She shook her head. ‘No friend of mine and irredeemably prejudiced against Northmen, I fear.’
Sandulf pressed his lips together. ‘I’m discovering many in this part of Alba are.’
‘They’ve cause to be, considering the raids which have happened over the last few years. They even dethroned Constantine, our old King, in the Battle of Dollar until their supply lines became overstretched and they had to retreat back to the Black Pool in Éireann. Who knows when they will begin to raid again? Giric, the new Regent, insists he and his men are more than capable of dealing with the threat.’
Sandulf ground his teeth. One more reason why he was going to need help to get into St Fillans. Marching up to the front door and demanding—as was his inclination—was doomed to failure. ‘What precisely is the trouble with your stepmother?’
‘My father’s second wife is only three years older than I am. She is very beautiful—tall, with a perfect figure and hair as dark as a raven’s wing. She was a pupil of my aunt’s until about eighteen months ago and was handpicked for my father.’
‘And these days?’
‘My father lies abed, sick. He has a wound which refuses to heal combined with a chill and cough that he picked up a month or so ago. My stepmother has declared he is beyond her skill as a healer. Dun Ollaigh must have an able warrior at its helm in these troubled times. She refuses to allow me to see him on his own or get another healer. Either she is present or Captain Feradach lurks.’
‘What would your father say if you spoke to him alone?’
Ceanna stared at the gently lapping water of the lake. What would her father say? She’d pondered this for a long time, but she’d come to the conclusion that if he was in his right mind and able to speak beyond grunts and moans, he wouldn’t want her dead. He’d never spoken about a marriage between her and Feradach. And in the hurried conversation she’d overheard, she knew her stepmother did not want her aunt to know about the marriage plans until it was too late for her to interfere. It was one of the reasons she believed her aunt would protect her, despite her stepmother having been raised in St Fillans under her aunt’s watchful eye. ‘I couldn’t stay to be offered up as a sacrifice even though I know he may die while I’m gone. I pray for him.’
‘Like any holy maid would.’
She ignored the taunt. ‘Have you ever seen a body mutilated like that poor dead woman with Urist? The one he dressed up to be me?’
The sound of lapping waves was replaced by unwelcome memories—the torch hitting the rushes, the roar of the fire in the hall and Ingrid’s final gasps. He rose and walked to the water’s edge. ‘Once. A depraved assassin. One of his specialities when he murders women, or so I’ve been told.’
‘Has this murderer been caught?’
Sandulf skimmed a pebble across the lake, making it skip three times, and watched the ripples as it sank. How to answer without frightening Lady Ceanna, without having her beg him to take her anywhere but St Fillans?. Did Lugh have anything to do with the attack on Urist? ‘I’ve no intention of letting him murder again.’
Lady Ceanna took a pebble and attempted to make it skip. It sank instead. ‘Do you think the murderer noticed Urist’s trick with the corpse? Or did it serve his purpose—the ability to tell my stepmother that I was dead?’
‘Skimming stones is all in the wrist.’ Sandulf grabbed another pebble and pushed his thoughts about Lugh to one side. He did things in order, not haphazardly. The answer was in Nrurim, he was certain of it, and the most important thing was to get there. If whoever had attacked Urist on the road discovered Lady Ceanna still lived? Sandulf clenched his jaw. He was enough protection. ‘A gentle flick. Shall I show you?’
‘If you like. Did someone teach you? One of your brothers?’
‘I mastered it myself.’ Sandulf remembered how all his brothers had different techniques—Brandt with his determined throws which skipped further, Alarr would do it long and low and pretend the number of skips did not matter as he preferred to practise his sword skills, while the twins Rurik and Danr would vie with each other and gently argue about who was best. He’d idolised them all back then. His big brothers. ‘They can all skim stones. None had the time or inclination to help their youngest brother, but then one day, I joined in and skipped a stone nineteen times.’
Sandulf smiled, reliving that rare moment of triumph. The expressions of wonder and pride in his brothers’ faces at his achievement. He tightened his grip on the pebble, tossed it and it skipped seven times.
‘What happened after that?’
‘The fun went out of the game.’
‘Or perhaps they became too busy with other things.’
‘Perhaps. A pointless exercise, according to Alarr.’
‘Not to me. I’d like to learn.’
He stood behind her and was intensely aware of her wildflower scent and the warmth radiating from her body. How alive she felt. Her current gown might conceal her curves, but he knew they were there.
‘All in the wrist,’ he said, barely recognising his own voice. His fingers closed about her hand. ‘Flick it and you will skip the stone. Now you try.’
‘Like this.’ She skimmed the stone and it skipped twice. She clapped her hands and spun towards him.
Her lips were a breath away and softly parted. He forced himself to step backwards. He could not touch her, have her, if she were to become a holy maid. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin her life.
‘Is this why you go to Nrurim?’ she asked into the silence which followed her next skim of a pebble.
He pretended to misunderstand. ‘To toss pebbles? Is there a good lake there?’
‘You hunt a murderer.’
‘Is your wish to be a
