She wasn’t the sort of woman men desired. Ceanna knew that. She accepted her defects and that men were attracted to her dowry before they were attracted to her. It had been part of her reasoning why a holy maid was the perfect vocation for her. It solved many intractable problems if people believed she had deep and meaningful visions. For one thing, it would mean they would listen and protect Dun Ollaigh because it had been her childhood home. Her counsel would be taken because she spoke directly to God. She could declare the people of Dun Ollaigh required the church’s protection because they were important.
The tiny knot in her stomach grew heavier. Her plan had to work. No hero waving a flaming sword would come to rescue her or prevent Feradach from preying on the townspeople. Except it was getting harder to maintain the pretence of her otherworldly holiness with Sandulf. She kept wanting to blurt out the full story about her fears and why she was running from her intended groom.
She had to stop thinking that Sandulf would be any different from the rest. He was calling her that name—Skadi—for irony’s sake, not because he thought her overwhelmingly attractive or any kind of revered warrior. She knew she was neither.
Circumstance had thrown them together. He had not deliberately sought her out. And it didn’t matter that his eyes danced with lights or that he shared her sense of humour. She’d given up looking for men to rescue her years ago. She was getting herself out of this mess. He was... He was...
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
He was irrelevant to her future. She had to cling tightly to her vision of being a holy maid and how being one would help the people who depended on her.
Throwing all that away because she’d woken in a man’s arms and felt at once the pleasure and the security of it was wrong. All she needed to do was to keep thinking about the next steps and what would happen when she arrived at Nrurim.
Ceanna regarded the sodden and ripped wedding gown with distaste. She crumpled it in a ball and kicked it away from her. The thing had started making her brain rot, giving her romantic notions. The journey to Nrurim would be the length of their acquaintance, that was all. Then she would begin her new life as a nun, in service to her aunt, in exchange for the protection of her people.
She shivered slightly in the cold as she reached for the russet gown, which was one of her favourites as it gave her freedom of movement and hid the worst of her defects.
Before slipping it on, she carefully secreted the remainder of the gold which she’d stored in the toe of her right boot into a pouch she hung from her waist. Urist had not robbed her completely blind, but she’d seen the hesitation in his eyes. He’d been about to return her to Feradach’s deadly embrace.
‘It feels good to have proper clothes on again,’ she called, coming out from behind the pile of boulders which had screened her from Sandulf after she had fastened a belt about her waist, disguising the pouch.
Sandulf turned from where he sat in front of a small fire. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, giving him an endearing boyish look, even though she knew there wasn’t anything boyish about him. His quick thinking had already saved her life on two occasions. He was a man—her body told her that.
From somewhere he’d procured a line and had managed to catch a couple of trout from the loch. He held them out. ‘You can move more easily in that. Good. Shall we gut these and cook them?’
‘Are you waiting for me to wince squeamishly? I’m afraid disappointment is your destiny.’
He lifted a brow. ‘The thought had occurred to me.’
‘Your sisters must have loved you. I bet you put spiders down their dresses and beetles in their beds.’
‘I don’t have any sisters. Just brothers. Four of them. Two full. Two half. They’re more than any man could want.’
‘That explains it.’
‘Explains what?’
‘Why you think women are fragile creatures, liable to break at any moment and needing our whims constantly satisfied.’
He drew his lips together. ‘Do you want to eat the fish or not?’
‘I do.’ Ceanna smoothed the pleats of her gown. Whatever this odd feeling was, she liked being on better terms with him. Temporary travelling companions could have a sort of friendship.
‘Irritable when hungry, are we?’ He regarded her under hooded eyes.
The urge to pat her hair nearly overwhelmed her. She forced her hands to stay at her sides. ‘Happier to breathe freely without worrying about bursting a seam.’
‘You have the figure to fill out the other gown. That one is more like a sack.’
‘This is my favourite gown,’ she said between clenched teeth, unaccountably irritated.
‘It is certainly more practical.’ He bent his head and started scaling the fish.
‘Shall I start a fire?’ she said into the silence.
‘Yes, I’ve started collecting some wood, but perhaps you can get some kindling.’ He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
She gulped. ‘Hunger makes me quarrelsome. My stepmother used to complain about it, but then she complains about everything I do.’ She began collecting small sticks and twigs to start the fire.
‘It is nothing.’ He waved a hand. ‘That colour suits you better, by the way. It brings out the highlights in your hair.’
How to damn with faint praise. Ceanna hated the small bubble of disappointment. She knew she was not beautiful. His words shouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t as if she wanted compliments, not from him.
‘My wedding gown is little more than rags.’
‘Best throw it on the fire.’
‘The smoke might give us away.’
‘Then leave it here. Someone might find a use for it.’
‘My stepmother will be more distressed over losing the gown than
