‘My current attire?’ Her cheeks coloured delightfully as she rapidly started examining her gown for yet more tears.
She tried to pull up her sleeve and ended up causing the rip to get worse. ‘Far worse than I imagined.’
‘I didn’t have much time to sort out linen, but...’
He roughly shoved a tightly wrapped bundle at her and waited for the complaints that he’d acted wrongly.
Ceanna hugged it to her chest. Her face became wreathed in smiles. ‘Thank you. I’d feared all you took was my boots. Not even a sewing kit.’
‘Do you need to change right away?’
He winced at her astonished look. Instantly he realised what he’d implied and then thought of the way she’d felt in his arms this morning.
‘I mean... I mean...’ He couldn’t think what he had intended to say. Anything he said was bound to increase both their discomfort. The woman wanted to be a holy maid, not his future bed companion, even if he kept picturing what she’d look like in the aftermath of their mutually enjoyable coupling. ‘I can turn my back.’
She slowly shook her head. ‘I’ll wait until we reach somewhere safer. My changing will simply slow us down. As you say, we need to put distance between us and Urist.’
His lungs started to work again. ‘I agree.’
‘You truly mean to do this? Travel with me to Nrurim? You mean to give me protection, not deliver me to my enemies? I never expected... Urist...’
He hated how her voice wavered. She clutched the bundle to her chest, trying to control the shaking. The woman warrior who had surveyed the carnage with a controlled and purposeful air had vanished and her place had been taken by a woman with large, wide eyes and a white pinched mouth.
He wanted to scoop her up and hold her tight, to whisper that all would be well, that he’d survived worse, that the killer was probably some hired sword, not the ruthless assassin he sought, the one who murdered women and their unborn babes in such a brutal fashion, but he refused to give false hope.
The memory of Ingrid as she clung to his hand, her life’s blood draining from her, struggling to speak, slammed into him. He’d told her that all would be well and that Brandt would arrive in time, lies he’d believed she’d want to hear. Her lips had turned up at that and she’d shaken her head before she’d whispered her final words. He’d learned that day that offering comfort to the dying provided little comfort to the one who was left behind.
‘I’ve no intention of delivering you to your enemies,’ he said instead of explaining the truth—that he needed her more because those attackers could include his quarry.
‘Urist betrayed me. And I thought I’d planned so carefully...’ She stopped and pressed her face into her bundle of clothes.
‘Another mantra to add to your list?’
‘If I don’t keep trying to be better, how will I ever become better?’
‘Sometimes it happens when you’re doing something else, rather than planning for it. Be open to refinement and alteration.’ He waited for her answering smile, but her eyes were far too wide for his liking. ‘My plan currently is to put as much distance as I can between us and that camp.’ Sandulf started through the bracken, taking long strides with Vanora following at his heels. ‘Your dog agrees.’
She moved far quicker with thick shoes on her feet, lifting her skirt up and revealing a slender calf as she caught up to them. ‘Why must we go this way rather than keeping to the road?’
‘I need to know how lost we might get if we leave the road,’ he said, choosing his words with care. ‘Can you navigate by landmarks? We go east, right? Nearly straight east over the mountains from what my last guide said.’
She paled and clutched the bundle with white fingers. ‘Leave the road? You advised against it last night. It is the way through the pass. We might have to go far to the south to go around.’
Last night, he hadn’t feared they were about to be attacked. Or followed.
‘Better to be alive.’ He willed her to understand. ‘You have done very well getting here, my lady, but I gave you my word and intend to keep it.’
‘I know the landmarks. We head for Ben Mor and keep the loch on our right. There are nine landmarks in total.’ She counted them on her fingertips twice, mumbling them under her breath. ‘I know all nine. Will you be able to protect us?’
The sound of an owl hooting floated across the heathland, trilling now as it had before. Ceanna froze, her head cocked to one side.
‘Should I be worried?’
‘Owls in daylight mean treachery and evil are afoot. Remember that and we will be safe.’ He forced his voice to sound light. ‘But you have a warrior at your side now.’
She gave a tight smile. ‘Sandulf Sigurdsson, my protector, the warrior at my side.’
He smiled back at her, impressed with her calmness. ‘What good is creating panic where none is required?’ he said softly.
She tightened her hold on the bundle and glanced back towards where the campsite lay. ‘Will he be all right? Left here on his own? Perhaps he is in danger if the attackers return?’
Vanora pricked up her ears and gave a small woof. Sandulf nodded, understanding what the dog was trying to say.
He grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. Before whoever arrives to collect Urist, be they friend or foe. Vanora agrees with me.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Vanora would. She thinks you are wonderful because you come with an unlimited supply of hard cheese and dried meat. Her judgement is suspect.’
‘You’ve too kind a heart, my lady, for such an unworthy thought about your dog’s motivations.’
‘I
