Conveniently Wed to the Viking Page 9

  ‘Like any holy maid would.’

  She ignored the taunt. ‘Have you ever seen a body mutilated like that poor dead woman with Urist? The one he dressed up to be me?’

  The sound of lapping waves was replaced by unwelcome memories—the torch hitting the rushes, the roar of the fire in the hall and Ingrid’s final gasps. He rose and walked to the water’s edge. ‘Once. A depraved assassin. One of his specialities when he murders women, or so I’ve been told.’

  ‘Has this murderer been caught?’

  Sandulf skimmed a pebble across the lake, making it skip three times, and watched the ripples as it sank. How to answer without frightening Lady Ceanna, without having her beg him to take her anywhere but St Fillans?. Did Lugh have anything to do with the attack on Urist? ‘I’ve no intention of letting him murder again.’

  Lady Ceanna took a pebble and attempted to make it skip. It sank instead. ‘Do you think the murderer noticed Urist’s trick with the corpse? Or did it serve his purpose—the ability to tell my stepmother that I was dead?’

  ‘Skimming stones is all in the wrist.’ Sandulf grabbed another pebble and pushed his thoughts about Lugh to one side. He did things in order, not haphazardly. The answer was in Nrurim, he was certain of it, and the most important thing was to get there. If whoever had attacked Urist on the road discovered Lady Ceanna still lived? Sandulf clenched his jaw. He was enough protection. ‘A gentle flick. Shall I show you?’

  ‘If you like. Did someone teach you? One of your brothers?’

  ‘I mastered it myself.’ Sandulf remembered how all his brothers had different techniques—Brandt with his determined throws which skipped further, Alarr would do it long and low and pretend the number of skips did not matter as he preferred to practise his sword skills, while the twins Rurik and Danr would vie with each other and gently argue about who was best. He’d idolised them all back then. His big brothers. ‘They can all skim stones. None had the time or inclination to help their youngest brother, but then one day, I joined in and skipped a stone nineteen times.’

  Sandulf smiled, reliving that rare moment of triumph. The expressions of wonder and pride in his brothers’ faces at his achievement. He tightened his grip on the pebble, tossed it and it skipped seven times.

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘The fun went out of the game.’

  ‘Or perhaps they became too busy with other things.’

  ‘Perhaps. A pointless exercise, according to Alarr.’

  ‘Not to me. I’d like to learn.’

  He stood behind her and was intensely aware of her wildflower scent and the warmth radiating from her body. How alive she felt. Her current gown might conceal her curves, but he knew they were there.

  ‘All in the wrist,’ he said, barely recognising his own voice. His fingers closed about her hand. ‘Flick it and you will skip the stone. Now you try.’

  ‘Like this.’ She skimmed the stone and it skipped twice. She clapped her hands and spun towards him.

  Her lips were a breath away and softly parted. He forced himself to step backwards. He could not touch her, have her, if she were to become a holy maid. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin her life.

  ‘Is this why you go to Nrurim?’ she asked into the silence which followed her next skim of a pebble.

  He pretended to misunderstand. ‘To toss pebbles? Is there a good lake there?’

  ‘You hunt a murderer.’

  ‘Is your wish to be a holy maid merely an excuse to avoid the marriage your stepmother planned?’

  Ceanna concentrated on rearranging the pleats in her gown. In her excitement at skimming stones, she’d nearly kissed him. And then she’d asked the question she dreaded knowing the answer to, but suspected she did already. Sandulf Sigurdsson was going to Nrurim to hunt down the vile murderer of whom he had spoken before. And now he had asked the question she most wanted to avoid answering. ‘Why would it be?’

  ‘It came on you suddenly, probably right after your stepmother decided you were to marry this captain of your father’s guard.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘You are unlike any of the holy people I’ve encountered.’

  ‘You, a Northern warrior, have conversed with many holy people? Before or after you slit their throats?’

  ‘Enough to know that they are generally unworldly and have little regard for practical planning. I’m a warrior who kills in battle, rather than slaying unarmed men or women.’

  Ceanna stared at her hands. Her nails were short and her palms still bore traces of the dye she’d used with the wool a little over a week ago, a lifetime ago. Everyone thought of her as practical, rather than beautiful or dedicated to God’s purpose. Her aunt was bound to see through her ruse. ‘Because I’m practical, you think I can have no vocation.’

  She took another pebble and attempted to skim it. It fell short. The twinkle in his eye deepened. ‘Let us say that I have my reservations, but I’m prepared to learn. Why do you think becoming a holy maid will save you?’

  Ceanna swallowed hard. This man had saved her life twice. He deserved the truth. Telling him the truth would not alter anything. She had no intention of waking up in his arms again. Not tomorrow, not any day on this journey and certainly not after the journey ended. Men like him were never interested in women like her. And she wanted to be more than a warm body in the night. ‘What other option do I have? I can’t become a warrior and go off to foreign lands to sell my sword arm to emperors and traders.’

  His gaze roamed over her curves. ‘I hadn’t really considered it, but I don’t suppose you can.’

  She picked up another pebble and held it in her hand. It held a gentle warmth from the summer sun. She placed it in the pouch she wore about her waist. ‘I’m determined to live my life as I wish.’

  ‘What happens after you make your vows to become a holy maid and dedicate your life to the church?’

  ‘I spend my life praying, doing good works and hoping for more visions.’ Ceanna swallowed hard. It sounded even less appealing than it had back in Dun Ollaigh, but she couldn’t confess that to this Northman. Becoming a holy maid was the best way to secure protection for the people who depended on her and to save her life. ‘My aunt refounded the convent after her husband died several years before I was born. She lives a fulfilling life, I believe.’

  ‘What about the people you have left behind? The people from the estate? Your father?’

  Ceanna screwed up her eyes tight. Her father might even now be breathing his last. It had been part of the reason her stepmother had insisted on a hasty wedding—so he could give his blessing from his deathbed. ‘If I’m dead, I can’t help them.’

  ‘And being locked in a convent ensures their safety? How?’

  ‘They’ll come under the church’s protection from what I understand. Once I explain my vision to my aunt, she will be forced to act as the request comes from a holy maid. And my dowry will go to the convent along with me. In the past, the Gaelic church has had monks who were warriors. St Columba was a warrior, as was St Aidan.’

  ‘I see.’

  Ceanna wrapped her arms about her waist. ‘I thought I’d been clever, but it appears someone guessed my intention and took steps. They want me dead and if that happens...’

  Her flesh trembled beneath his palm. He tried not to think how warm she’d felt in his arms this morning. Or rejoice in the fact that her heart clearly wasn’t committed to the service of her god.

  ‘There are more miles to travel before we sleep tonight. You can pretend I’m your aunt and practise your speech on me as we walk.’

  Ceanna glanced up towards where the mountains loomed. They had gone further south than she would have liked and the peak remained barely visible on the horizon. The further south they travelled, the more she risked losing her bearings and having to cross the river somewhere other than at the bridge. Swollen with rain
, the river could bear down on the unsuspecting with fury and many had drowned attempting it. She controlled a shudder.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. My words are for her ears only.’ She wrapped her hands about her waist to contain the shiver. ‘We should concentrate on the journey ahead. There are many dangers along the way.’

  His eyes turned serious. ‘I made my oath and I will protect you. Once we arrive in Nrurim, your aunt will be strong enough to protect you. It is why you are going to her. Nothing which has happened should alter that feeling. Let us not borrow trouble.’

  Ceanna wiped her fingers on the remains of the leaves. Sandulf was right. But she wished she could rid herself of the unease that plagued her. ‘Then it is best we get there as quickly as possible.’

  He gave her a long searching look. ‘I’m pleased you see it my way.’

  Ceanna curled her fingers into fists. ‘What other way is there to see it?’

  * * *

  Ceanna stared at the raging river which stretched out on either side of them, hating it but hating more the unsettled way it made her feel. Her mother and younger brother had lost their lives when they had tried to cross a river in a flood. Her mother had used a ford which was normally safe. The sound of her final screams and her brother’s wails sometimes echoed in Ceanna’s ears at night. After that she’d always been afraid of rushing water. But here today, with her warrior by her side, she found that the thought of taking risks was exhilarating.

  Confessing this to Sandulf was impossible. She wanted to show him that she was better than any simpering lady he’d encountered before. She wanted to live up to the nickname he’d given her earlier. She wanted him to think well of her in a way she had not wanted anyone else to before. It seemed like such a long time since anyone had believed in her, but he did, even if she wasn’t brave as he thought.

  She dangled her foot over the water, stared at its swirling depths before putting it firmly back on dry land.

  ‘We need to get to the other side as soon as possible,’ she said. ‘If we keep going inland, the river becomes a giant lake and we’ll have to go out of our way to avoid it.’

  ‘Or obtain a boat.’

  Boats and rough water? A recipe for disaster. She shivered slightly. ‘I would prefer to find a bridge or ford. Crossing here is dangerous.’

  ‘These people who require your death will be watching the nearest places where it is safe to cross.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  He shaded his eyes, looking up and down the river. ‘We go this way, back towards the sea until we reach a ford, but if not, we will reach this fabled bridge of yours.’

  ‘That way? It is towards Dun Ollaigh. We need to keep going away from it.’ Ceanna pointed in the opposite direction. ‘I say we go towards the loch. Maybe you are right about the boat. We won’t be on it long enough to get seasick.’

  The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘You get seasick? A loch is nothing like the sea.’

  ‘My stomach revolts on a mill pond.’

  He instantly sobered. ‘You need to take a voyage across the sea. It will settle you, allow you to get your sea legs.’

  ‘Once I am at Nrurim, I will be bound to the monastery and will make no further journeys.’

  ‘You will be a holy maid who spouts wisdom and piety to all who will listen.’

  ‘I have to believe in something.’

  ‘Why not try believing in yourself?’

  ‘You’re being impossible.’ She started off in the direction of the loch, but Sandulf remained still. At Vanora’s whine, she glanced back. ‘Will you keep up or not?’

  ‘Either you trust me to protect you, or you don’t.’

  Ceanna stilled. ‘How can it be safer to go back towards Dun Ollaigh?’

  ‘I promised to keep you safe, my lady. As soon as it is safe to cross, we will. If it isn’t until the bridge, then we cross at night. You were right in your first thought—we want to keep our presence known to as few people as possible.’

  ‘You said they will be watching the bridge.’ She pointed towards where the great loch lay. Her stomach remained sick at the thought of travelling in a boat. She’d never been a good traveller.

  ‘Let me worry about that, Lady Ceanna. My sword arm is strong.’

  Ceanna rolled her eyes. She was back to being my lady, a sure sign Sandulf was displeased with her attempt to control the situation. ‘Very well, I’ll bow to your expertise. We head for the bridge.’

  Silently she prayed that it was just around the bend and they would not have to use a ford.

  He gave a smile which warmed her all the way to her toes. ‘I knew you’d see it my way. It is good to see that you are not completely headstrong and foolhardy, Skadi.’

  Headstrong and foolhardy. A combination of words she had never thought would be applied to her. She was known for her caution and prudence. ‘I’m not that. These last few days have been unusual.’

  A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Someone who likes to take risks now she has discovered the joy it can bring.’

  She smiled back at him. ‘Maybe.’

  * * *

  ‘We can cross here,’ Sandulf said, pointing to a bend in the river where a large tree had become wedged between several stones. ‘There looks to be a reasonable path with stones out to the log and the water is not running nearly as fast.’

  ‘Will that log hold?’

  ‘No reason why it shouldn’t.’ Sandulf frowned. Ceanna had become very quiet during their journey along the river. He found he missed her light banter. It was a relief from his own sombre thoughts about his failings and the memories of what had happened in Maerr.

  She gave a brief nod, but continued to watch the river with trepidation.

  ‘Shall I go first?’ He started across the stones, managing to keep his feet dry until he reached the log. As he suspected, it was wedged tight. He rapidly walked across and looked down into the shallows. A series of flat rocks made the rest of the fording simple.

  ‘It is straightforward because the log won’t move until the next time the river floods,’ he said, returning to where Ceanna stood. If anything, her face wore even more of a pinched look. Once they were clear of the river, they could relax, Sandulf repeated in his mind. He had no wish for Ceanna to realise the danger he suspected they were in. Anyone who wished to should have no real trouble following their journey, but crossing the river would help solve that problem. ‘You need to follow where I put my feet precisely.’

  ‘Precisely?’

  ‘You’re more than capable of it. I’ve seen you in action. Remember, Skadi?’

  Without waiting for her answer, Sandulf plunged ahead into the river. The water was moving swiftly, but nothing he was unduly concerned about. By moving from rock to rock, he managed to make it over to the other side with the water merely wetting his boots during the final few steps.

  Vanora went in after him and rapidly made it over to the other side, but then gave a slight whimpering noise and started to pace the shore.

  He glanced back to where Ceanna stood perched on a rock, about a third of the way across the river, right before the makeshift log bridge. She’d gone a slightly different route and her pathway to the log was completely cut off. The fierce warrior woman of earlier seemed suddenly hugely vulnerable. Droplets of water sparkled on her cheeks—from the river spray or tears? He refused to speculate. His heart, the one several women in Constantinople had accused him of not having, squeezed tight.

  ‘Problem?’ he called over the rushing water.

  ‘Maybe we should make for the bridge and the pass.’

  Sandulf frowned. ‘Vanora made it over. You can do it.’

  ‘Can I really?’

  ‘You were the one who said she liked to take risks,’ he said, trying to be encouraging.

  ‘About that... I may have exagg
erated a little bit.’

  ‘You’ll have to explain after you cross.’

  Ceanna concentrated on the swirling water. It was far worse than she had imagined on the shore. It had seemed simple when Sandulf did it and then Vanora had barely got her paws wet. Going forward was not an option and backwards seemed impossible as well. Struggling to get air into her lungs, she knew she should never have misled him about her level of confidence. She should have told him the truth—that she was actually one of those simpering maids who was more at home with her tapestry on her knee than out in the wilderness, that she liked her routine and disliked...well...everything that was uncomfortable and unplanned.

  ‘I’m not sure I can. Oh, help, I beg you!’

  Her arms wheeled in the air and she knew in another heartbeat, three at the most, she would be in that river. She closed her eyes and whispered prayers.

  Strong arms came about her waist as she felt herself slipping into the churning water. He’d got hold of her before she fell. Her hands clawed at his shoulders. ‘Don’t let me go. Don’t you dare.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of dropping you.’ He tightened his grip on her and started to make his way across the river. His arms were like protective iron bands about her body, holding her against his solid chest. His heart thumped in her ear. The panic which had threatened to overcome her subsided.

  She was surprised how easily he crossed the log. She craned her neck to get a better look at the river swirling beneath them. Somehow, with Sandulf holding her against his chest, the raging water was far less terrifying.

  ‘Hold still. Wriggling will only make things difficult. Allow me to keep you safe.’

  ‘Promise?’ she whispered, screwing up her eyes tight.

  ‘I promise.’ His breath tickled her ear. Warm pulses thrummed through her body.

  ‘I believe you.’

  His hands shifted and her feet met with solid ground. ‘You’re safe, Skadi. Away from the river.’