Conveniently Wed to the Viking Page 7

  ‘Urist didn’t trust you so he took precautions.’ Ceanna nodded towards Urist, who was examining his mangled leg.

  ‘I see. He didn’t trust me, but he was quite content to cheat me out of gold.’ Sandulf rummaged through one of the sacks on the ground and withdrew a gold arm ring which he slipped on.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Retrieving my property. The guide I hired will not be fulfilling his end of the bargain.’ His eyes flashed fire as he called out to Urist, ‘No one cheats a son of Sigurd. Be grateful I’ve allowed you to live, Pict.’

  Urist began bleating loudly about the unfairness of it. Ceanna pinched the bridge of her nose. She had thought escaping from Dun Ollaigh was going to be the most difficult part of her journey. She’d been naive. She should’ve considered the possibility that her stepmother would play with her like a cat plays with a mouse before it goes in for the kill.

  ‘Those precautions may have saved both our lives,’ she said when she trusted her voice. ‘He spoke Pictish because he distrusts Northmen, particularly you. He swears your countrymen did this.’

  Sandulf made a cutting motion with his arm. ‘Northmen played no part.’

  ‘Why not?’ Urist called. ‘Northmen are all scum, my lady.’

  ‘No Northman would have left gold.’ Sandulf plucked a gown from the branch of a tree. ‘Or indeed silk of this quality which can be worth more than its weight in gold in the right market. They’d have kidnapped any woman to sell her rather than murdering her in cold blood as she slept. No, it was not my fellow countrymen, but some other form of murderous scum who did this. Probably homegrown.’ His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘They’re hoping that the attack will be blamed on the Northmen. Easier for them to escape justice.’

  Urist winced. ‘Maybe.’

  Ceanna’s mouth went dry. Sandulf had voiced her fear—whoever had done this wanted her dead. They’d known where Urist was going, where he’d stop for the night. They might even know they’d killed the wrong woman.

  The sound of an owl hooting resounded in the clearing. Urist replied with a trilling noise. Sandulf instantly drew his sword.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘My lad’s returning,’ Urist said. ‘Like he said he would. He’s gone for the healer, my lady. Honest.’

  ‘I thought you said a cart.’

  ‘A cart and a healer.’

  ‘Do that again,’ Sandulf said.

  Urist blinked rapidly. ‘Do what again?’

  ‘It was a different noise from earlier. You trilled twice before stopping.’

  ‘Of course it is. My lady is here now. The lad needs to know that.’

  ‘He needs to know that Lady Ceanna is here,’ Sandulf said in a flat voice. ‘You traitorous fool! You have used this scene as bait to keep us here while your lad went to bring more men.’

  A chill went down Ceanna’s spine. This attack had been staged in some part, but for whose benefit? Hers? Urist could be feigning, waiting to draw her in. He could have taken her stepmother’s money. She could trust no one.

  ‘To know I am here?’ she whispered. ‘How could you, Urist? I thought you were loyal to my father.’

  ‘I am looking out for you, my lady. Someone has to. Your father is not himself and you should not be running from your family. My woman friend—’

  ‘All is not necessarily how it seems with this one,’ Sandulf said in an undertone. ‘We should go, before this lad of his and whoever he has gone to fetch return.’

  Ceanna’s mouth went dry.

  ‘My stout shoes are in the trunk,’ she replied. ‘I will watch him, so he doesn’t alert whoever is coming until we are ready to run.’

  Sandulf gave a brief nod and made his way over to the trunk.

  ‘Did you say something, my lady?’ Urist called. ‘I am feeling weak again. It is best you stay right beside me. Right beside me.’

  ‘You hit your head, Urist,’ Ceanna said, keeping her voice light. ‘You won’t be able to take me to Nrurim. You know that. You’ll need to spend time with a healer.’

  ‘You can go to the healer with me. Wait until my head is better. There will be time.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Yes, plenty of time. You could send word to your aunt and tell her you have delayed your journey.’

  Wait to be recaptured. Wait to die or take a chance on Sandulf being able to protect her. She glanced towards where the Pass of Brander glowered and mentally recited the landmarks they should pass. Her neck relaxed. She remembered all nine marking the way that her nurse had described to her all those years ago.

  ‘I don’t have time to waste, Urist,’ she said. ‘Some day I’ll return to Dun Ollaigh and claim my rightful inheritance. I’ll make it right to everyone who was loyal to my father. I’ll ensure my aunt protects those who were loyal to me and God will punish those who made false promises and betrayed their oaths.’

  Urist grabbed at her ankle, but she deftly avoided his fingers.

  ‘Do not seek to detain me, Urist ab Urist,’ she warned.

  ‘My lady, do you know what you are doing? Do you even know how you are going to find your way to Nrurim?’ Tears trickled down Urist’s face. ‘I meant no harm. I wanted to save your life. I will keep you safe. If you go with him, you’ll die. I know it.’

  Keep her safe and most likely inadvertently deliver her back to her stepmother and her machinations. ‘Were you truly attacked?’

  Urist stopped his crawling. ‘My lady, that you even have to ask that question!’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘We were attacked... I mean, you can see this here place and I took quite a blow.’

  Not the ringing denial she’d expected. Urist had another scheme, but it had not gone entirely as he had planned.

  ‘Did you ever intend to take me to Nrurim?’

  ‘My lady!’ Urist clawed his hand towards her. ‘You must believe me. Stay here. Wait. My lad... Your father! He’ll worry!’

  Ceanna looked towards where Sandulf stood with Vanora and the clothes that he’d picked up from her trunk. His sword gleamed at his side and he moved with great authority and firm intention. He jerked his head towards the road and made a circular motion with his hand.

  Ceanna picked up her skirt and prepared to run. She could do this. ‘I know who to trust and it is not you, Urist. We were never here. I am but an illusion from the blow you took to your head. We go, Sandulf Sigurdsson. Now.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘Remaining anywhere in earshot is a bad idea.’ Sandulf forced his voice to stay steady when Ceanna abruptly halted a few hundred yards from the clearing. Vanora sat down and refused to go further. ‘Keep moving. We can return once the danger has passed if you require it, if you need more from your trunk, but I’d counsel against it.’

  Sandulf’s nerves tingled in anticipation. A fight was coming. How much time did he have before they were overrun? How many were there? They were coming, without a doubt. Dispatching Urist in cold blood was unnecessary. Lady Ceanna was correct—the guide’s head wound meant the attackers might consider him confused and doubt his tale.

  ‘Something we agree on.’ Ceanna’s mouth was pinched and her chest heaved with shallow pants. ‘Let me catch my breath. Please.’

  ‘Can you run further? Or do I have to carry you?’

  She lifted her head and glared at him. ‘I can run for as long you need me to. What I need to know is will you protect me? Can I hire you to provide protection to Nrurim, until I get to my aunt? I... I fear I will need it.’

  Her voice trembled on the final word, telling Sandulf she was a heartbeat from total panic. Instead of answering her question, he handed her the boots he’d discovered in her trunk.

  ‘Jam your feet into those, Skadi.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Unless you are determined to have my arms about you.’

  Her lips twitched upwards and her ch
eeks flamed. ‘Who is this Skadi?’

  ‘Skadi was a woman who donned her father’s armour in order to demand justice from the gods. Her beauty and determination impressed the gods and she became one of them.’

  ‘I’ll take the nickname, but your eyes need adjusting if you think I am beautiful.’

  He gave a short huff. Her shock was clearly under control if she could joke. And women always liked compliments—his mother had demanded a steady diet of them. She was always examining herself in the bronze mirror his father had brought home as a gift, searching for any flaw.

  He dreaded to think what a mess his mother or Ingrid would be in this situation. His back stiffened. Ingrid. He could almost hear her whispering her final words—words which he had not shared with Brandt. He swallowed hard as the guilt washed over him again. After he’d obtained justice for Ingrid, then he would seek out his brother.

  ‘They’re on,’ she said, bringing him back to the present. ‘I’m ready to go. Will you accept the bargain? Will you make another oath?’

  ‘Give me your old shoes.’

  She handed them to him with a puzzled expression. ‘Why?’

  He threw them far into the scrub. The action made him feel better. ‘Because you don’t need to carry them and our pursuers might be thrown off track.’

  ‘You accept my offer?’ She started to fumble with her arm purse.

  ‘Payment on results.’ Sandulf grabbed her and started to run again, crashing through the undergrowth, trying to get away from anyone who might arrive and from the memory of his failures.

  ‘Where are you going? The road to Nrurim is this way,’ Ceanna said between puffs of breath when Sandulf started off down a faint track.

  Sandulf glanced back towards the way they had come. They were probably safe here or a little further on. ‘Do you know the way, or must we follow the road to get Nrurim?’

  ‘What are you carrying?’ Ceanna asked, deliberately not answering his question. She held out her hand. ‘In addition to the boots, did you think to grab a more practical gown?’

  ‘Time was of the essence, but I reckon this should hold you in better stead than your current attire.’ He glanced at her. Their run had caused several more rips to appear in her gown, particularly around the shoulders, revealing the cream of her skin.

  ‘My current attire?’ Her cheeks coloured delightfully as she rapidly started examining her gown for yet more tears.

  She tried to pull up her sleeve and ended up causing the rip to get worse. ‘Far worse than I imagined.’

  ‘I didn’t have much time to sort out linen, but...’

  He roughly shoved a tightly wrapped bundle at her and waited for the complaints that he’d acted wrongly.

  Ceanna hugged it to her chest. Her face became wreathed in smiles. ‘Thank you. I’d feared all you took was my boots. Not even a sewing kit.’

  ‘Do you need to change right away?’

  He winced at her astonished look. Instantly he realised what he’d implied and then thought of the way she’d felt in his arms this morning.

  ‘I mean... I mean...’ He couldn’t think what he had intended to say. Anything he said was bound to increase both their discomfort. The woman wanted to be a holy maid, not his future bed companion, even if he kept picturing what she’d look like in the aftermath of their mutually enjoyable coupling. ‘I can turn my back.’

  She slowly shook her head. ‘I’ll wait until we reach somewhere safer. My changing will simply slow us down. As you say, we need to put distance between us and Urist.’

  His lungs started to work again. ‘I agree.’

  ‘You truly mean to do this? Travel with me to Nrurim? You mean to give me protection, not deliver me to my enemies? I never expected... Urist...’

  He hated how her voice wavered. She clutched the bundle to her chest, trying to control the shaking. The woman warrior who had surveyed the carnage with a controlled and purposeful air had vanished and her place had been taken by a woman with large, wide eyes and a white pinched mouth.

  He wanted to scoop her up and hold her tight, to whisper that all would be well, that he’d survived worse, that the killer was probably some hired sword, not the ruthless assassin he sought, the one who murdered women and their unborn babes in such a brutal fashion, but he refused to give false hope.

  The memory of Ingrid as she clung to his hand, her life’s blood draining from her, struggling to speak, slammed into him. He’d told her that all would be well and that Brandt would arrive in time, lies he’d believed she’d want to hear. Her lips had turned up at that and she’d shaken her head before she’d whispered her final words. He’d learned that day that offering comfort to the dying provided little comfort to the one who was left behind.

  ‘I’ve no intention of delivering you to your enemies,’ he said instead of explaining the truth—that he needed her more because those attackers could include his quarry.

  ‘Urist betrayed me. And I thought I’d planned so carefully...’ She stopped and pressed her face into her bundle of clothes.

  ‘Another mantra to add to your list?’

  ‘If I don’t keep trying to be better, how will I ever become better?’

  ‘Sometimes it happens when you’re doing something else, rather than planning for it. Be open to refinement and alteration.’ He waited for her answering smile, but her eyes were far too wide for his liking. ‘My plan currently is to put as much distance as I can between us and that camp.’ Sandulf started through the bracken, taking long strides with Vanora following at his heels. ‘Your dog agrees.’

  She moved far quicker with thick shoes on her feet, lifting her skirt up and revealing a slender calf as she caught up to them. ‘Why must we go this way rather than keeping to the road?’

  ‘I need to know how lost we might get if we leave the road,’ he said, choosing his words with care. ‘Can you navigate by landmarks? We go east, right? Nearly straight east over the mountains from what my last guide said.’

  She paled and clutched the bundle with white fingers. ‘Leave the road? You advised against it last night. It is the way through the pass. We might have to go far to the south to go around.’

  Last night, he hadn’t feared they were about to be attacked. Or followed.

  ‘Better to be alive.’ He willed her to understand. ‘You have done very well getting here, my lady, but I gave you my word and intend to keep it.’

  ‘I know the landmarks. We head for Ben Mor and keep the loch on our right. There are nine landmarks in total.’ She counted them on her fingertips twice, mumbling them under her breath. ‘I know all nine. Will you be able to protect us?’

  The sound of an owl hooting floated across the heathland, trilling now as it had before. Ceanna froze, her head cocked to one side.

  ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘Owls in daylight mean treachery and evil are afoot. Remember that and we will be safe.’ He forced his voice to sound light. ‘But you have a warrior at your side now.’

  She gave a tight smile. ‘Sandulf Sigurdsson, my protector, the warrior at my side.’

  He smiled back at her, impressed with her calmness. ‘What good is creating panic where none is required?’ he said softly.

  She tightened her hold on the bundle and glanced back towards where the campsite lay. ‘Will he be all right? Left here on his own? Perhaps he is in danger if the attackers return?’

  Vanora pricked up her ears and gave a small woof. Sandulf nodded, understanding what the dog was trying to say.

  He grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. Before whoever arrives to collect Urist, be they friend or foe. Vanora agrees with me.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Vanora would. She thinks you are wonderful because you come with an unlimited supply of hard cheese and dried meat. Her judgement is suspect.’

  ‘You’ve too kind a heart, my lady, for such an u
nworthy thought about your dog’s motivations.’

  ‘I take that as a compliment.’

  ‘Into the woods and through a bog to destroy any scent and then onwards. Can you see the summit of Ben Mor from here?’

  She nodded and he saw the slight uncertainty which was instantly replaced by belief. She pointed towards the horizon. ‘One set of mountains. One pass through unless we skirt south through the next valley. We head east.’

  ‘Excellent. If I go too fast, let me know.’

  She looked down at her sorry dress. ‘You promise to stop so I can change where there is shelter? This gown has definitely seen better days.’

  ‘As soon as we are safe.’

  They plunged into the heathland, going away from the road and the clearing and up on to the moor. To Sandulf’s relief, the sound of owls hooting quickly died behind him and the sun came out.

  The going was boggy underfoot until they reached another small wood, but Ceanna’s sheer determination to cover as much ground as possible impressed him. She never asked to stop, never once complained her feet hurt or that her gown was a sodden mess—all things he’d expect a woman to do. She had far more backbone than any woman he knew.

  * * *

  When he judged they had gone far enough and no one followed, he slowed the pace. ‘When you spot a place which will protect your modesty, we will stop. I’ve no wish for you to faint.’

  ‘You have a poor idea about me or Pictish women if you think us so weak-livered.’

  ‘But I feel I’m going to learn.’

  ‘A Northman who wants to learn—will wonders never cease?’

  Unable to help himself, he burst out laughing.

  She screwed up her nose, but her eyes danced with hidden lights. ‘Do you think I’m funny?’

  ‘I appreciate your dry wit.’

  ‘People normally think it is something odd.’

  ‘That’s their loss.’

  She missed a step. Instinctively, Sandulf reached out to steady her. A warm pulse went up his arm and the awareness of her rocked through him. His fingers itched to draw her nearer. A dark tendril of hair cascaded down her neck, pointing towards the gentle swell of her breasts. Her lips parted softly, red and ripe, revealing the pink tip of her tongue. He bent his head.