‘Can I help you get the pottage ready?’ Ceanna moved away from the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Sandulf had shed his tunic and was still busy chopping wood. Time seemed to stand still. All Ceanna could do was to watch the way the muscles in his back moved and his skin became slick with sweat.
‘He does that so that you will notice him. No sane man would do so unless he wanted to catch a woman’s eye.’ The old woman gave a leering smile. ‘I’ve lived a long time. I know what men are about. If you’d like a potion, I’ll give it to you. Something to keep his eyes on you. The young girls sometimes seek out Mother Mildreth for such things. Several have sworn by its effectiveness.’
Ceanna tore her gaze away from Sandulf’s rhythmic chopping. A potion to make him love her. It was tempting, but then she’d never know if he truly desired her or if it was purely the herbs. ‘He merely wishes to keep his tunic clean.’
‘And the potion?’
‘Keep it for someone who needs it more than I do.’
Mother Mildreth gave a loud cackling laugh which made the cat jump. ‘Youth is wasted on the young. When you’re old, you realise how many opportunities you’ve blithely tossed away because you were afraid of starting.’
‘If you can show me where we’ll be sleeping, I can put that to rights.’
The twinkle came into the woman’s eyes. ‘I like the way your mind works, my lady. I’ve some herbs which will make everything sweet-smelling and ensure good dreams.’
‘I’m not...not any longer, that is. Call me Ceanna.’
‘Sometimes, it is not about what people call you, but how you see yourself. Anyone can see from your bearing that you are a lady. Now let’s see to the bedding.’
Ceanna stared up at the blackened roof and willed morning or a dreamless sleep to come. The stars shone through a slit in the wall turning everything a dull silvery tone. And the dried rosemary, valerian and lavender flowers Mildreth had sprinkled made the hayloft smell delicious. She knew they should help her sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she thought of the river and the kisses she had shared with Sandulf.
His hair had gleamed in the firelight tonight after he had finished his work and taken a dip in the pond which lay some way from the cottage. She might have refused to accompany him after he jokingly made the suggestion, opting instead for a quick wash in front of the fire, but it had not stopped her imagination from speculating.
If anything, it had been made worse by Mildreth nudging her in the ribs before Ceanna retired to the makeshift bed in the hayloft and wishing her a good evening’s sport.
Many solid reasons existed why giving in to her desires must not happen. The first and foremost was that her aunt would never agree to her being a holy maid if she suspected that Ceanna’s professed religious devotion was less than it might appear. And, she sighed, who was she fooling? She didn’t want to give in to her desires because she was afraid of rejection. He’d kissed her a second time, part of her mind argued, thoroughly and completely. Did that seem like a man who was indifferent? Ceanna clenched her fists.
Beside her Sandulf lay, oblivious to her distress. He had fallen into a deep sleep the instant he closed his eyes.
She turned on to her side and then on to her back again. And then she heard it, a little noise, almost a small whimper. She froze, certain it came from Sandulf. She waited and heard it again, a low keening sound coming from between his lips. His hands lashed out, flailing as he started shouting No! over and over.
‘Sandulf?’ she whispered, shaking him. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Ingrid? You’re alive.’
‘It is me, Skadi. Wake up. A bad dream. You are safe here in Mother Mildreth’s hut.’
The flailing ceased. He shifted on to his side. His contorted features were silver in the pale light. His eyes blinked open. ‘Ceanna? Is something wrong?’
‘You cried out in your sleep. You kept saying no. You were obviously dreaming about being somewhere else.’
She listened to the steady sound of his breath and wondered if he had drifted off to sleep.
His hand brushed hers. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. Bad dreams are terrible when they come.’
‘Do you know what the dream was?’
‘My dreams are always the same—the day my father and sister-in-law were murdered. I’m sorry to disturb you.’ He started to rise. ‘I’ll go and sit by the hearth. Sleep will be beyond me now.’
‘You didn’t disturb me. I was awake.’ Ceanna put a restraining hand out. ‘Stay. We don’t want to break Mildreth’s illusion about us.’
‘What is her illusion?’
‘She has a romantic heart. She believes we’re lovers escaping from some disapproving parent. There was nothing I could say to dissuade her. The very notion, eh?’
The words came out in a great rush. She felt all her muscles tense as she waited for his derisive laughter at the mistake.
‘Do you often find it difficult to sleep?’ he asked rather than enlightening her as to his views about their supposed romance.
‘I must be overtired. I always find it difficult to sleep when I’m exhausted,’ she said, forcing the bubble of disappointment back down her throat. ‘I keep thinking about Urist and the poor woman from the village with the knife in her belly.’
‘You slept well last night.’
‘That was before,’ she said with a weak laugh. She really did not want to think about waking up in his arms or the kisses they had shared throughout the day any more. They had obsessed her every time she closed her eyes. She should be thinking about other things, things which people with true vocations considered right and proper, like long bouts of prayer on hard stone
