Sandulf watched Feradach and Lady Mhairi. The crowd would prevent them from escaping, but they remained dangerous.
‘Lady Ceanna is touched in the head, like her father,’ Lady Mhairi proclaimed. ‘There has been no plot. Merely a misunderstanding. The holy priest was going to embrace her. Ceanna, look at what you have done.’
‘I overheard the plot that you, your lover and this supposedly holy man were concoting,’ Sandulf said. ‘Even men secured to posts have ears.’
‘And you are?’
‘Sandulf Sigurdsson, husband to Lady Ceanna of Dun Ollaigh.’
The woman’s mouth fell open. ‘You can’t be.’
‘We married at St Fillans with my aunt’s blessing,’ Ceanna proclaimed loudly.
‘Mother Abbe gave her blessing?’
‘Yes, and it cannot be undone,’ Sandulf said. He judged the distance between the woman and the captain of the guard. Even now Danr was slowly moving towards him, getting himself in position.
‘Where are the royal children, Stepmother?’ Ceanna asked and Lady Mhairi’s head swivelled towards her. ‘The sons of the late King Aed that the false monk promised he would take to Éireann. I presume they are somewhere in Dun Ollaigh.’
Her stepmother took a step backwards and stumbled. ‘You said it was Ceanna, Feradach. You said it was her before the coffin was nailed shut. We buried her.’
‘It was all her idea!’ Feradach said, looking about him wildly. ‘Lady Mhairi and my brother. Concocted in St Fillans. Nothing to do with me. I can’t stand her and her whining ways. Dried-up stick of a woman. Guards, arrest her!’
‘You liar! I will stop your lying mouth.’
Lady Mhairi rushed forward and wrenched the dagger from Sandulf’s hand. Before he could react, she plunged it into Feradach’s throat. He gurgled and fell forward.
The crowd looked on in stunned silence. Urist, who had stood quietly during all this, rapidly looked about him and fell to his knees while he loudly proclaimed his loyalty. That he had recognised Sandulf and had not given him away.
Ceanna ran over to Sandulf’s side and threw her arms about his neck. ‘My husband.’
The crowd roared their approval.
‘It would appear they have missed you,’ Sandulf murmured, watching the crowd and Ceanna’s reaction to it. They loved her and it would seem she revelled in it. The knowledge struck him like a knife. How could he ask her to give this up? His duty was to his family and hers to these people.
He had worked for years to avenge the murder of Ingrid and her unborn child. His brothers would need him at their side. And Ceanna wouldn’t need him at all.
The thought made his chest ache. He wanted her to need him—to love him with her whole heart and not just say the words because he had put himself in danger. He wanted to prove that he was worthy of her love.
With an effort he pushed the thought away. He focused on the present objective, rather than worrying about battles to come.
‘I think you had best come back to Dun Ollaigh, Stepmother,’ Ceanna said in a very quiet voice, holding out her hand to her as the cheering died away. ‘We have much to do.’
Her stepmother’s eyes were wide and darted everywhere, never resting on anyone or anything, a contrast to the earlier gaze Sandulf had endured from the woman. ‘I need to see to your father, Ceanna. It has been most unconscionable that you have been gone for so long. You worried him to the point of near death. I actually feared your funeral would be the death of him. He did insist on going. And he will have to be told gently that you are, in fact, alive.’
‘You buried another woman’s corpse.’
‘That man, Urist, he led me a merry dance with a closed coffin. Feradach told me his brother had lost control back at the clearing when you wouldn’t answer him. I feared him, truly I did, and his brother was worse. I couldn’t look. He said your head was totally crushed.’
‘That is not what you said to Feradach,’ Sandulf said. ‘I believe you wanted the shock of the funeral to kill your husband, Lady Mhairi. You knew that body wasn’t Ceanna’s and played along. Urist, to his small credit, refused to tell you where Ceanna was when Feradach threatened the life of his son.’
‘Indeed.’ Ceanna’s voice dripped ice.
‘You have always been far too headstrong, Ceanna. All I have ever wanted for you was the best.’ Her stepmother gave a little simpering smile. ‘No doubt you told these men a pile of untruths and embellished stories, but you and I know the full truth, don’t we? I have never been your enemy, Ceanna. Search your heart. You know that to be true.’
Ceanna signalled to two of the townspeople who grabbed her stepmother’s arms. ‘My stepmother needs to return to Dun Ollaigh with me. My father should have the opportunity to hear what has happened here.’
A small smile which Sandulf distrusted appeared on her stepmother’s lips. ‘I’d be grateful.’
Ceanna rapidly organised the villagers, all of whom obeyed her words without questioning. She was in her element, here, moving with assurance and command.
‘Your stepmother is probably the most dangerous of the lot. Do you trust her guards?’ Sandulf murmured as he stooped to regain his dagger.
‘I agree with you.’ Ceanna handed him Lugh’s sword and wiped her hands on her gown. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I need to find my father. He needs to know I live while time remains for us. He deserves the truth, but my stepmother is right, it will have to be gently done.’
‘We will all go.’ Sandulf put his hand on her shoulder. She briefly rested her head on his chest as if she was drawing strength from him, but then seemed to remember something, stood up straight and began speaking to various well-wishers.
‘My Lady, I wanted to say I was sorry, sorrier than you will ever know. And I didn’t betray you. I told them a Northman kidnapped you and I expected you were dead in the forest. But I couldn’t
