Ceanna rolled her eyes. Like many other Picts, Urist always proclaimed his distrust of Northmen. But in this instance he was wrong. Sandulf was innocent. Urist’s loose tongue had probably had something to do with the attack.
Her eyes flickered to where Sandulf stood. His face had its hard-chiselled look back, the one he’d worn at the inn. Vanora had started pacing like she always did when she was upset.
Urist—friend or foe? Danger surrounded her.
Ceanna swallowed her rising sense of panic and forced her voice to remain calm. ‘Your caution may have saved my life and I thank you for it.’
Urist collapsed back down. His face twisted into an expression of obsequious subservience which Ceanna instantly distrusted. ‘You’re too kind, my lady. I knew you would see sense. My lad—’
‘Sandulf,’ Ceanna said in a low voice. ‘We need to speak.’
‘What is going on?’ Sandulf loomed over them with his drawn sword. Vanora instantly went to him and whimpered.
Ceanna breathed a sigh of relief. His appearance showed him to be the epitome of a warrior. The cowards who had attacked Urist and his party would think twice about attacking a man like Sandulf. But the far better thing was not to have to fight at all.
Ceanna steadied her breathing. Urist had to think she trusted him. ‘Rest, Urist. We’ll speak more soon.’
She led Sandulf away from the guide. ‘Our guide played a trick on the attackers, a trick which appeared to have worked. But something about his story rings false. My stepmother loves making elaborate tableaux as an entertainment for a feast. This feels like one of them.’
Sandulf’s mouth became harder set. ‘I can’t understand what he is saying.’ He pointed towards where the woman lay. ‘Why is that long-dead woman there?’
‘Urist didn’t trust you so he took precautions.’ Ceanna nodded towards Urist, who was examining his mangled leg.
‘I see. He didn’t trust me, but he was quite content to cheat me out of gold.’ Sandulf rummaged through one of the sacks on the ground and withdrew a gold arm ring which he slipped on.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Retrieving my property. The guide I hired will not be fulfilling his end of the bargain.’ His eyes flashed fire as he called out to Urist, ‘No one cheats a son of Sigurd. Be grateful I’ve allowed you to live, Pict.’
Urist began bleating loudly about the unfairness of it. Ceanna pinched the bridge of her nose. She had thought escaping from Dun Ollaigh was going to be the most difficult part of her journey. She’d been naive. She should’ve considered the possibility that her stepmother would play with her like a cat plays with a mouse before it goes in for the kill.
‘Those precautions may have saved both our lives,’ she said when she trusted her voice. ‘He spoke Pictish because he distrusts Northmen, particularly you. He swears your countrymen did this.’
Sandulf made a cutting motion with his arm. ‘Northmen played no part.’
‘Why not?’ Urist called. ‘Northmen are all scum, my lady.’
‘No Northman would have left gold.’ Sandulf plucked a gown from the branch of a tree. ‘Or indeed silk of this quality which can be worth more than its weight in gold in the right market. They’d have kidnapped any woman to sell her rather than murdering her in cold blood as she slept. No, it was not my fellow countrymen, but some other form of murderous scum who did this. Probably homegrown.’ His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘They’re hoping that the attack will be blamed on the Northmen. Easier for them to escape justice.’
Urist winced. ‘Maybe.’
Ceanna’s mouth went dry. Sandulf had voiced her fear—whoever had done this wanted her dead. They’d known where Urist was going, where he’d stop for the night. They might even know they’d killed the wrong woman.
The sound of an owl hooting resounded in the clearing. Urist replied with a trilling noise. Sandulf instantly drew his sword.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘My lad’s returning,’ Urist said. ‘Like he said he would. He’s gone for the healer, my lady. Honest.’
‘I thought you said a cart.’
‘A cart and a healer.’
‘Do that again,’ Sandulf said.
Urist blinked rapidly. ‘Do what again?’
‘It was a different noise from earlier. You trilled twice before stopping.’
‘Of course it is. My lady is here now. The lad needs to know that.’
‘He needs to know that Lady Ceanna is here,’ Sandulf said in a flat voice. ‘You traitorous fool! You have used this scene as bait to keep us here while your lad went to bring more men.’
A chill went down Ceanna’s spine. This attack had been staged in some part, but for whose benefit? Hers? Urist could be feigning, waiting to draw her in. He could have taken her stepmother’s money. She could trust no one.
‘To know I am here?’ she whispered. ‘How could you, Urist? I thought you were loyal to my father.’
‘I am looking out for you, my lady. Someone has to. Your father is not himself and you should not be running from your family. My woman friend—’
‘All is not necessarily how it seems with this one,’ Sandulf said in an undertone. ‘We should go, before this lad of his and whoever he has gone to fetch return.’
Ceanna’s mouth went dry.
‘My stout shoes are in the trunk,’ she replied. ‘I will watch him, so he doesn’t alert whoever is coming until we are ready to run.’
Sandulf gave a brief nod and made his way over to the trunk.
‘Did you say something, my lady?’ Urist called. ‘I am feeling weak again. It is best you stay right beside me. Right beside me.’
‘You hit your head, Urist,’ Ceanna said, keeping her voice light. ‘You won’t be able to take me to Nrurim. You know that. You’ll need to spend time with a healer.’
‘You can go to the healer
