‘What is your name?’ she asked in order to stop thinking about such things.
‘Sandulf Sigurdsson, at your service until we find our guide, my Lady Ceanna.’
Ceanna kept her hands at her sides. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘The lad who was sent to go to Dun Ollaigh told me.’
‘Voluntarily?’
Sandulf Sigurdsson’s face settled down into far harsher planes. All warmth fled from his eyes. ‘I take no pleasure from torture. The lad lost nothing but his dignity from me. You have my solemn oath I’ll keep you safe.’
‘And you are a man who makes a lot of oaths. Do you keep them?’
‘Without honour, I am worthless.’
‘I will bear that in mind.’ Ceanna turned and started walking briskly along the track, ignoring the way her gown curled about her legs like a rope bent on tripping her.
‘Here, where are you going?’
‘The sooner I get to Urist, the sooner I can rid myself of you, Oathkeeper.’
Keep this woman safe.
The words pinged around Sandulf’s brain as he slowly made his way along the increasingly muddy and narrow track at Ceanna’s side. The late afternoon sun gave way to a gloaming twilight which caused the shadows to lengthen while wisps of mist began to rise from the loch, making the going that much more treacherous. He knew what had happened the last time he’d tried to keep a woman safe: he’d failed. He tore his mind away from the image of Ingrid’s body and the events in Maerr on that terrible day.
Once they’d discovered the whereabouts of their guide, his responsibility towards the Lady Ceanna would end. Sandulf regarded her from under hooded eyes. She was the sort of person a man might overlook the first time, but his gaze kept straying back and finding new things to focus on—the curve of her neck, the length of her fingers, the precise shape of her mouth.
Her clothing, with its heavy gold-brocade trim and tight sleeves, was not the sort one travelled in and had rapidly become mud-splattered. The deep crimson red might be fashionable, but it did little for her complexion. And her slippers were made for dancing rather than tramping through the sticky mud on the track. However, no complaints passed her dawn-kissed lips. She simply stepped around the next puddle.
His mother and aunt’s complaints would have blistered his ears if they had been caught in the same predicament. He’d heard the nasal whines about one injustice or another throughout his entire childhood. His father had assured him all women complained about every inconvenience. All women, it would appear, except Lady Ceanna.
She stumbled over a root and put out a hand to break her fall, but Sandulf caught her elbow and managed to keep her upright. Up close he saw the dark bruised shadows under her eyes and the pinched whiteness of her mouth. Their breath interlaced for a long heartbeat.
Her sigh hissed out through gritted teeth. ‘I am perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet.’
‘The polite thing to say when rescued is thank you.’
‘Thank you for breaking my fall. I did not see the root. Will you please release me? I stand on my own feet quite easily. I’ve done so since I was small.’
Sandulf glanced up at the darkening sky. He tightened his grip on her elbow. ‘We are stopping.’
She pulled away from his fingers. ‘We need to keep going, towards Urist. I can walk all night if needs be.’
It wouldn’t have taken much more for Sandulf to have left the imperious woman standing there, more than half-dead from exhaustion. He’d had his fill of overbearing ladies in Constantinople, the ones who were certain that the world needed to be remade for them, but getting to Nrurim before Lugh learned of his pursuit and vanished into the night again was the only thing that mattered.
‘You might be prepared to walk through the gloaming, but I’m not.’ Sandulf clicked his fingers and Vanora sat in the dirt next to him, giving small whimpers. ‘Neither is your dog. She senses what I do—we need to halt for the night.’
Her face became mutinous when, despite her gesture to go on, the dog yawned and settled down next to him. ‘The bend in the river is not far from here and we have to catch up with Urist.’
‘But the mist rises and I can see moorland beyond those trees,’ Sandulf explained slowly, using the deadly quiet voice which had made people run from him in Constantinople. ‘My half-brother’s wife warned me about the treachery of Alba’s moorlands before I left her hall to go on this journey. The mist has led many strangers astray. I intend to heed her advice.’
Lady Ceanna pointed towards the greying horizon. ‘The track is very well defined up to the pass. I doubt the mist will be that heavy. It is summertime after all. I have lived here all my life and—’
‘You guess about the mist’s strength. It clouds the sun and it has become much cooler.’ He held out his hand. ‘It begins to rain, my very stubborn lady. Soon it will pelt down and destroy what remains of your hairstyle. I assume you are proud of the plaits. It must have taken an inordinate amount of time to achieve.’
‘It did.’
‘Are you going to remain stubborn?’
‘I could say the same of you. I’ve never met someone
