve done so since I was small.’

  Sandulf glanced up at the darkening sky. He tightened his grip on her elbow. ‘We are stopping.’

  She pulled away from his fingers. ‘We need to keep going, towards Urist. I can walk all night if needs be.’

  It wouldn’t have taken much more for Sandulf to have left the imperious woman standing there, more than half-dead from exhaustion. He’d had his fill of overbearing ladies in Constantinople, the ones who were certain that the world needed to be remade for them, but getting to Nrurim before Lugh learned of his pursuit and vanished into the night again was the only thing that mattered.

  ‘You might be prepared to walk through the gloaming, but I’m not.’ Sandulf clicked his fingers and Vanora sat in the dirt next to him, giving small whimpers. ‘Neither is your dog. She senses what I do—we need to halt for the night.’

  Her face became mutinous when, despite her gesture to go on, the dog yawned and settled down next to him. ‘The bend in the river is not far from here and we have to catch up with Urist.’

  ‘But the mist rises and I can see moorland beyond those trees,’ Sandulf explained slowly, using the deadly quiet voice which had made people run from him in Constantinople. ‘My half-brother’s wife warned me about the treachery of Alba’s moorlands before I left her hall to go on this journey. The mist has led many strangers astray. I intend to heed her advice.’

  Lady Ceanna pointed towards the greying horizon. ‘The track is very well defined up to the pass. I doubt the mist will be that heavy. It is summertime after all. I have lived here all my life and—’

  ‘You guess about the mist’s strength. It clouds the sun and it has become much cooler.’ He held out his hand. ‘It begins to rain, my very stubborn lady. Soon it will pelt down and destroy what remains of your hairstyle. I assume you are proud of the plaits. It must have taken an inordinate amount of time to achieve.’

  ‘It did.’

  ‘Are you going to remain stubborn?’

  ‘I could say the same of you. I’ve never met someone more stubborn than you.’ She crossed her arms and raised a brow. ‘How do you know the mist will be heavy?’

  ‘I prefer not to take the risk.’ He stroked his chin. ‘You appear three-quarters of the way towards being dead on your feet.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She stumbled over a rock this time. Sandulf instantly put out a hand and caught her elbow, steadying her, ignoring the pulse of warmth which travelled up his arm.

  Up close, her lashes made a dark forest against the alabaster of her skin. But he could also see the tired redness which threatened to overwhelm her storm-tossed eyes. Lady Ceanna was close to collapse, but he suspected she’d deny it until she fell to her knees in exhaustion. The irresistible force had met an immovable object. ‘When was the last time you slept?’

  ‘Over two nights ago,’ she admitted, tucking her head into her chest. ‘I had things to do. Plans whirled about my head, rendering sleep impossible. My feet are clumsy because of these stupid slippers and this impossible gown. Why I ever agreed to it, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘A good night’s sleep won’t do you any harm.’

  She made to move off, even as the mist began rising and swirling about them. ‘Urist will be getting further ahead. I’ve no wish to inconvenience you any longer than necessary.’

  ‘We’ll move more quickly than he does, particularly if we are both rested.’ Sandulf laughed to himself. He remembered a time when he was the one who had stubbornly refused to give in, who kept going, despite the cost to everyone else. It had been a hard lesson to learn. He never considered a woman might have a similar drive.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Experience with travelling.’ As her sceptical look increased, he added, ‘Urist will have at least one cart in his group. He is taking your trunk and unlikely to carry it on his back.’

  She looked up as a large raindrop fell on her nose. She wrinkled it in a delightful fashion. ‘And you have travelled far.’

  ‘From Maerr in the north to the Rus in the east and down the great rivers to Constantinople. And then across the seas to Strathclyde.’ He kept his gaze on the increasing rain. The journey had been far harder than he’d ever imagined. When he’d left Maerr, he’d considered himself equal to anything. He hadn’t realised how privileged he’d been, how much he’d had to grow up and how quickly.

  Her eyes widened ‘Further than I’ve ever dreamed of travelling.’

  ‘If we keep on, your feet will be torn to ribbons.’

  ‘The sooner we reach Urist, the sooner I retrieve my stout boots. There, you see I’m not totally impractical and feather-brained.’

  He watched her intently. He’d been mistaken earlier, outside the tavern, in his assessment of her. Lady Ceanna was not one of those fluttering females he’d encountered elsewhere. Lady Ceanna was another sort of woman entirely. ‘If you were truly feather-brained, we would not be having this conversation.’

  ‘Getting to Urist is the point of this.’

  ‘You presume he goes to Nrurim the way you think he will, that the tavern keeper did not seek to mislead you.’

  She opened and closed her mouth several times. ‘I hadn’t considered that.’

  ‘Which do you want more?’ he asked as if he were coaxing that blackbird he’d tamed as a child. ‘Nrurim or Urist? Give in, Lady Ceanna. If I carry you, our progress will crawl.’

  ‘Nrurim.’ She sighed. ‘Very well. I give in. We stop. My feet ache and you’re plainly exhausted. For your sake, then.’

  ‘It is not a competition to see who can keep up, my lady, but who finishes. My father’s helmsman, Joarr, once told me that when I tried to outrun my brothers who were carrying heavier packs. He was right, even if I didn’t see it at the time. It is about ensuring everyone in a group makes it. A harder task than you might imagine.’

  Her cheeks flushed. ‘Is there anything I can do about my feet? Please?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I’m not carrying a spare set of boots, but I do have some ointment which might assist.’ He reached into his pouch and produced a small jar.

  ‘I’d like that.’ Her spine stiffened. ‘I can put it on my feet myself without your help.’

  ‘Did I say otherwise? You are capable of many things, my lady, including applying ointment to your feet.’

  Lady Ceanna possessed a certain luminous quality to her smile which he’d failed to fully appreciate earlier. ‘I’m pleased you understand that I am not one of those ladies who cling like a vine. I take pride in my accomplishments even if it is merely looking after my bruised feet.’

  What had happened to her to make her this way? Women like her should expect to be pampered. Sandulf shook his head. It was none of his concern. His mission was ensuring Lugh received the justice due him for Ingrid’s murder. Once he accomplished that, then he could begin living again. He was not going to prove Brandt, or the others, correct by losing his focus and allowing his best chance to slip t
hrough his fingers.

  ‘Are there any huts around here? Places where we could rest?’ Sandulf asked.

  She shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen any. I’d like to keep close to this track. If we wander off in the mists, looking for something which doesn’t exist, we might lose our way entirely.’

  Her lips turned up as she threw his excuse back at him. Sandulf muttered a curse which made the smile grow.

  ‘You doubt your ability to rediscover it.’

  ‘I know the general direction Urist is going in. I can navigate by the track, the hills and the lochs we encounter. It is just...’ She plucked at a loose thread on her gown. ‘You and I...we barely know each other.’

  ‘You fear spending a night alone with a strange man, I understand. I gave my word that I’d protect you.’ He willed her to understand. ‘That includes protecting your honour, my lady. I will ensure nothing happens to you.’

  She covered her eyes with her hands which made her suddenly appear very small and alone. Something unfamiliar turned over inside him. And he knew his oath was more than words earlier; he wanted to protect her, mainly because she was trying so hard not to need any protection. ‘Am I that obvious?’

  ‘Most brides don’t need to run away in their wedding clothes.’

  ‘I left before I married.’ Her teeth worried her bottom lip. ‘I... I am going to become a holy maid. I had a vision.’

  Sandulf tilted his head to one side. He knew little about fashion in this kingdom, but he doubted nuns wore gowns as revealing as the one Lady Ceanna wore or answered back in quite such a bold fashion.

  ‘Came on you suddenly, did it?’

  The corner of her mouth twitched. ‘Crystal clear. Better to know before the marriage.’

  Sandulf pointed towards where a large oak stood at the side of the track. The tree had become gnarled and windswept with age, but its leafy canopy would offer some semblance of shelter. Even now, Lady Ceanna’s eyes drooped with exhaustion. ‘There is a hollow in that tree. It should serve our purpose. Unless you would like to chance the rain.’