He put his fingers against her lips. ‘Hush. She returns. And I doubt anyone but you considers me sensible.’
Ceanna turned towards the door. Her mouth tingled from his light touch.
Mildreth put a cloth-wrapped package in front of Ceanna. ‘For you, my lady. Take a drink of this here tea every morning.’
Ceanna glanced inside the package. It was filled with sweet-smelling herbs. She recognised raspberry leaf and rue. She swallowed hard. ‘And this is for...?’
Mildreth lowered her voice. ‘You aren’t wed, are you? The tea will keep a baby from settling in your womb.’
Settling in her womb.
Ceanna instinctively put her hand to her stomach. The words to proclaim it was impossible rose in her throat, but she forced them back down and took the package, tucking it into the pouch she had fastened to her waist. ‘I’ll be sure to take steps.’
‘My remedies are highly sought after, I’ll have you know,’ Mother Mildreth said with a decisive nod. ‘Many a day I’ve had a queue of women and men making their way here. Some I choose not to serve.’
‘I’m honoured.’
‘Shall we go and discover that short cut?’ Sandulf proclaimed in a loud voice, clearly embarrassed by the whispered conversation.
‘Yes, I’m most anxious to get to Nrurim,’ Ceanna said and silently vowed that she would dispose of the tea as soon as possible. If her aunt discovered it, it might lead to awkward questions about her purity.
She silenced the little voice which asked her why not take the risk and seduce him? She had always tried to avoid taking risks which would end in abject humiliation, but maybe her warrior was worth it?
‘You’ve been silent since we left Mother Mildreth’s.’ Sandulf bent down to retrieve Vanora’s stick. Unlike yesterday, Ceanna had not kept up a steady stream of conversation. He discovered he missed it. ‘Have I upset you? Is there something I failed to do? I thought you’d have been pleased to sleep.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘You and silence are not natural partners. When you are quiet, you hum.’
Ceanna kicked a stone which went skittering along the path. ‘You barely know me. I can keep quiet when the occasion requires.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it. I thought I liked silence, but right now...’
‘You’d like some relief from your thoughts?’
He had to resist drawing her into his arms and kissing her senseless. He forced himself to pick up a stick and toss it for the dog. ‘Precisely.’
‘I wanted to let you know I never asked her about the tea to prevent babies.’
‘Ah, that.’ Sandulf concentrated on the stick.
‘I’ll teach you Pictish to pass the time.’
‘Do you think I will have a need of it where I’m going?’
‘You never can tell.’
He threw the stick again. ‘I am good at picking up languages.’ Sandulf tossed the stick further and harder than he intended. A talent which would have remained uncovered if he’d stayed in Maerr. ‘I discovered it on the way to Constantinople.’
‘It can be difficult. The Gaels rarely try beyond a few words.’
‘But I want to.’ He pointed to a tree. ‘What is the name for that? Will I have to pay a forfeit if I get it wrong?’
She ducked her head. ‘You are starting to sound like Mother Mildreth.’
‘Perish the thought. And I’ll teach you some of my language in return. You never know when you might have a need of Norse.’
‘We made it,’ Ceanna said staring down at the wooden walls of the monastery. Like most of the buildings in the Kingdom of Strathclyde, the monastery was fashioned from wood and set behind a palisade in case of attack from marauders.
A few short days ago she had thought seeing the monastery would be like coming home, except now with the silver-birch logs towering over her, it felt more like she was entering a prison.
Arriving here meant that she would have to say goodbye to Sandulf and she wasn’t ready to do that. She’d grown accustomed to his banter and his quiet helping hand under her elbow when she needed it. She struggled to think of anyone she’d rather have had as a travelling companion. They had discussed so many things since they had left Mother Mildreth’s, arguing in a light-hearted manner and setting the world to rights. She had started teaching him to speak Pictish and was surprised at how quickly he was learning it while he had taught her a few words of Norse. She’d ignored his repeated suggestions of meaningful forfeits as being teasing designed to make her blush.
Ceanna had begun to see that Sandulf was correct—they were friends. She felt as if she could confide practically anything to him. Everything but her growing feelings towards him—those she knew would have to be kept as a dark secret.
Friends, not lovers.
The last thing she wanted on this bright sunshiny morning was to go into those darkened buildings and devote her life to prayer. She tried to remind herself of all the reasons why this was the correct thing to do—her life, her people, honour and pride—and why she should be pleased at taking this step. Her attempted deception felt very wrong suddenly.
‘I thought it would take longer,’ she said when she noticed Sandulf looking at her with a quizzical expression. She was going to miss his little looks and asides.
‘It took less time than I worried it might,’ Sandulf said.
Ceanna wrapped her arms about her waist. She had nearly flung them about his neck and begged him to take her away from here. There was something about the place which gave her an unsettled feeling which curled about her insides and refused to let go. ‘We seemed to have escaped whoever attacked Urist’s camp.’
He paused for a long while before answering. ‘I know.’
‘It worries you.’
‘Given the carnage back there, it surprises me. Something’s not right. I dislike surprises when lives are at stake.’
‘But you do like them at other times.’
The light in his eyes deepened. ‘It depends on the nature of the surprise.’
‘I normally like my life
