Wait to be recaptured. Wait to die or take a chance on Sandulf being able to protect her. She glanced towards where the Pass of Brander glowered and mentally recited the landmarks they should pass. Her neck relaxed. She remembered all nine marking the way that her nurse had described to her all those years ago.
‘I don’t have time to waste, Urist,’ she said. ‘Some day I’ll return to Dun Ollaigh and claim my rightful inheritance. I’ll make it right to everyone who was loyal to my father. I’ll ensure my aunt protects those who were loyal to me and God will punish those who made false promises and betrayed their oaths.’
Urist grabbed at her ankle, but she deftly avoided his fingers.
‘Do not seek to detain me, Urist ab Urist,’ she warned.
‘My lady, do you know what you are doing? Do you even know how you are going to find your way to Nrurim?’ Tears trickled down Urist’s face. ‘I meant no harm. I wanted to save your life. I will keep you safe. If you go with him, you’ll die. I know it.’
Keep her safe and most likely inadvertently deliver her back to her stepmother and her machinations. ‘Were you truly attacked?’
Urist stopped his crawling. ‘My lady, that you even have to ask that question!’
‘Tell me.’
‘We were attacked... I mean, you can see this here place and I took quite a blow.’
Not the ringing denial she’d expected. Urist had another scheme, but it had not gone entirely as he had planned.
‘Did you ever intend to take me to Nrurim?’
‘My lady!’ Urist clawed his hand towards her. ‘You must believe me. Stay here. Wait. My lad... Your father! He’ll worry!’
Ceanna looked towards where Sandulf stood with Vanora and the clothes that he’d picked up from her trunk. His sword gleamed at his side and he moved with great authority and firm intention. He jerked his head towards the road and made a circular motion with his hand.
Ceanna picked up her skirt and prepared to run. She could do this. ‘I know who to trust and it is not you, Urist. We were never here. I am but an illusion from the blow you took to your head. We go, Sandulf Sigurdsson. Now.’
Chapter Five
‘Remaining anywhere in earshot is a bad idea.’ Sandulf forced his voice to stay steady when Ceanna abruptly halted a few hundred yards from the clearing. Vanora sat down and refused to go further. ‘Keep moving. We can return once the danger has passed if you require it, if you need more from your trunk, but I’d counsel against it.’
Sandulf’s nerves tingled in anticipation. A fight was coming. How much time did he have before they were overrun? How many were there? They were coming, without a doubt. Dispatching Urist in cold blood was unnecessary. Lady Ceanna was correct—the guide’s head wound meant the attackers might consider him confused and doubt his tale.
‘Something we agree on.’ Ceanna’s mouth was pinched and her chest heaved with shallow pants. ‘Let me catch my breath. Please.’
‘Can you run further? Or do I have to carry you?’
She lifted her head and glared at him. ‘I can run for as long you need me to. What I need to know is will you protect me? Can I hire you to provide protection to Nrurim, until I get to my aunt? I... I fear I will need it.’
Her voice trembled on the final word, telling Sandulf she was a heartbeat from total panic. Instead of answering her question, he handed her the boots he’d discovered in her trunk.
‘Jam your feet into those, Skadi.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Unless you are determined to have my arms about you.’
Her lips twitched upwards and her cheeks flamed. ‘Who is this Skadi?’
‘Skadi was a woman who donned her father’s armour in order to demand justice from the gods. Her beauty and determination impressed the gods and she became one of them.’
‘I’ll take the nickname, but your eyes need adjusting if you think I am beautiful.’
He gave a short huff. Her shock was clearly under control if she could joke. And women always liked compliments—his mother had demanded a steady diet of them. She was always examining herself in the bronze mirror his father had brought home as a gift, searching for any flaw.
He dreaded to think what a mess his mother or Ingrid would be in this situation. His back stiffened. Ingrid. He could almost hear her whispering her final words—words which he had not shared with Brandt. He swallowed hard as the guilt washed over him again. After he’d obtained justice for Ingrid, then he would seek out his brother.
‘They’re on,’ she said, bringing him back to the present. ‘I’m ready to go. Will you accept the bargain? Will you make another oath?’
‘Give me your old shoes.’
She handed them to him with a puzzled expression. ‘Why?’
He threw them far into the scrub. The action made him feel better. ‘Because you don’t need to carry them and our pursuers might be thrown off track.’
‘You accept my offer?’ She started to fumble with her arm purse.
‘Payment on results.’ Sandulf grabbed her and started to run again, crashing through the undergrowth, trying to get away from anyone who might arrive and from the memory of his failures.
‘Where are you going? The road to Nrurim is this way,’ Ceanna said between puffs of breath when Sandulf started off down a faint track.
Sandulf glanced back towards the way they had come. They were probably safe here or a little further on. ‘Do you know the way, or must we follow the road to get Nrurim?’
‘What are you carrying?’ Ceanna asked, deliberately not answering his question. She held out her hand. ‘In addition to the boots, did you think to grab a more practical gown?’
‘Time was of the essence,
