Sandulf nodded, leading him over to the table. He scouted the chamber with his eyes as if making certain they were alone.
‘No one is here. There are only my men outside the door,’ Rurik reassured him. ‘How was your journey?’
‘Long,’ said Sandulf as he settled himself and partook of the ale Rurik had poured for him. He grimaced near the end. ‘I miss the mead of home.’
There were many things Rurik missed of home, too, but he was finding that with every day he spent here with Annis, he was coming to think of Mulcasterhas as his home. ‘There is much work here for me to do.’ He gave a wry smile.
The quirk of his lips seemed to catch Sandulf’s attention and provoke a frown. ‘How have you come to be here?’
A grumble of unease returned to his belly. He had only barely reconciled himself to the affection he felt for his enemy’s daughter-in-law. If the truth was known, his initial hatred of Wilfrid had begun to wear thin as well. But how would he explain that to Sandulf?
He spent the next few moments telling his brother about his time in Éireann with Alarr. About King Feann and how he had learned the truth of his mother. Finally, he spoke of what he had learned of Wilfrid of Glannoventa and how it had brought him here.
Now it was Sandulf’s turn to look puzzled. ‘Am I to understand that you married his daughter, Lady Annis?’
‘It happens that Wilfrid is very ill and he despises Danes.’ Another smile curved his lips and Sandulf noticed, the groove between his brows deepening.
‘I’ve never seen you smile so much. You’re smitten with her.’ Sandulf said it as an admonishment.
Taking in a slow, steady breath, Rurik searched for a way to explain. It turned out there was no way other than the truth. ‘I have affection for my wife, yes. Wilfrid had not plotted the murders at home as I had thought. He hired assassins to go and only to target our father. I never knew this, but several years ago Sigurd came here to this area. There was a...disagreement and Wilfrid’s son was killed, apparently brutally.’
‘That is all well and good, but have you forgotten what happened at home? That was brutal murder.’
‘If there is one thing I understand, it’s the need for vengeance.’ It was all he had thought about since. Until Annis. ‘But Wilfrid is all but bedridden. Killing him will not avenge anyone.’ Hoping to turn the conversation, he asked, ‘What happened to you when you left us? Did you reach Constantinople?’
Sandulf nodded. ‘It’s where I’ve been all this time. Do you remember that I fought the ones who killed Ingrid?’ Despite the fact that some time had passed, the wound was still raw for them both. A slash of pain crossed Sandulf’s face and Rurik nodded in encouragement.
‘I will never forget,’ said Rurik.
‘There were four of them. Two of them fled to Constantinople. I found them and killed them, but not before one of them told me where the others could be found.’
‘In Glannoventa,’ Rurik responded, wondering if they had been here all this time.
Sandulf nodded. ‘Yes, one of them. The other seems lost, but I have hope I will learn his name.’
‘But there were only three of them. Wilfrid admitted to hiring the three assassins and he says that he did not make the trip to Maerr. I believe him, because his health is very poor and was poor even then.’
Sandulf shook his head and his brows came together over his eyes, creating a deep groove, making him appear fierce. Rurik had never seen him look like that before.
‘I didn’t come here for Wilfrid,’ said Sandulf. ‘There were four there, Rurik. Two of them were fighting Father’s warriors. The third is the one who murdered Ingrid.’
‘And the fourth?’ Rurik asked.
‘She went with the man who attacked Ingrid. I tried to fight them off, but the man was vicious. I wasn’t able to stop him, but I marked the girl.’
‘The girl?’ Rurik echoed the words as blood roared in his head. There was a girl among the assassins Wilfrid had hired to kill their father. Why had he not known that before? Somewhere deep down, he knew where Sandulf was leading, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. Shaking his head, he said, ‘No, you’re mistaken.’
‘Before I killed him, the assassin told me she could be found here.’
Rurik shook his head. ‘But I was told one of them was called Wilfrid and that wasn’t true. The assassin lied to you.’ Each statement was a grasp at some plausible explanation. ‘You think it’s Annis.’
Sandulf nodded, as if only just realising that he was dealing with an animal on the very edge of becoming wild. He raised his hands, palms extended outward. ‘It is possible.’
His Annis. Rurik thought of her as she had been that morning, naked and panting, soft and yielding beneath him. His.
‘Annis is not the one you seek. She had no part of that.’ He closed his eyes, but his brother’s next words penetrated anyway.
‘The girl I remember from that day had auburn hair and pale skin. I marked her here with my blade. Two marks that cross.’ He stood and indicated his back above his hip.
‘No!’ The word roared out of Rurik as he came to his feet. He brought his hands to his forehead, his fingers grasping handfuls of his hair as if he could pull out the knowledge Sandulf had given him. As if there was some hope of going back to how things had been before.
Is this what had been worrying her these past weeks? She had started to tell him something outside, but it hadn’t been the first time. On their wedding night she had mentioned something and he hadn’t let her talk for fear of losing what he had only just found.
He thought back further, back to the night she had confessed her family’s involvement with Sigurd and Maerr.
