‘Another way.’ Her throat closed. What had passed between them last night meant everything to her and nothing to him. He had given her protection and the means to buy a future for a little while. She eyed the arm ring with increased distaste. It was what she got for wanting to believe in heroes again. She swallowed the large lump which was forming in her throat. ‘What other way?’
‘You remain here and I’ll return when I can. You are a married woman now. Your aunt will not have any cause to send you back. If you prefer, you could go to Mother Mildreth and live with her. Leave word which you decide if you remain undecided by the time I depart.’
Ceanna resisted the urge to throw the arm ring against the wall. Her plan to be indispensable was an unmitigated failure. How could she prove he needed her if they were apart? ‘But why can’t I be by your side? I can cross any river or ocean that you want if we are together.’
The warmth drained out of his eyes, leaving her chilled. ‘That is your choice, but never say that I refused you the option of remaining behind on dry land.’
While Sandulf took Vanora outside for some exercise, her aunt came in and inspected the bedding. The older woman proclaimed that the marriage had been well and truly consummated and, in a lower voice, she told Ceanna that with luck she might not have to endure such a traumatic night again.
‘Did Brother Mattios leave anything behind, Aunt?’ Ceanna asked in desperation, trying to halt the awkward conversation about her marriage rites, and to stop from spilling her heart out about her worries. ‘Anything at all for you to look after?’
‘Why do you keep asking about Brother Mattios, Ceanna? He has nothing to do with you or your new husband.’ Her aunt peered at her hard.
‘Does he have any personal possessions? Anything that might give a clue to his previous life? Are you sure he is everything he said he is? I’d like to question him myself, but that is impossible.’ Ceanna put her hands against her eyes and tried to think rapidly. It was a gamble, but she had to follow her instinct and show Sandulf she could assist him before he ordered her to stay behind.
‘Why are you obsessed with Brother Mattios, Niece?’ She blew out a breath of air. ‘He came from Jarrow, St Bede and Benedict Biscop’s old monastery. We were fortunate he decided to favour us and stay, rather than returning to his former home.’
‘And he left, claiming that a Northman assassin would arrive.’ Ceanna reviewed the situation. ‘As my new husband is a Northman and the only one to arrive recently, something which no one should be bothered about, naturally I wonder why a monk felt the need to flee. And now I consider it, it is highly unusual for a monk from Northumbria to travel so far north. Why did he leave Jarrow?’
‘Because he did.’ Her aunt waved a hand. ‘It is uncommon for a monk to change orders, but he said he admired the way I ran this double monastery and had created a place of such contemplation.’
‘Why did he come here in the first place?’
‘He had heard rumours of our library. Less extensive than the one at Jarrow, of course, but we’ve one or two excellent manuscripts. The Kings of Strathclyde, particularly King Aed’s father, were generous benefactors.’
Ceanna raised her brow. Her aunt wore the same expression her mother had done when she was trying to get Ceanna to believe in heroes who would rescue her. ‘Humour me, Aunt, and I won’t bother you about this again. I will leave with Sandulf and start my new life well away from here.’
Her aunt’s sigh reverberated off the walls. ‘When a person dedicates his or her life to the order, they give their possessions away. We take a vow of poverty, Ceanna dear.’
‘But you have the tapestries from Dun Ollaigh, The ones my mother said you always loved even as a child. I spied them in your room earlier.’
Her aunt’s mouth flattened into a thin white line. ‘What are you trying to imply? Perhaps it is as well you decided not to join my order. Your trouble with obedience continues to astonish.’
‘When did he suggest taking the late King’s children away from this place of safety?’ she asked, trying another tack. ‘After my father’s messengers arrived? Or before?’
For the first time, her aunt appeared uneasy. ‘I suppose it was after, now that you mention it.’
‘Shall we ask them?’ Ceanna straightened her gown, enjoying the rush of confidence. She gave her aunt her best imperious stare. ‘I assume they have not vanished in the night.’
Her aunt was the first to look away. ‘I will summon them to my scriptorium. It would not be suitable here in this bedchamber.’
The scriptorium smelt of ink, vellum and dust. The area was now vacant except for Ceanna and Sandulf with Vanora at their feet. Ceanna had gone and discovered him in the physic garden once her aunt had agreed to the meeting with the guards. Although Sandulf was impatient to leave and return to Northumbria, he did agree to wait until Ceanna had finished her enquiries. Her stomach knotted. Her gamble had to be right.
She heaved a sigh of relief when one of the guards—one of her father’s more faithful retainers—entered in her aunt’s wake. He immediately knelt before Ceanna.
‘My lady! Good that you are well. We heard rumours. Then you refused to speak to us and insisted on marrying a heathen. I feared the worst.’
‘I’ve married. But my husband is a good man, Ecgbert.’
He gave Sandulf a wary look and said in Pictish. ‘Is he really a good man? Did you do this of your own free will?’
‘One of the best,’ Ceanna replied in Gaelic, aware that Sandulf was trying to follow the conversation. His Pictish had improved, but he still
