‘I saved your life earlier, Lady Ceanna, if that makes any difference to your attitude.’ He held out his hand. It was long fingered and well made. There was a little scar at the base of his thumb.
Ceanna ignored his hand and scrambled to standing. Her gown tore under her arm and she tightened her fists.
‘Saved my life? What nonsense are you spouting?’ She gave vent to her utter frustration. ‘Out with it, man. What have I ever done to you? Why are you plaguing me? What right do you have?’
‘That man who runs the tavern sent a runner towards Dun Ollaigh. That runner failed to reach his destination.’
‘I never asked you to kill for me.’ Ceanna put her hand over her mouth.
‘He became entangled in some ropes. He’ll be found in due course—safe and well.’ His eyes sent a chill through her. ‘I kill when necessary. It wasn’t necessary.’
‘Good to know.’
The Northman nodded towards Vanora who was now wagging her tail. ‘Your dog provided invaluable assistance.’
‘Why did you do it? I’ve nothing you want.’
‘You’re going to get me to Nrurim, even if I have to carry you the whole way. I, Sandulf Sigurdsson, give you my oath on this.’
Ceanna stared at him for a long time, her throat working up and down, but no sound emerged.
Vanora gave a sharp bark and the noise seemed to release her voice.
‘You could have approached me when I left the tavern. Why follow me in such a way?’
‘Because I didn’t want to alert anyone.’
‘I see. You were looking out for my welfare rather than afraid to take the risk.’
Sandulf stared at Lady Ceanna with her tangled mess of plaits and bedraggled gown. Giving his oath was supposed to make her accept him with open arms, not question his motives further. She should be grateful that he was willing to risk his sword arm for her, rather than berating him.
‘Because—’ he said, ready to lecture her, but stopped.
A fleeting uncertainty and vulnerability flashed in her eyes which she quickly masked with a frown. A long-forgotten memory of how hard he’d tried to be brave when he changed ships and the enormity of what he’d done washed over him. He, too, had had to learn to be grateful of a stranger’s help.
He rubbed the back of his neck. She was right. He had not wanted to take the risk. Getting to Nrurim meant far too much to destroy this chance for reasons of pride or gallant behaviour.
How to explain without giving the full story, but enough to give her reason to trust him? Trust was a far more precious commodity than he’d realised when he was a boy. And he needed her trust or it would be harder to fulfil his quest, except his mind was a blank as to why she should trust him.
‘Because...’ he said again, hoping the right words would magically appear in his mouth.
‘Because is not an acceptable answer, not even the second time you try it.’ She cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. ‘I’ve switched my course often enough to know you must have been deliberately following my footsteps. The truth, if you please. Do you intend to slit my throat or harm any of my relations?’
Sandulf regarded her for a long time. Despite her overly primped appearance, this woman possessed a backbone—or perhaps it was simply foolhardy naivety. Few women would speak to a warrior in that tone. His mother or Aunt Kolga maybe.
He forced his voice to be low and slow with more than a hint of honey. ‘If I’d confronted you outside the tavern, all it would have done was alert our trussed-up friend and his pals. I reckoned you wanted to keep your departure quiet. I considered it was time to make my presence known as I am now sure we are not being followed. You can cease being frightened.’
She wrapped her arms about her waist. ‘I’m not frightened.’
‘Startled, then.’
Her features relaxed, reminding him of a blackbird he’d tried to tame as a boy. He had taken the time to feed it crumbs and it had eventually trusted him. Alarr had laughed at him, saying he was wasting his time, but the bird had eventually ridden on his shoulder. Until his father had decided that his son needed to concentrate on his sword skills and the bird disappeared.
‘That was the reason you showed yourself now? The knowledge that I had managed to lose all my pursuers except for you?’
Sandulf reached down and gave the dog a bit of cheese. ‘Your dog wanted more to eat.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Vanora’s hunger. Is that the best you can do?’
‘Vanora is an unusual name for a dog.’
‘Stop trying to change the subject.’
He slowly rose and held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘I apologise if I frightened you. My sole intention is to travel to Nrurim and attend to my business there. Take me to our guide.’
Her teeth worried her bottom lip. ‘How do you know I am going to meet Urist?’
Sandulf exhaled. Finally. She was listening.
He ticked off the points on his fingers. ‘Earlier, the tavern keeper was insistent that he had no idea of Urist’s travel plans. You show up and he mutters some words to you in Gaelic which seemed to indicate that Urist was making for the ford. He immediately insisted I leave. I assumed Urist left another message for you. The ford makes little sense for someone travelling across country to Nrurim.’
Her blue-grey gaze widened. ‘You worked that one out quickly.’
‘I went through the ford on my way here. Why go back that way? I followed my hunch. Waited and watched. Made friends with your dog. Dealt with the potential threat to your escape. You need me, Lady Ceanna, as much as I need you.’ Sandulf held out his hand to the dog who gave it an obliging lick. ‘Why is she called Vanora?’
‘After Arthur’s Queen. You know Arthur—the one who saved the Picts and the Celts from
