‘Another?’ Her aunt’s eyes widened. ‘Is this man suitable? I can’t see your father refusing permission if the man was suitable, Ceanna. I know how he has longed to have you settled. Until the proposed alliance with Feradach, marriage proposals were lacking, I was led to believe. I blame the freedom he gave you.’
‘Why else would I want to marry him unless he was suitable in ways Feradach can never be? I am hardly devoid of common sense, whatever tales my stepmother has spun.’ Ceanna held out her hands. Her stomach trembled. She would keep as close to the truth as possible and hope that she could avoid mentioning Sandulf by name before she had had a chance to speak with him and offer a proposition. Inheriting Dun Ollaigh through his wife, becoming its lord, had to be worth something. ‘My chosen husband will be better for Dun Ollaigh than Feradach ever could be.’
‘And you know what is best for Dun Ollaigh, do you?’
‘Listen to me, Aunt, I beg of you. I will explain everything Feradach has done.’ Ceanna rapidly told her aunt about all the evil doings she had uncovered in recent weeks—from selling off wheat and livestock and then claiming they were stolen to demanding time with young maids, and all the ways the people were suffering.
When she came to the end of her list, she went down on her knees. She had to hope her aunt believed her and agreed that Feradach was completely unsuitable.
If her aunt took her side, then the other potentially larger problem of finding a suitable bridegroom quickly loomed. She glanced at Sandulf. He’d remained silent during her recital of the ills which had befallen Dun Ollaigh and his face appeared carved from stone. Without knowing his precise thoughts, she could not declare an intention to marry him, even if she’d implied it. He was just as likely to denounce her and then she’d be in a worse position than ever.
Her aunt motioned for her to stand. ‘And you travelled here to repeat all this...this tavern gossip?’
‘No, Lady Ceanna travelled here so you could meet me and listen to my tale.’ Sandulf held out his hand. ‘Sandulf Sigurdsson at your service, Mother Abbe.’
Her aunt sat down on the stool with a bump. ‘You wish to marry this man! I know nothing about him except he is obviously a heathen raider and therefore our enemy.’
Ceanna stared at Sandulf. At her look, he gave a small nod. It was impossible to tell what he meant precisely. She slowly rose and tried to keep her excitement from mounting. He understood what she was doing and why. ‘Do you think it is wrong I should seek my aunt’s blessing in what I wish to do with my future?’
‘Why has your stepmother not mentioned him before? What does your father think of him? What is wrong with him?’
‘Why would she mention him if she wishes me to marry Feradach?’
Her aunt’s gaze narrowed. ‘He appears to be one of those heathen Northerners. I refuse to believe you have brought a heathen such as this one to a place like this. Or that you are seriously contemplating joining with him.’
‘I’d far rather join with him, as you put it, Aunt, than with Feradach who churns my gut.’
A flash of hurt shone in Sandulf’s eyes but was quickly masked. ‘You’ve such a way with words,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ve important reasons for being here or I’d leave you to your fate.’
Ceanna clapped her hand against her mouth. ‘I beg your pardon, that came out wrong.’
Sandulf gave a brief nod to show he understood.
Her aunt coughed pointedly. ‘Anything else before I call your father’s guards? You’re the same as you always were, Ceanna—given to daydreams and imaginings. I can’t believe I was persuaded to think otherwise through stories of your good behaviour.’
Ceanna shuddered. This was going far worse than she’d imagined. Sandulf was about to walk out on her and she was going to be sent unceremoniously back to Dun Ollaigh, to her wedding and her death. The least she could do was to find Sandulf’s quarry—the man who had killed his sister-in-law and whom he believed had taken refuge in these walls. She drew a deep breath. ‘Aunt, your walls harbour a ruthless killer.’
‘Who told you that?’ The abbess jerked her head towards Sandulf. ‘That one?’
‘It is why he has travelled here—to warn you. It is how we encountered each other originally.’
‘You come here with one tale, Ceanna, about marriage and your stepmother, and now you wish to spin another.’ Her aunt lifted her hands towards the ceiling.
‘Lady Ceanna speaks the truth,’ Sandulf said. ‘If you will listen, I can explain. I have proof.’
Her aunt gave one of her snorts which always reminded Ceanna of a disgruntled cow.
‘Aunt, listen, please. The entire monastery might be in danger if someone has hidden his past in this fashion.’
‘What are you talking about, my dear? What do the past lives of my flock matter? That is something between them and the confessional. They are all honest hard-working people now. I will not have you impugning their character on the say-so of a Northman.’
Ceanna’s heart sank. She had made a mess of it. ‘The truth,’ she whispered. ‘About this.’
Sandulf reached into his pouch and withdrew a sheet of vellum. ‘My brother’s wife had the priest write down a list of the crimes as she suspected you would not believe a Northman. She is willing to vouch that my tale is true.’
Her aunt briefly glanced at the sheet of vellum before tucking it into her sleeve. ‘I recognise the seal. We have had dealings in the past, a long time ago. I will make enquiries in due course. If such a person is here, then he should be given the
