‘Let me see.’
‘They’re fine. I promise.’
‘I will judge the state of your feet, Lady Ceanna, before we continue.’ His tone did not allow for any refusal. ‘You may have plans, but I have responsibilities.’
He reached over and captured her ankle with gentle fingers. Tiny pulses of warmth radiated outwards from them. Ceanna forgot how her lungs worked. She held herself completely still.
He eased off the slipper and ran his hand slowly and methodically over the length of her sole. He set the foot down and lifted her other foot.
She concentrated on a spot above his head and tried to remember why she was not attracted to this man. His touch was strictly impersonal even if her heart whispered what if. Men, as her aunt had pointed out on her last visit, were often enticed by considerations other than the physical, which was fortunate for Ceanna and her prospects of a good match.
‘Are you satisfied?’ she asked into the silence. ‘Will they do? We don’t have time to waste. We need to catch up with Urist today. Once we are there, I can ride in his fabled cart.’
He let go abruptly and stepped away from her. ‘The mist is lifting.’
‘I will take that for a yes.’ She hated the small bubble of disappointment which sprung up in her breast. He wasn’t going to try to steal a kiss. ‘I will keep up.’
‘You have so far.’
Ceanna wished she could see his expression, but the grey light before dawn hid it very well. It bothered her that she wanted him to think well of her. She rapidly fiddled with her hair, releasing the last of the plaits and then redoing the hairstyle into something far more simple. ‘You make it seem like some great heroic act.’
‘You’d be surprised. Most ladies I’ve met would be weeping. I regret I took you for one of those feather-brained females when we first met.’
‘I make no comment about the others, but I rarely cry or bemoan my lot. I try to plan my way out.’
He turned and gave her a searching look. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘We need to go if we are to have any hope of catching Urist today. I am hoping our time alone together will be as short as possible.’
‘Are you sure this is the correct way?’ Sandulf asked after they had rounded another bend and the empty track stretched out before them across another piece of open moorland. The sun was far higher in the sky than it had been when they had set off, but they’d made good progress.
He was glad to put the distance between him and the place where they had rested. Waking up with her warm body in his arms had been a pleasant surprise. He hadn’t expected his body to respond in the way it did to her nearness. He’d almost stolen a kiss and the only thing which had stopped him was the dog’s bark. He’d made a mistake in touching her feet and slender ankles, feeling her flesh respond to his touch. It had taken all of his self-control not to pull her into his arms.
He stared up at the sky with its gathering clouds.
Lady Ceanna had been quite clear last evening that she wished to become a holy maid. From what he knew of such women from his time in Constantinople, they kept themselves pure in the service of their God. And she was a lady, not a woman who frequented taverns. Right now, he would concentrate on getting this holy maid to the guide and the whole party to Nrurim. Then he could focus on his duty again. Once completed, he’d find soft arms and even softer thighs between which to forget himself.
‘Are you sure this is even the right track? I would have thought—’
She pointed. ‘It is how the path to Nrurim goes. Over this rise and towards a wood which has a river running through it, from what I can remember, before climbing to the first pass.’ She gave him one of her sideways glances which him made inhale sharply at the way her eyes sparkled. ‘Are you suggesting we should stop and rest? Again? My feet are fine.’
He concentrated on the track.
‘I’m happy to continue on, if you believe you are capable of it.’
‘I’m a stout packhorse, even if I am dressed like some outlandish maiden at court.’ She stepped and caught the hem of her gown. She let out a muffled oath, but put her hand over her mouth. ‘A bad habit. One which my aunt is sure to correct.’
Sandulf tilted his head to one side and watched her. ‘Is that the sort of thing holy maids say?’
‘When they tear their gown for the seventh time in quick succession, yes.’ She wrinkled her nose at him in a way that he found utterly charming. ‘You mock me. You think my vocation lacks sincerity, but I did have a vision. And I knew I had to follow my destiny.’
‘Even holy maids are permitted to get exasperated. Or did I miss something?’ He paused, trying to discern what she was not saying. She had mentioned this vision of hers several times, but he’d never met anyone less likely to have such a thing. ‘Are they supposed to be calm and serene at all times? Waiting for the next glimpse into heaven?’
Her eyes became a vivid blue. ‘One of the first things I’m going to do when we discover Urist is change into my travelling clothes. You’ve no idea how difficult it is to move in this.’
‘Freedom to move means something to you. Most women—’
‘I’m not like my stepmother. I like to get things accomplished rather than passing on work to other people. Allegedly I bustle, instead of gliding like I should do, which is why I’m always tripping on the hems of my good gowns.’
‘Sometimes people should mind their own business.’
Her laughter rang
