Conveniently Wed to the Viking Page 8

  Vanora gave a sharp bark, breaking the spell. He instantly sobered and let go.

  She wanted to be a holy maid, a voice resounded in his mind. He needed her to unlock St Fillans where Lugh the assassin resided.

  He knew how such maids were treated in Constantinople—the reverence and awe in which they were held. He had no business stealing kisses, even if he thought it a shame that such a lovely creature was going to spend the rest of her life locked away from the gaze of men.

  She cradled her arm. Her blue-grey eyes were fringed with thick black lashes. Her mouth trembled. He groaned inwardly as his body responded to her nearness. ‘What is going on? Why have we stopped?’

  ‘You nearly fell. Into the mud. I was helping you, but then realised you were capable of standing.’ He hoped she wouldn’t notice the husky timbre of his voice.

  She laughed lightly. ‘Balance—or lack of it—is one of my worst failings.’

  He rejoiced in her innocence. She had little idea of the agony he was in. ‘Take more care.’

  Her face fell slightly and he winced. His voice had been too abrupt. ‘I will.’

  ‘I might not always be there to catch you.’

  Her tongue wet her lips, sending fresh pulses of heat through him. ‘We’ll be parting company when we arrive in Nrurim.’

  He forced his feet to move away from her. He had to stop finding reasons to touch her—that was the path towards madness. Keeping her pure would enable her to meet her self-proclaimed destiny as a holy maid.

  He had so nearly succeeded where his brothers were sure he’d fail. He could then seek out Alarr, his middle brother, and most importantly Brandt. The kingdom might be lost, lost due to Brandt’s temper, according to Rurik, but his older brothers would have to admit that he was worthy of being one of the fabled sons of Sigurdsson. And he would get justice for Ingrid. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to hear their words when they knew what he’d achieved. The thought of this had sustained him through much danger and difficulty, but this time he found no pleasure in them. Instead he kept thinking about the shape of Ceanna’s mouth.

  ‘We need to keep our face away from the sun and go east,’ he said, forcing his voice to sound brusque.

  ‘No, that way.’ Ceanna pointed to a small hollow where a loch shimmered in the midday heat. ‘We go there.’

  ‘I thought the Pass of Brander was back that way.’ They would have to cross it at night, in case of prying eyes, but he would worry about that later.

  ‘I spy a small lake. This gown is worse than rags.’ Her stomach gave a loud rumble. ‘Bother.’

  Sandulf forced his face to remain carefully blank. ‘Hungry?’

  ‘I don’t suppose there is much hope of anything to eat.’

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  She halted abruptly. ‘What now? What have I done?’

  ‘You, only you. Most women—’ It was impossible to explain that his mother, aunt and sister-in-law would never have admitted such a thing. Men had appetites, his mother used to say, and women had taste. He was never entirely sure what that meant. ‘You’re a refreshing change, my Lady Skadi.’

  ‘I am not your lady nor this warrior woman you go on about. I’m your unasked-for travelling companion.’

  ‘Truer words were never spoken.’ Sandulf recited to himself all the reasons why seducing this woman would be a poor idea—starting with his need to avenge Ingrid’s death and ending with her desire to be a holy maid. But the reasons suddenly seemed less important than the way her lips curved up in a smile or how her eyes danced. She was his travelling companion, his way in to the monastery at Nrurim, nothing more. ‘But I’ll grant your heart’s desire anyway. You get changed and I’ll see if I can obtain any food beyond the dried meat and hard cheese.’

  * * *

  She wasn’t the sort of woman men desired. Ceanna knew that. She accepted her defects and that men were attracted to her dowry before they were attracted to her. It had been part of her reasoning why a holy maid was the perfect vocation for her. It solved many intractable problems if people believed she had deep and meaningful visions. For one thing, it would mean they would listen and protect Dun Ollaigh because it had been her childhood home. Her counsel would be taken because she spoke directly to God. She could declare the people of Dun Ollaigh required the church’s protection because they were important.

  The tiny knot in her stomach grew heavier. Her plan had to work. No hero waving a flaming sword would come to rescue her or prevent Feradach from preying on the townspeople. Except it was getting harder to maintain the pretence of her otherworldly holiness with Sandulf. She kept wanting to blurt out the full story about her fears and why she was running from her intended groom.

  She had to stop thinking that Sandulf would be any different from the rest. He was calling her that name—Skadi—for irony’s sake, not because he thought her overwhelmingly attractive or any kind of revered warrior. She knew she was neither.

  Circumstance had thrown them together. He had not deliberately sought her out. And it didn’t matter that his eyes danced with lights or that he shared her sense of humour. She’d given up looking for men to rescue her years ago. She was getting herself out of this mess. He was... He was...

  She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  He was irrelevant to her future. She had to cling tightly to her vision of being a holy maid and how being one would help the people who depended on her.

  Throwing all that away because she’d woken in a man’s arms and felt at once the pleasure and the security of it was wrong. All she needed to do was to keep thinking about the next steps and what would happen when she arrived at Nrurim.

  Ceanna regarded the sodden and ripped wedding gown with distaste. She crumpled it in a ball and kicked it away from her. The thing had started making her brain rot, giving her romantic notions. The journey to Nrurim would be the length of their acquaintance, that was all. Then she would begin her new life as a nun, in service to her aunt, in exchange for the protection of her people.

  She shivered slightly in the cold as she reached for the russet gown, which was one of her favourites as it gave her freedom of movement and hid the worst of her defects.

  Before slipping it on, she carefully secreted the remainder of the gold which she’d stored in the toe of her right boot into a pouch she hung from her waist. Urist had not robbed her completely blind, but she’d seen the hesitation in his eyes. He’d been about to return her to Feradach’s deadly embrace.

  ‘It feels good to have proper clothes on again,’ she called, coming out from behind the pile of boulders which had screened her from Sandulf after she had fastened a belt about her waist, disguising the pouch.

  Sandulf turned from where he sat in front of a small fire. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, giving him an endearing boyish look, even though she knew there wasn’t anything boyish about him. His quick thinking had already saved her life on two occasions. He was a man—her body told her that.

  From somewhere he’d procured a line and had managed to catch a couple of trout from the loch. He held them out. ‘You can move more easily in that. Good. Shall we gut these and cook them?’

  ‘Are you waiting for me to wince squeamishly? I’m afraid disappointment is your destiny.’

  He lifted a brow. ‘The thought had occurred to me.’

  ‘Your sisters must have loved you. I bet you put spiders down their dresses and beetles in their beds.’

  ‘I don’t have any sisters. Just brothers. Four of them. Two full. Two half. They’re more than any man could want.’

  ‘That explains it.’

  ‘Explains what?’

  ‘Why you think women are fragile creatures, liable to break at any moment and needing our whims constantly satisfied.’

  He drew his lips together. ‘Do you want to eat the fish or not?’

>   ‘I do.’ Ceanna smoothed the pleats of her gown. Whatever this odd feeling was, she liked being on better terms with him. Temporary travelling companions could have a sort of friendship.

  ‘Irritable when hungry, are we?’ He regarded her under hooded eyes.

  The urge to pat her hair nearly overwhelmed her. She forced her hands to stay at her sides. ‘Happier to breathe freely without worrying about bursting a seam.’

  ‘You have the figure to fill out the other gown. That one is more like a sack.’

  ‘This is my favourite gown,’ she said between clenched teeth, unaccountably irritated.

  ‘It is certainly more practical.’ He bent his head and started scaling the fish.

  ‘Shall I start a fire?’ she said into the silence.

  ‘Yes, I’ve started collecting some wood, but perhaps you can get some kindling.’ He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end.

  She gulped. ‘Hunger makes me quarrelsome. My stepmother used to complain about it, but then she complains about everything I do.’ She began collecting small sticks and twigs to start the fire.

  ‘It is nothing.’ He waved a hand. ‘That colour suits you better, by the way. It brings out the highlights in your hair.’

  How to damn with faint praise. Ceanna hated the small bubble of disappointment. She knew she was not beautiful. His words shouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t as if she wanted compliments, not from him.

  ‘My wedding gown is little more than rags.’

  ‘Best throw it on the fire.’

  ‘The smoke might give us away.’

  ‘Then leave it here. Someone might find a use for it.’

  ‘My stepmother will be more distressed over losing the gown than losing me,’ she admitted. ‘She kept commenting on its cost. I’m certain that she made the measurements to suit her more than me. Her figure is more slender and she looks excellent in crimson.’

  ‘And that bothers you?’

  She tilted her chin upwards. ‘Not in the slightest.’

  ‘Then you’re a better person than I am.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘I was furious when my family decided to send me away after my father’s death. That anger kept me going for months, if not years. Still does.’

  Ceanna stilled. Could that be Sandulf’s reason for going to Nrurim? Something to do with his family? An old score to settle, perhaps? ‘What did you do about it?’

  ‘That is why I am here.’

  ‘Do you want to speak about it?’

  He quickly shook his head. ‘I need to cook the fish.’

  She pressed her lips together. ‘I’ll find something to balance the fish on. Be useful rather than decorative.’

  ‘Lady Ceanna, I rarely speak about my family.’

  ‘It is well then that I didn’t ask you to,’ she replied, stung. He was back to calling her Lady Ceanna again. The ease between them had evaporated. All because of her curiosity. What did it matter to her why he was going to Nrurim? Other people lived there besides the monks and nuns at the abbey. King Aed, his sons and his court had been there recently. It was where he had met his untimely end. From the rumours she’d heard, his murderer remained at large and the boys were missing, presumed dead.

  He turned away from her and started gutting the fish, much to Vanora’s delight.

  As a peace offering, Ceanna hurried down to the loch and discovered two flattish stones that would serve as trenchers. She rinsed them off before she returned to where Sandulf had built a fire.

  ‘Impressive,’ she said, nodding towards the fish gently sizzling on a flat rock which was set nearly in the fire. ‘I had wondered how you would cook them.’

  ‘I know how to live off the land.’ He gestured about him. ‘People can starve if they are unaware of the bounty nature provides.’

  ‘Then I’m grateful you know,’ she said when she trusted her voice not to scream that she was far from a feather-brained lady who simply did needlework. She held out the flat rocks. ‘And now we have something to eat on.’

  He nodded. ‘Good thinking, but I found some leaves to put the fish on.’

  Her heart sank. He seemed more remote than ever. ‘We can put the leaves on top of the stones. Saves burnt fingers.’

  ‘We can do that.’ He gave one of his smiles that made her heart swoop. ‘And I made sure to gather a few extra leaves as it is quite a useful herb, one of the nine herbs Odin gave the world to help with healing.’

  ‘The others are?’

  ‘Mugwort, betony, lamb’s cress, mayweed, nettle, crabapple, thyme and fennel. My mother made sure I knew them before I left home for the first time. A warrior must know how to heal as well as how to kill his enemy.’

  ‘She sounds like a good mother—worried about her son.’

  Sandulf’s mouth became a thin white line. ‘She had her moments. Her temper could be swift and ungovernable, though. She always resented my half-brothers and used to try to stop me from following them about. She never succeeded.’

  ‘Your relationship sounds complicated.’

  ‘It is,’ he said in a tone which indicated he did not want to discuss it.

  Ceanna winced. She had done it again. Her words were supposed to be friendly. He had taken them as prying.

  ‘I can be too curious,’ she said, coming to sit beside him. She carefully put the large leaves on the rocks, two or three leaves to each stone. ‘I like to know too many things, like these herbs of Odin. Your family are in your past, not mine.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He waved his hand, but took the stones. ‘Hunger gnaws at our bellies and never improves anyone’s temper. I said I don’t want to speak about my family, but with you, I keep finding reasons to mention them. I hadn’t thought about the nine herbs in years. But you are right—my mother did...does care about what happens to me.’

  ‘Is she still alive?’

  ‘As far as I know, but she has another life now. A new husband, according to my half-brother. She took his part in a quarrel with my older brother.’

  ‘When my father remarried, he put my stepmother first most of the time. Suddenly she wore many things which had belonged to my mother.’ Ceanna stabbed at the fish. ‘It hurt. It was as if my mother had ceased to exist and all the ways she had done things were wrong. My father refused to see how she was punishing the loyal servants. When I tried to stop her, I was deemed a nuisance and a bother.’

  He put the fish on to a leaf-covered rock and passed it to her. ‘Eat the fish, not the plant, Skadi,’ he said with a mock-severe look. ‘You don’t want to make yourself sick and do your stepmother’s work for her.’

  She took a bite and discovered the fish melted in her mouth. She might be running for her life towards an uncertain future, but somehow everything seemed easier. ‘Food tastes even better when you are really hungry.’

  Chapter Six

  Sandulf concentrated on the remains of his fish. He’d spoken the truth—he did not like even thinking about his family except to consider about how he’d avenge them. Even in the short time he’d known Ceanna, she had him remembering things he’d buried deep down and each time they hurt a little less. All he knew was that once he had done what he said he would, that dark empty place in the middle of his being would vanish.

  ‘Your friend appeared very eager to help you and blacken my name,’ he said when she handed the remains of her fish to Vanora who set about it with a great eagerness, even though the dog had already consumed two fish of her own. Her great jaws crunched the bones with relish.

  She shook her head. ‘No friend of mine and irredeemably prejudiced against Northmen, I fear.’

  Sandulf pressed his lips together. ‘I’m discovering many in this part of Alba are.’

  ‘They’ve cause to be, considering the raids which have happened over the last few years. They even dethroned Constantine, our old King, in the Battl
e of Dollar until their supply lines became overstretched and they had to retreat back to the Black Pool in Éireann. Who knows when they will begin to raid again? Giric, the new Regent, insists he and his men are more than capable of dealing with the threat.’

  Sandulf ground his teeth. One more reason why he was going to need help to get into St Fillans. Marching up to the front door and demanding—as was his inclination—was doomed to failure. ‘What precisely is the trouble with your stepmother?’

  ‘My father’s second wife is only three years older than I am. She is very beautiful—tall, with a perfect figure and hair as dark as a raven’s wing. She was a pupil of my aunt’s until about eighteen months ago and was handpicked for my father.’

  ‘And these days?’

  ‘My father lies abed, sick. He has a wound which refuses to heal combined with a chill and cough that he picked up a month or so ago. My stepmother has declared he is beyond her skill as a healer. Dun Ollaigh must have an able warrior at its helm in these troubled times. She refuses to allow me to see him on his own or get another healer. Either she is present or Captain Feradach lurks.’

  ‘What would your father say if you spoke to him alone?’

  Ceanna stared at the gently lapping water of the lake. What would her father say? She’d pondered this for a long time, but she’d come to the conclusion that if he was in his right mind and able to speak beyond grunts and moans, he wouldn’t want her dead. He’d never spoken about a marriage between her and Feradach. And in the hurried conversation she’d overheard, she knew her stepmother did not want her aunt to know about the marriage plans until it was too late for her to interfere. It was one of the reasons she believed her aunt would protect her, despite her stepmother having been raised in St Fillans under her aunt’s watchful eye. ‘I couldn’t stay to be offered up as a sacrifice even though I know he may die while I’m gone. I pray for him.’