Ceanna concentrated on rearranging the pleats in her gown. In her excitement at skimming stones, she’d nearly kissed him. And then she’d asked the question she dreaded knowing the answer to, but suspected she did already. Sandulf Sigurdsson was going to Nrurim to hunt down the vile murderer of whom he had spoken before. And now he had asked the question she most wanted to avoid answering. ‘Why would it be?’
‘It came on you suddenly, probably right after your stepmother decided you were to marry this captain of your father’s guard.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘You are unlike any of the holy people I’ve encountered.’
‘You, a Northern warrior, have conversed with many holy people? Before or after you slit their throats?’
‘Enough to know that they are generally unworldly and have little regard for practical planning. I’m a warrior who kills in battle, rather than slaying unarmed men or women.’
Ceanna stared at her hands. Her nails were short and her palms still bore traces of the dye she’d used with the wool a little over a week ago, a lifetime ago. Everyone thought of her as practical, rather than beautiful or dedicated to God’s purpose. Her aunt was bound to see through her ruse. ‘Because I’m practical, you think I can have no vocation.’
She took another pebble and attempted to skim it. It fell short. The twinkle in his eye deepened. ‘Let us say that I have my reservations, but I’m prepared to learn. Why do you think becoming a holy maid will save you?’
Ceanna swallowed hard. This man had saved her life twice. He deserved the truth. Telling him the truth would not alter anything. She had no intention of waking up in his arms again. Not tomorrow, not any day on this journey and certainly not after the journey ended. Men like him were never interested in women like her. And she wanted to be more than a warm body in the night. ‘What other option do I have? I can’t become a warrior and go off to foreign lands to sell my sword arm to emperors and traders.’
His gaze roamed over her curves. ‘I hadn’t really considered it, but I don’t suppose you can.’
She picked up another pebble and held it in her hand. It held a gentle warmth from the summer sun. She placed it in the pouch she wore about her waist. ‘I’m determined to live my life as I wish.’
‘What happens after you make your vows to become a holy maid and dedicate your life to the church?’
‘I spend my life praying, doing good works and hoping for more visions.’ Ceanna swallowed hard. It sounded even less appealing than it had back in Dun Ollaigh, but she couldn’t confess that to this Northman. Becoming a holy maid was the best way to secure protection for the people who depended on her and to save her life. ‘My aunt refounded the convent after her husband died several years before I was born. She lives a fulfilling life, I believe.’
‘What about the people you have left behind? The people from the estate? Your father?’
Ceanna screwed up her eyes tight. Her father might even now be breathing his last. It had been part of the reason her stepmother had insisted on a hasty wedding—so he could give his blessing from his deathbed. ‘If I’m dead, I can’t help them.’
‘And being locked in a convent ensures their safety? How?’
‘They’ll come under the church’s protection from what I understand. Once I explain my vision to my aunt, she will be forced to act as the request comes from a holy maid. And my dowry will go to the convent along with me. In the past, the Gaelic church has had monks who were warriors. St Columba was a warrior, as was St Aidan.’
‘I see.’
Ceanna wrapped her arms about her waist. ‘I thought I’d been clever, but it appears someone guessed my intention and took steps. They want me dead and if that happens...’
Her flesh trembled beneath his palm. He tried not to think how warm she’d felt in his arms this morning. Or rejoice in the fact that her heart clearly wasn’t committed to the service of her god.
‘There are more miles to travel before we sleep tonight. You can pretend I’m your aunt and practise your speech on me as we walk.’
Ceanna glanced up towards where the mountains loomed. They had gone further south than she would have liked and the peak remained barely visible on the horizon. The further south they travelled, the more she risked losing her bearings and having to cross the river somewhere other than at the bridge. Swollen with rain, the river could bear down on the unsuspecting with fury and many had drowned attempting it. She controlled a shudder.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. My words are for her ears only.’ She wrapped her hands about her waist to contain the shiver. ‘We should concentrate on the journey ahead. There are many dangers along the way.’
His eyes turned serious. ‘I made my oath and I will protect you. Once we arrive in Nrurim, your aunt will be strong enough to protect you. It is why you are going to her. Nothing which has happened should alter that feeling. Let us not borrow trouble.’
Ceanna wiped her fingers on the remains of the leaves. Sandulf was right. But she wished she could rid herself of the unease that plagued her. ‘Then it is best we get there as quickly as possible.’
He gave her a long searching look. ‘I’m pleased you see it my way.’
Ceanna curled her fingers into fists. ‘What other way is there to see it?’
Ceanna stared at the raging river which stretched out on either side of them, hating it but hating more the unsettled way it made her feel. Her mother and younger brother had lost their lives when they had tried to cross a river
