When Ceanna woke the next morning, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the thatched roof and the space beside her was empty. The only indication that Sandulf had been there was the faint indentation in the straw. She ran her hand over it, but it was cold, as if he’d been up for hours.
Ceanna rapidly dressed and discovered Sandulf sitting at the table. Vanora lay at his feet and Mildreth plied them both with food while the owl slumbered on a rafter. The cat was nowhere to be seen.
‘I overslept,’ she said and immediately the heat rose on her cheeks. ‘I thought… I thought you didn’t allow dogs in the house.’
Mildreth gave her a large wink. ‘Thanks to your man’s promise of doing extra chores last night, your dog slept beside the hearth and has been perfectly well behaved.’
Sandulf choked on his food. ‘I was up early chopping wood. Our hostess will not need to worry about that particular chore for a while.’
Up early? Had he even gone back to sleep after his nightmare?
‘I must have been more tired than I imagined. I can’t remember the last time I slept for so long. Normally I’m up before sunrise as there are always jobs to be done.’
‘Sometimes it is good to sleep,’ Sandulf said.
‘Particularly after exercise.’ Mildreth gave a high-pitched laugh.
Ceanna knew her cheeks burned worse than ever, much to Mildreth’s cackling delight. She quickly concentrated on the table rather than meeting Sandulf’s eyes. It made it all the worse as a large part of her had wanted to do exactly what Mildreth thought she had last night.
In the cold light of day, she was pleased that his sensible head had prevailed and that she’d done nothing to jeopardise her chances of becoming a holy maid. And she’d continue to do that. She wished the thought filled her with more pleasure. Deep in her heart, she knew she had been able to resist temptation because no temptation had been offered. Sandulf had believed her when she’d explained it was the best thing for her future. She wished she knew that for certain.
‘We should get going,’ she said. ‘I’d like to get to Nrurim as quickly as possible. My legs are fresh, Sandulf.’
‘You should go by the high road,’ Mildreth said, wrinkling her nose. ‘This track will eventually take you to it, but I know a short cut, one which ensures you miss the pass. It’ll take several days off your journey.’
‘We’d be grateful for any assistance,’ Sandulf said. ‘We both wish to get to Nrurim as speedily as possible.’
Ceanna’s heart clunked. She had wanted that yesterday, but getting there would mean the end of her time with Sandulf.
Mildreth stood up. ‘Once your woman finishes her meal, then we will go. She’ll need to keep her strength up for the night-time. I have a few things I need to get.’
She bustled out of the room before Ceanna could object.
‘She believes we…’ Ceanna whispered. ‘About us. Our relationship.’
‘It makes her happy to think about a little romance,’ Sandulf said in a low voice.
Ceanna concentrated on her pottage. ‘But we know the truth. Friends, not lovers.’
He squeezed her hand and the gleam in his eyes deepened. ‘We do indeed.’
She withdrew her hand, hating how the warm pulse travelled up her arm. ‘Friends. We are both entirely too sensible to be anything else.’
He put his fingers against her lips. ‘Hush. She returns. And I doubt anyone but you considers me sensible.’
Ceanna turned towards the door. Her mouth tingled from his light touch.
Mildreth put a cloth-wrapped package in front of Ceanna. ‘For you, my lady. Take a drink of this here tea every morning.’
Ceanna glanced inside the package. It was filled with sweet-smelling herbs. She recognised raspberry leaf and rue. She swallowed hard. ‘And this is for…?’
Mildreth lowered her voice. ‘You aren’t wed, are you? The tea will keep a baby from settling in your womb.’
Settling in her womb.
Ceanna instinctively put her hand to her stomach. The words to proclaim it was impossible rose in her throat, but she forced them back down and took the package, tucking it into the pouch she had fastened to her waist. ‘I’ll be sure to take steps.’
‘My remedies are highly sought after, I’ll have you know,’ Mother Mildreth said with a decisive nod. ‘Many a day I’ve had a queue of women and men making their way here. Some I choose not to serve.’
‘I’m honoured.’
‘Shall we go and discover that short cut?’ Sandulf proclaimed in a loud voice, clearly embarrassed by the whispered conversation.
‘Yes, I’m most anxious to get to Nrurim,’ Ceanna said and silently vowed that she would dispose of the tea as soon as possible. If her aunt discovered it, it might lead to awkward questions about her purity.
She silenced the little voice which asked her why not take the risk and seduce him? She had always tried to avoid taking risks which would end in abject humiliation, but maybe her warrior was worth it?
* * *
‘You’ve been silent since we left Mother Mildreth’s.’ Sandulf bent down to retrieve Vanora’s stick. Unlike yesterday, Ceanna had not kept up a steady stream of conversation. He discovered he missed it. ‘Have I upset you? Is there something I failed to do? I thought you’d have been pleased to sleep.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘You and silence are not natural partners. When you are quiet, you hum.’
Ceanna kicked a stone which went skittering along the path. ‘You barely know me. I can keep quiet when the occasion requires.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it. I thought I liked silence, but right now…’
‘You’d like some relief from your thoughts?’
He had to resist drawing her into his arms and kissing her senseless. He forced himself to pick up a stick and toss it for the dog. ‘Precisely.’
‘I wanted to let you know I never asked her about the tea to prevent babies.’
‘Ah, that.’ Sandulf concentrated on the stick.
‘I’ll teach you Pictish to pass the time.’
‘Do you think I will have a need of it where I’m going?’
‘You never can tell.’
He threw the stick again. ‘I am good at picking up languages.’ Sandulf tossed the stick further and harder than he intended. A talent which would have remained uncovered if he’d stayed in Maerr. ‘I discovered it on the way to Constantinople.’
‘It can be difficult. The Gaels rarely try beyond a few words.’
‘But I want to.’ He pointed to a tree. ‘What is the name for that? Will I have to pay a forfeit if I get it wrong?’
She ducked her head. ‘You are starting to sound like Mother Mildreth.’
‘Perish the thought. And I’ll teach you some of my language in return. You never know when you might have a need of Norse.’
* * *
‘We made it,’ Ceanna said staring down at the wooden walls of the monastery. Like most of the buildings in the Kingdom of Strathclyde, the monastery was fashioned from wood and set behind a palisade in case of attack from marauders.
A few short days ago she had thought seeing the monastery would be like coming home, except now with the silver-birch logs towering over her, it felt more like she was entering a prison.
Arriving here meant that she would have to say goodbye to Sandulf and she wasn’t ready to do that. She’d grown accustomed to his banter and his quiet helping hand under her elbow when she needed it. She struggled to think of anyone she’d rather have had as a travelling companion. They had discussed so many things since they had left Mother Mildreth’s, arguing in a light-hearted manner and setting the world to rights. She had started teaching him to speak Pictish and was surprised at how quickly he was learning it while he had taught her a few words of Norse. She’d ignored his repeated suggestions of meaningful forfeits as being teasing designed to make her blush.
Ceanna had begun to see that Sandulf was correct—they were friends. She felt as if she could confide practically anything to him. Everything but her growing feelings towards him—those she knew would have to be kept as a dark secret.
Friends, not lovers.
The last thing she wanted on this bright sunshiny morning was to go into those darkened buildings and devote her life to prayer. She tried to remind herself of all the reasons why this was the correct thing to do—her life, her people, honour and pride—and why she should be pleased at taking this step. Her attempted deception felt very wrong suddenly.
‘I thought it would take longer,’ she said when she noticed Sandulf looking at her with a quizzical expression. She was going to miss his little looks and asides.
‘It took less time than I worried it might,’ Sandulf said.
Ceanna wrapped her arms about her waist. She had nearly flung them about his neck and begged him to take her away from here. There was something about the place which gave her an unsettled feeling which curled about her insides and refused to let go. ‘We seemed to have escaped whoever attacked Urist’s camp.’
He paused for a long while before answering. ‘I know.’
‘It worries you.’
‘Given the carnage back there, it surprises me. Something’s not right. I dislike surprises when lives are at stake.’
‘But you do like them at other times.’
The light in his eyes deepened. ‘It depends on the nature of the surprise.’
‘I normally like my life to be well ordered and safe. Once I choose a course, I tend to keep it. This time has been unsettling—I keep having to alter my plans.’
‘Some plans are worth altering.’
‘And others you hold fast to.’
A smile hovered on his lips. ‘I’ve kept my end of the bargain—protection until you reach safety.’
Ceanna concentrated on smoothing the folds of her gown between her fingers rather than watching his mouth. It wasn’t his fault that those kisses they had shared had haunted her sleep over the last few nights and she wanted more. He had made it very clear that he was respecting her wishes. Keeping herself pure was essential in those seeking to become a holy maid and she knew her aunt would be able to tell any sort of lie. ‘I’m aware of that.’
‘Do you wish to go on alone? Are you asking me to wait here until you can return? I can take care of Vanora for you.’
Ceanna stared up at the clouds scurrying across the sky. Her aunt had no great love for Northmen or dogs, but she knew she’d feel safer with Sandulf at her side. And Vanora was non-negotiable. Once her aunt had seen the great joy Vanora could bring, Ceanna hoped she’d be allowed to stay. She swore softly. She would never abandon Vanora.
‘We go together. My aunt will understand things better once she hears about my journey with you. She will be overcome with gratitude and will be able to assist in your search for this Lugh, this assassin.’ The knot in Ceanna’s stomach grew. On a good day her aunt would be overjoyed, but the last time Ceanna had seen her things had not gone entirely as Ceanna had planned.
‘That is something to hope for.’
‘I’ve practised my speech over and over until I have it down perfectly. I did have a vision—a vision of my death if I stayed.’ She clapped her hands together which made Vanora, who was inspecting a stick, jump. ‘I’ll make an oath to you in return—to find your sister-in-law’s murderer. I promise. A thank you for what you’ve done for me.’
His gaze seemed to pierce Ceanna’s soul. ‘If you can’t keep the promise, I won’t hold you to it.’
‘We’re friends, after all, and friends keep their promises.’
‘They do.’ A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Ceanna raised her chin. ‘Whoever destroyed Urist’s camp won’t be in this monastery. If this man with the shooting star on his face is here, I’ll find him for you and allow you to do the rest.’
Sandulf’s mouth became a thin white line. ‘You’re not to search him out. Let me do that.’
Ceanna winced. ‘I’ve no wish to quarrel with you. I’m trying to assist you in your quest. All I know is that if you go in making demands, they’ll turn against you and seek to protect someone who deserves no protection. Do it my way…for the sake of the language lessons I gave you.’
Rather than answering her, Sandulf stared at the monastery and the small town which had sprung up around it, nestling within the shelter of its walls. ‘We’d best be going, then.’
She wished she could grab his hand and run far away from there. Already she missed the ease they had had on the road.
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. A warm thrill went through her at his touch. ‘Thank you.’
She folded her fingers about the kiss and tried to hold it. ‘I’ve done nothing.’
‘You’ve been my friend and you believe my story. I’d forgotten what companionship feels like.’
The finality of his words washed over her, dampening her mood further. Was it her fault that she wished for something more? For it not to be over? She firmed her mouth. She’d given up wishing for impossible things.
* * *
When they reached the outskirts of the town, a guard stopped them. ‘State your business.’
‘I go to my aunt, the abbess, Mother Abbe.’ Ceanna put her head to one side. The town appeared nearly deserted instead of the bustling place she remembered from the last time she had visited. And the guards were busy stopping everyone who entered the garth, checking baskets and carts. ‘Is there some sort of trouble?’
‘The old King died here.’ The guard sniffed as if she was beneath his notice for making such a remark. ‘The assassin remains at large. The new King and his advisors endeavour to keep the peace.’
‘That was several months ago. The culprit has surely been discovered or is long departed,’ Ceanna said in an overly sweet way, the voice she used to coax her father into eating his pottage. She thought about what she knew. Her cousin, King Aed, had been brutally murdered while hunting near Nrurim, but the assassin had escaped in the confusion. Aed’s two young sons had also disappeared when the new King and his Regent took over. Rumours ran rife about where the sons of Aed could possibly be. Some had it that they had been kidnapped, others that they had been murdered by Giric, the new Regent.
The guard did not meet her gaze. ‘We serve at the Regent Giric’s pleasure, my lady, not anyone else’s. Recent intelligence indicates the culprit might be returning.’
Ceanna and Sandulf exchanged glances. ‘Recent intelligence? How recent?’
The guard’s gaze narrowed. ‘I’m not sure I should be saying such things to strangers, particularly not Northmen.’
‘I’m from Dun Ollaigh,’ Ceanna said. ‘And Mother Abbe will be pleased to see me. I am her niece, Lady Ceanna.’
‘I have no idea who you are, my lady, but you can speak Pictish as if you were born to the language.’
‘Because I was. In Dun Ollaigh, on the coast.’
Sandulf held out his hands. ‘King Aed died before I ever entered this country.’
The guard appeared to consider both statements. ‘I’ll take you to the monastery. That way neither of you can get into mischief.’
‘I can assure you that neither of us plan any sort of trouble,’ Ceanna said firmly.
‘For Mother Abbe’s sake, I hope you are who you say you are.’ He glanced down at Vanora. ‘Mother Abbe is not overly fond of dogs, but then I suspect you know that, being her niece and all.’
Sandulf merely raised a brow at the guard’s tone. Vanora slunk next to Sandulf and gave a low growl. Ceanna concentrated on the cobblestones and tried to keep her temper in check.
The last time her aunt had encountered Vanora, it had not gone well. Perhaps she’d been optimistic in bringing her dog with her, but there was no way she would have left her behind.
‘If my aunt objects to Vanora, will you…?’ she said in a low voice to Sandulf.
‘Stop borrowing trouble,’ he replied. ‘All will be well. I have promised to see you to safety and I will.’
‘To Nrurim, that is what we agreed.’ She hated that her voice caught on the final word.
‘Until you reached safety is what I agreed.’
‘Am I not safe here?’
‘We shall see, my lady. We shall see.’
* * *
When they arrived at the bustling monastery, a young friar hurried towards them. ‘Lady Ceanna? Is that you? You probably don’t remember me—Brother Malcolm? I had the honour of giving you a tour of the scriptorium the last time you were here. We’ve been so worried.’
Ceanna froze. Why should they be worried about her? ‘Were you expecting me?’
Brother Malcolm drew himself up like a startled hen. ‘A message reached us two days ago that you’d been kidnapped. Your aunt feared you’d become one of the disappeared, taken by raiders from the North because of your headstrong behaviour.’
Ceanna ignored Sandulf’s swift exclamation. After they had escaped Urist and the false ambush, Sandulf had predicted something like this. Her easy assurance that her stepmother would never dare contact her aunt because she would oppose the proposed marriage tasted like ash in her mouth.
‘The messenger was mistaken.’ Ceanna tried for a reassuring laugh. Behind the friar, various nuns stopped tilling the soil and stared open-mouthed at her. When she looked back, they rapidly dropped their gaze and started labouring with great intensity. The austerity about this place pressed down on her soul. But it was just nerves. This place was home now, not Dun Olliagh. But already her soul longed for the sound of the sea and the wind which pervaded every part of Dun Ollaigh, the way the sunlight danced on the waves of the harbour in the early morning and the coolness of the stones against her feet—things she’d never encounter again. ‘Very much mistaken.’
‘Was he?’ Brother Malcolm queried.
‘You can see I’m perfectly well. Ever since I left Dun Ollaigh, I’ve been travelling towards here of my own free will. I haven’t taken a detour or escaped from some botched kidnapping. And my reason for travel remains serious.’
Brother Malcolm tugged at the neck of his robe. ‘And your companion? He looks fierce with that dog of his.’
‘The dog is mine.’
‘Mother Abbe is not fond of strange dogs, but I suppose since it is yours… I take it your visit will not be long in light of these rumours?’ Brother Malcolm held his robes away from Vanora’s inquisitive nose.
Ceanna pressed her lips together. Her aunt’s dog smelt and tended to be sick on the rushes after her aunt fed it too many sweetmeats from the table. Blurting out her new vocation to Brother Malcolm would not be a good idea. She would wait until she saw her aunt.
Brother Malcolm lowered his voice. ‘Has your companion come to raid or to pray?’
‘He’s hardly a raider! Why would he bring me here and protect me, if he intended kidnapping me and selling me across the seas?’
Brother Malcolm tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe. ‘Tales can get tangled in the telling. That much is true. You’re here now. Praise all the angels and saints in heaven.’
‘Lady Ceanna intends to stay,’ Sandulf said.
‘You are going to remain here!’
Ceanna glared at Sandulf. ‘I wish to discuss this with my aunt first. Her views are paramount.’
‘Mother Abbe. Good idea.’ Brother Malcolm started to scurry away. ‘I see. I wasn’t told about that. I thought you would return to your home immediately, to the safety of your family, if you actually arrived here.’
Return. Ceanna’s heart sank. Someone had indeed been here, sowing the seeds of her destruction. Immediately the difficulty of her task increased. What was worse, this place held little appeal. She kept thinking about the reasons why she had detested it the last time she had visited.
‘Allow me to see my aunt,’ Ceanna called after him. ‘She will want to see my miraculous arrival for herself. See that her prayers were answered.’
The friar’s shoulders twitched. ‘You had best wait in the guests’ antechamber. It would be more seemly.’ He looked Sandulf up and down. ‘You and your companion do understand that singular honour?’
She knew if she caught Sandulf’s eye, she’d dissolve into highly inappropriate laughter or, worse, frustrated screaming. She covered her mouth and regained control of her emotions before she threw away any lingering chance of being a holy maid. ‘Of course, Brother, of course we do.’
‘A heathen here, at St Fillans,’ Brother Malcolm muttered. ‘I know it was foretold, but will wonders never cease. I never believed Brother Mattios’s predictions before, but I must now. I shall let him know when he returns. I’ve become a true believer.’
‘Well?’ Sandulf asked. ‘Will you do as Lady Ceanna requests or will you explain to her aunt why you have prolonged her agony, instead blathering on about predictions from a missing monk?’
The colour drained from Brother Malcolm’s face. ‘I didn’t realise men from the North could speak our language so well. And the Mother Abbess’s great confidant, Brother Matthios, is far above the average monk. He is a learned man from St Benedict Biscop’s Abbey in Jarrow where St Bede wrote his famous histories.’
‘It’s amazing what people, even if they are heathen, can learn, isn’t it?’ Sandulf retorted in perfect Pictish.
‘Wait in there, both of you…and that creature.’ Brother Malcolm ushered them into a small antechamber and left them. Ceanna heard the lock turning. Vanora immediately settled, putting her head on her paws.
Ceanna knelt beside her and whispered that everything would all right, that she would refuse to give her up. Vanora peaked at her with one eye.
‘What is troubling you, Ceanna?’ Sandulf asked in a low voice.
‘He locked us in.’
‘We were not planning on leaving.’
‘Someone reached here before us.’ Ceanna put her hand on Vanora’s neck. ‘They were sent, in case I made it here alive. And if not, the story would be that I acted in a headstrong manner and brought ruin on myself. I was not supposed to make it here. I was supposed to become one of the disappeared, vanishing into the mists, never to be seen again.’
Sandulf pursed his lips. ‘It looks that way.’
‘You don’t seem surprised.’
‘I saw what happened to Urist’s group. I suspected they might take precautions. Urist might even have said that you were taken by a Northman.’
Her mouth dropped open. Sandulf had anticipated this, that someone would arrive before them. ‘But you didn’t think to warn me? We could have found a way to travel faster. Walked at night. Found horses. Something.’
‘Would it have made a difference if I had? You were determined to come here, to be a holy maid. No other alternative, you said.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘Where would we have found ponies? Other than Mother Mildreth, we barely saw a soul. Your stepmother likely dispatched someone as soon as she realised you were missing—before the ambush.’
Ceanna balled her fists. She had been certain her stepmother would not dare admit her scheme to the abbess of marrying Ceanna off to Feradach. It had been an arrogant assumption. Of course her aunt’s abbey was the most logical place for her to run to. She needed to come up with a plan quickly, something to convince her aunt that she should stay here. She paced the room. Would explaining about her profound vision at prayer be enough?
Vanora shook her head at Ceanna’s agitation and pointedly went to sit beside Sandulf. She settled with a long-suffering sigh, as if she knew the last place Ceanna wanted to be was here.
‘Goodness knows what tale they have told my aunt, then. Probably that I might arrive here with some wild story about my stepmother. They are very manipulative, my stepmother and her lover.’
‘You’ve said.’
‘You do believe me. I’m not given to fantasy or headstrong behaviour as Brother Malcolm implied.’
‘I saw what happened to Urist and his friends. I’ve come to know you, Lady Ceanna. You don’t run to flights of imagination. The opposite, in fact. You possess a purely practical frame of mind.’
‘Practical and pragmatic. Good for being a nun.’
Sandulf stroked Vanora’s ears. The dog leant into him. ‘Something like that. I’ve little experience with nuns. They spend much time on their knees in prayer and I’m uncertain if that actually helps.’
‘Good for the soul.’ Her laugh sounded strangled to her ears. Her stomach knotted. Being here reminded her of all the reasons why she had initially considered becoming a nun would not suit her. But it had been a choice between living under her aunt’s thumb and death. She froze. What if there was another way?
She regarded Sandulf. They were friends. Might he help if she asked? She’d only get one chance to ask.
‘What do you anticipate will happen next? Will your aunt take you in?’
‘I leave foretelling the future to others, but I know going back home will mean my death. As I said, I heard them plotting.’
‘Will your aunt believe you?’
Ceanna stopped mid-stride. Her aunt’s devotion to the need to secure Dun Ollaigh’s future was only second to her devotion to the church. If she considered Ceanna’s vocation was less than sincere, or didn’t believe her tale about the plot to end her life, then she might put it down to a case of pre-wedding nerves. Her aunt had not favoured her as a child after Ceanna had once asked her when her wings were going to sprout. She remembered hearing about girls her aunt had sent back to their parents after branding them unsuited to the contemplative life.
‘I once overheard—’ She stopped and glared at him as he sought to hide a smile. ‘What is amusing you? Please share the joke.’
‘You do seem to overhear a lot.’ He shrugged. ‘That is all. It reminds me of when I was young. My cousin always seemed to be the one overhearing things. He constantly raced around to tell everyone, but the trouble was he kept telling the wrong people. None of us ever cared for him. Me in particular as our mothers kept trying to make us play together and I wanted to be with my brothers.’
‘I never had a cousin. And my father kept me away from my aunt after my mother and younger brother died in the flood. She looked far too much like my mother for his grief. She and my father rarely agreed, but she respected my mother’s right to marry whom she chose.’
‘What does your mother have to do with it?’
‘In the absence of a son, under Pictish law, the inheritance goes to the eldest daughter. My grandfather did not have any sons. My aunt wanted the church after her husband died, so my mother had to marry.’
‘Does your father have any sons?’
‘My brother died with my mother. With my father’s current state of health, I fear it is beyond him to get any more children.’
‘You’ll have to marry if you wish to keep your lands safe from raiders. Your stepmother was right about that.’
Ceanna hugged her arms about her waist. The people at this monastery, they couldn’t lift swords or fight. Back in her great-great-grandfather’s day, the monks of Iona were trained in war, but not the ones at St Fillans. ‘Once my father goes, I’ll be dead within the week.’
‘How ill is your father?’
‘My father was very healthy until my stepmother’s lover arrived. Then the wound he received when he fought off raiders fifteen months ago refused to heal. In recent weeks, he grows worse, despite my stepmother’s devoted attention. He barely recognised me when I whispered goodbye.’ She banged her fists together rather than giving in to tears over her father and how she might never see him again. Her heart grieved for the man he’d been before her mother and brother died. ‘I won’t be sacrificed on the altar of my stepmother’s ambition.’
Sandulf raised his brow and Ceanna belatedly realised that she’d been shouting. She continued in a calmer voice. ‘I hoped to persuade my aunt to accept me as a young woman who knows her own mind, someone who truly does wish to take the veil instead of a silly girl who ran away from an important strategic alliance.’
‘You fear your aunt will see through the ruse immediately.’
The weight on Ceanna’s chest lifted. ‘I don’t fear marriage in the abstract, Sandulf, but I do fear losing my life.’
‘You remain under my protection until you reach a safe haven.’
‘Why, my gallant warrior, are you making an offer of marriage?’ she teased with a strangled laugh, hating how her heart leapt. They were friends, not lovers. He’d made that perfectly clear.
His eyes slid away from her. ‘It won’t come to that.’
‘No, it won’t.’ Ceanna’s heart sank. He had a life elsewhere, a family, dreams, ambitions, to which he would return after he completed this quest to find his sister-in-law’s murderer. He’d been her companion for the journey, not the hero who was going to save her future. ‘I’ll manage, Sandulf. I’ll find a way.’
He put his hand on her arm. Warmth radiated through her. She turned to move away, but tumbled into his gaze instead. ‘What do you need me to do?’
She wet her parched lips. What she needed was his touch. ‘My desires are not important; only my life. This place must be more congenial than it appears to my nervous eyes.’
He raised a brow. ‘The friar seemed less than keen about Vanora.’
At the sound of her name, Vanora thumped her tail. It sounded like a drum in the all-pervading quiet of the room.
‘My aunt will find a place for her once she understands how useful Vanora is.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re the one who knows her. I have some misgivings, but I’m willing to be wrong.’
Something was clearly going on and she was beginning to doubt whether fleeing to her aunt had been a good idea after all. Could she beg him to take her away from here? Where could she go? But instead all she said was, ‘My aunt will do what is right. She is a stickler for order and tradition.’
‘And here I was, thinking you delight in creating chaos. How will you get on here?’
‘That is unfair. What chaos have I created?’
‘You’ve turned my life upside down.’
‘Normally I’m very restrained and orderly. Ask anyone.’ His answering smile warmed her to her toes. ‘But I stand a far better chance of seeing my next birthday here than I would at Dun Ollaigh. Being alive means that some day I might have the chance to fight back against my stepmother’s machinations.’
‘Do you want to spend your life in this place where you will be under the control of your aunt, where you will be on your knees day and night, no freedom to come and go as you please?’
‘Every corner of this abbey hums like a beehive,’ Ceanna said to his chest. She knew it wasn’t an answer, but bringing herself to voice her sudden disquiet was beyond her. Out in the garth she had seen a handful of women toiling in the soil and being chastised for speaking and it made her blood run cold. She knew, despite her earlier bravado, being a nun was the last thing she wanted. ‘Even if it is an awfully silent hive.’ She sighed, but turned abruptly when the door was suddenly thrust open.
‘What is going on here? Ceanna, why are you here, instead of at Dun Ollaigh where you are supposed to be?’ her aunt’s voice thundered from the doorway. ‘The marriage alliance between you and Feradach is of the upmost importance to this family’s continued prosperity, according to your lady stepmother.’