‘You don’t know my parents. My father, he was obsessed with power and gold, far more concerned with amassing both than with his family, and he was willing to sacrifice everything, including his honour, to get it. My mother worried that he was going to divorce her and make another alliance. They were either arguing or icily ignoring each other’s existence in the months before the attack. My mother is a proud woman and she may have had enough. But arranging for all of what happened to my family... I hope not. I hope she did not orchestrate the attack. Her potentially dishonourable blood runs in my veins.’
‘And I know their son, who has saved me several times over in the last few days. Someone taught you that sort of honour.’
He moved so he was lying on his back. Their bodies barely touched in the narrow loft. ‘That came from my brothers.’
‘Tell me about her, your brother’s wife, the woman who died.’ She hesitated, remembering how touchy he’d been on the subject earlier. ‘It might make it easier to sleep if you remember the good things, rather than dwelling on the bad.’
‘There’s some truth in that.’ Sandulf described his eldest brother Brandt and how he’d worshipped the ground he walked on. And how when Brandt had married, he’d worshipped his wife as well. How he’d hoped to marry someone like her—golden-haired, tall, with a beautiful smile and an even sweeter temper.
This dead woman sounded like everything she wasn’t, Ceanna thought with a pang. She had no wish to marry Sandulf. She simply wanted to get to Nrurim and restart her life. Even though the prospect of a life immured in a convent held less appeal than ever.
‘She sounds wonderful,’ Ceanna said, injecting real warmth into her voice. Hating a dead woman was not something worthy of a holy maid.
‘Ingrid was lovely. Beautiful on the inside as well as on the outside. I was supposed to be looking after her that day. She was carrying her first child. Her feet ached, and she didn’t want to stand for the whole ceremony and maybe shame the family. We’d gone into the longhouse because I had suggested it as everyone in my family was sure to come back there after the ceremony. No one would know, you see. I’d even ensured she had a dish of honeyed plums before she asked, in case she was hungry. She often appears in my dreams, all bloodied, demanding I fulfil my oath.’ His voice trailed away.
‘And you are. You’re doing what is required. Tell her to hush so you can focus on your quest.’ She gave a small yawn. ‘I have to hope I can rest.’
‘Sleep will come soon enough.’ He sighed. ‘Now, what is your trouble that keeps you from sleep?’
‘Mildreth thinks we are...lovers,’ she blurted out before she had time to consider the implications. ‘What if she asks how it was for me? How do I answer without giving the truth away?’
He turned on to his back and stared up at the faint starlight peeking through the cracks in the ceiling for so long she thought he must have fallen asleep.
‘We’re friends, Ceanna, which is better,’ he said as she opened her mouth to whisper his name. ‘Tell her it is none of her business, but you slept very well indeed.’
Friends. Her heart panged a little. She hadn’t realised until he said the word that in many ways she had hoped the decision would be taken from her. That he would kiss her and things would go beyond the point of no return, that she wouldn’t have to think about the half-truths that she’d told and the lies she would have to tell when she reached Nrurim. Pretending to be a holy maid with a profound vision was a sensible plan, one which ensured Dun Ollaigh’s safety. Glaring flaws existed, she knew that, but the good intention was there.
While her heart grieved, the sensible part of her rejoiced. She wouldn’t have to lie to her aunt about her purity.
‘Is it better to be friends?’ she whispered around the lump in her throat.
‘I’ve had many lovers, but my friends I count on the fingers of one hand, particularly my friends who are women.’
‘Are you trying to insult me?’
He reached over and smoothed the tendrils of hair from her forehead. ‘No, to honour you. I’ve bedded many women, Skadi, but can scarce recall a single one. I want to remember you.’
Ceanna worried her bottom lip. It was a new thing for her as well. She wished he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but she wanted to be more than a warm body. She wanted him to remember her. ‘And you remember your friends?’
‘True friends are never forgotten. I’m a dangerous man to my enemies, Skadi, not my friends.’
‘I see.’ She paused and kept her heart from rejoicing. He considered her a true friend. And he was right—a friend was far more important to have. One could count on friends. She was determined to prove her friendship by helping him in his quest to find his sister-in-law’s murderer. Perhaps her aunt would know something.
Her throat went tight. Such a creature could threaten her aunt and all those who lived in the monastery, but travellers stayed there all the time and it could have been merely that he was passing through. Ceanna could barely make out Sandulf’s features. She wasn’t sure if it was the intimacy of the darkness which had made him confess or because they were becoming friends. Summoning up her courage, she touched her lips to his forehead. ‘You might be dangerous to your enemies, but you are a good man. I’m grateful for your friendship.’
A drop of moisture ran down her cheek. She wiped it away with a quiet finger.
‘Sleep. You don’t have any ghosts to keep you awake. I envy you that,’ he said in
