Sandulf rubbed the back of his neck. Lady Ceanna’s accent was very different from his Northumbrian sister-in-law’s and the other Gaelic women he’d met on his travels, but nevertheless pleasing to the ear. ‘I have heard the story, but I thought the Queen had a different name. Gwenevere or something like that.’
‘In Pict land, or what used to be the country of the Picts, it is Vanora.’ The woman arched her chin higher. ‘Like most in this kingdom, my dog has good reason to be wary of men from the North.’
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
