‘My own business and no less urgent for being personal.’ He raised his brow and his look appeared to take in every detail of her wedding finery. ‘And you? I assume you’ve business there as well if you wish to send a message with Urist.’
She lifted her chin and tried to pretend a confidence she did not have while the knots in her stomach grew painful. ‘My own business, too.’
‘So were you also intending to travel there? On your own, without companions? Dressed in that manner?’
His gaze travelled down her form again. She was painfully aware of her deficiencies, as her stepmother had called them—from her short stature to her overly generous figure. She wished she had bound her breasts and dressed as a beardless youth or put on something loose and tatty. The man appeared to see her for what she was—an unattractive, expensively dressed woman massively out of her depth for the task she was about to undertake.
‘Urist has my trunk which contains my travelling clothes.’ She gulped, belatedly remembering that no one was supposed to know her business. ‘My trunk is what my message is about. It goes to my aunt.’
He lifted a brow. ‘Indeed. I rarely enquire into a lady’s dress requirements.’
Ceanna’s cheeks burnt. No one need know more than was absolutely necessary. No stranger required her life’s history. She made a mental note to redouble her efforts to live up to the promises she made in her prayers which she recited each night before she went to bed—ways in which she could improve.
She cleared her throat and attempted an icy stare. ‘I’d assumed he’d wait until I arrived...with my final message...before heading out. Obviously not.’
‘Are people normally required to wait for your messages? The real world is rarely that accommodating, even for delicate ladies.’
His tone implied that he considered she wouldn’t go five steps before breaking down in tears or worse. Ceanna gritted her teeth. She’d wept her last tears at her mother and younger brother’s gravesides. She was finished with being the meek and mild daughter who obeyed her father’s wishes—or what her stepmother claimed were his wishes. Her father in his right mind would never wish her married to a coarse brute like Feradach with his wandering fingers and vulgar jokes.
She firmed her mouth. ‘Delicacy is a matter of opinion. The fact remains—my plans must alter if I’m to...to complete my business. Most vexing.’
His smile grew broader and transformed the chiselled planes of his face to something which caused her throat to hitch. She rapidly examined the ground and attempted to keep her heart steady. ‘I’d use a harsher word than vexing, but I agree with you. Urist’s early departure has caused my plans to alter as well, but I maintain my resolve.’
Ceanna belatedly remembered that she had decided to meet people’s eyes instead of looking away. She forced her gaze upwards. ‘I didn’t ask for your agreement or your approval.’
‘Understood.’ A distinct twinkle lit up his deep blue eyes. ‘Any particular reason for choosing our missing guide?’
She cleared her throat and began the speech she’d run through a hundred times in her head. ‘His reputation for reliability is held in high regard among people I trust.’
Other points sprang into her mind: Urist had been the only one planning to travel and the only one whom she’d considered would remain silent about her intentions. He had every reason to love her father, no reason to be loyal to her stepmother—or indeed Ceanna’s intended—and a tendency not to ask penetrating questions. Also, gossip had it that Urist and her erstwhile bridegroom had nearly come to blows earlier in the year over some matter involving mouldy grain. She’d felt like the stars had finally aligned for her when she had learnt of his proposed departure.
She might be able to make it to her aunt on her own, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think it would be an easy task.
She’d been there before, but danger always lurked, particularly now that the countryside was so unsettled with King Aed having been recently killed. It was one of the reasons her stepmother gave for marrying her off so quickly—to safeguard the estate. But these were points of which she felt both her aunt and the stranger in front of her should remain in ignorance.
‘Very reliable,’ she repeated in a louder tone in case he’d failed to hear her. Several of the regulars glanced up from their beer.
‘I fear you were misled.’ He shrugged. ‘We both were.’
‘He will have had his reasons. He may have left word.’ Ceanna forced her lips to turn upwards. ‘I intend to enquire. I suggest you do as well.’
‘You do that. I suspect you will get the same answer I did. No one knows anything. A conspiracy of silence.’
‘I’m not you.’
‘True enough.’ He saluted her with his tankard. ‘I wish you better fortune than I had.’
Ceanna gritted her teeth. By now someone would have noticed her disappearance. They would comb the hall first, then the woods, then finally the town and this tavern. She had to be well away from here before that happened.
‘People are wary of strangers who ask other people’s business while keeping their own a secret.’ She glanced about the tavern. Except for the old gentlemen at the back who were playing a game of dice, everyone was studiously examining their ale, pretending not to have spotted her.
He shrugged. ‘How difficult is it to get to the fabled Nrurim—that is the question.’
‘Surely, everyone knows how to get there,’ she said, wrapping the cloak tighter about her.
A shadowy dimple played in the corner of his mouth. ‘It is to the north-east in Strathallan, but beyond that I require a guide. Are you also in need of guidance?’ He stroked his chin. ‘My guess
