Ceanna woke to sunlight streaming into the room. Her head rested on Sandulf’s chest. She lay and listened to his heartbeat. She should be happy. This was something that she had never considered could happen to her—waking in the arms of a handsome husband with a bright future ahead of them. Except, like a maggot uncurling from an otherwise perfect apple, the thought was doomed, an illusion like the heroes she used to dream up. She had about as much chance of keeping a man like Sandulf happy and contented as she did being able to catch the sunbeam which highlighted his stubble against her fingers.
She raised her hand. His arms immediately tightened.
‘Good morning, sleepyhead,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Once again, you failed to wake before me.’
‘You rarely sleep.’
‘I might make an exception if you promise to stay in my arms every night.’
She basked in the nonsensical lovers’ talk. Ceanna levered her elbow against his chest in order to sit up. He made no effort to hold her. ‘Have you been awake long?’
‘Long enough.’ He gestured. ‘Vanora would like her second breakfast, but I could stay here all day.’
‘She has already had her first one?’
‘I took her out earlier, but you slept through it and, when I returned, you looked so delectable that I couldn’t resist getting back in bed with you and waiting until you woke.’
Her face flamed and she said with embarrassment, ‘I dare say my aunt will want to inspect the sheets to ensure we are properly married. She mentioned something about it as she left last night.’
‘At least she waited until we are ready.’
She swung her legs over the bed and muscles she didn’t know she had until that instant protested. She collapsed back against him. ‘I ache all over.’
His laugh rumbled against her ear. ‘Is that a problem? My brother Brandt took three full days before he emerged with Ingrid.’
‘Our marriage is different. We need to find this Lugh before he strikes again. We have little time to waste.’
‘Yes, I do need to find him.’
There was no mistaking the word I rather than the we she’d expected to hear. Ceanna tightened her jaw.
He reached behind him and held out a golden arm ring. ‘For you as the morning gift. It will have to do for now.’
‘My morning gift?’
All laughter vanished from his eyes. ‘If something happens to me, I’ll not have you starve. I’ll not have you abandoned without anything. It is what men in my family do—look after their brides. I had it made after my first successful voyage. The other one I wear belonged to Lugh. I grew tired of explaining why I only wore one arm ring.’
Ceanna hated the finality of his words. She stared at the intricately marked arm ring. He was going to find an excuse to leave her behind, claiming that it was for her own safety. No one could force her to return to Dun Ollaigh, he’d say. He had kept that side of their bargain, but she was determined to have more. She would demonstrate to him that she was an equal partner in this relationship. Indispensable. She rolled the word around on her tongue. A good word, a word to aspire to, rather than concentrating on the forgettable woman she knew she was. She took the arm ring and put it beside her on the pillow. ‘Thank you. I will treasure it.’
‘My pleasure.’
At his questioning look, she cleared her throat and started on her ‘Make Ceanna Indispensable to Sandulf’ scheme. ‘I thought to ask my aunt if I could inspect the rolls. There might be something there about Brother Mattios—the monk who suddenly left when he heard a Northman was coming.’
‘You seem obsessed by this Brother Mattios and those missing children. Your aunt has given her assurance that he is bona fide, a valuable member of Jarrow before coming here.’ Sandulf put his hands on the top of his head as if that ended the discussion. ‘I can’t believe my sister-in-law Annis lied to me, but she may have misheard the rumour about Lugh’s intentions. She’d little liking for the man. It could be there are more clues in Glannoventa which she and Rurik are unaware of. We start towards there tomorrow, due south to avoid Dun Ollaigh.’
‘What if Brother Mattios actually feared you? What if he used the children as an excuse to get away from the Northern assassin who was coming here?’ she asked, ignoring the little flip her heart did that Sandulf’s immediate plans included them both.
‘Or what if they were his real target?’ Sandulf asked softly.
‘He has been here for eighteen months. I doubt anyone plans that far in the future. He seized an opportunity.’ She balled her fists and hit the bedclothes. ‘I know he isn’t genuine, deep inside me.’
His fingers tightened about hers and he raised them to his lips. ‘It is good that you are so passionate. If you are frightened of travelling south because of the rivers, there may be another way for our marriage to proceed.’
‘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 had some way to go.
‘Your stepmother will be unhappy,’ the guard continued in Pictish. ‘She is a very determined woman. She desired this match between you and Captain Feradach.’
‘My aunt has given us her blessing.’ Ceanna marvelled that she could say the words without her voice trembling. ‘I hope I can count on your loyalty to me and my new husband.’
‘We are loyal to you and your father.’
Sandulf tilted his head to one side. ‘Do you think you can speak in Gaelic so I can understand?’
‘I will have to redouble my efforts in teaching you Pictish,’ Ceanna said in a low voice. ‘But all is well. This man is loyal to a point.’
‘I look forward to your instruction, then.’ The husky undertone to his voice did strange things to her insides.
‘Good,’ she said, making her voice sound brisk, but knowing that her cheeks had suddenly become heated. ‘Before you go, Ecgbert, what I wanted to know is whether you were tasked with a special message for Brother Mattios as well as one for my aunt.’
‘Captain Feradach’s brother?’ the guard said, switching to Gaelic. ‘Funny you should mention him. Brother Mattios was most insistent that there must be a message from his brother and followed me about asking and asking. When we arrived here, the vellum with the message on could not be found, but the most junior member of my team said that Captain Feradach had made him repeat the message five times over because vellum had a way of going missing.’
‘What was the message?’ Sandulf asked.
‘“A Northman asks the way to Nrurim. I’ve need of your skill. Leave immediately, but have a care.” I could not make sense of it, but then Captain Feradach and I have not seen eye to eye for a long time.’
Ceanna’s neck muscles eased. She had done it. She had shown there was a connection. The next time, maybe Sandulf would not be so quick to dismiss how important it was to have her at his side. She could prove her worth to him. She could be his Skadi in truth, his warrior woman.
‘Feradach sent this message to his brother? Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?’ her aunt asked sharply. ‘Why is Captain Feradach ordering my monk about? I am the one who decides who can leave and who can go.’
The guard bowed deeply. ‘Yes, my lady abbess. Brother Mattios went whiter than snow and rushed off to find you. I thought you knew.’
Her aunt put her hand to her throat. ‘I don’t know what to say. Brother Mattios told me quite another tale about the sons of King Aed needing to depart. He became agitated, but he persuaded me with his argument.’
‘And you let him leave with them?’
‘Yes. They are to go to their aunt in Éireann, away from the whims of the new King or his Regent. He promised.’
‘Now will you allow Brother Mattios’s possessions to be examined? Please,’ Ceanna said.
‘For what purpose?’
‘Because if he is who my wife and I think he is, he will have kept one or two trinkets from his past exploits,’ Sandulf said very slowly. ‘One of his fellow conspirators said that the man I seek always did. From the victims he particularly enjoyed killing.’
Her aunt gave an exasperated sigh.
‘I suppose there is no harm in it. Brother Mattios is not here to defend his reputation, but I suspect the mystery will be easily solved. He did, as I recall, put a few small trinkets to one side, safekeeping for his brother in the advent of his death.’
Sandulf squeezed Ceanna’s shoulder after her aunt left. ‘Thank you for your persistence, Skadi, for ensuring that this happens. I was wrong to dismiss your instincts earlier. I’m sorry. You knew how to handle your aunt far better than I could ever have done.’
‘You are welcome, Husband.’ She inclined her head as the dreams started to grow. ‘If Brother Mattios is who we think he is, those royal children are in grave danger. They may already be dead.’
Her aunt returned with a small, intricately carved wooden casket. ‘Brother Mattios left this with strict instructions that it must go to his brother if he failed to return from his mission. It appears he secured it with beeswax and a seal of some sort.’ She shook it. ‘It sounds as if there is something in there. Make of it what you will. I am beginning to wonder if there is not something in your tale, Northman, and I would like the matter resolved.’
‘Thank you.’ Sandulf took the box from the nun. His stomach knotted. He owed Ceanna a great deal. Her swift thinking had made this possible. He had nearly left for Glannoventa without her. It was like the man who had saved his life on board the ship explained—assassins are like Loki, double dealing and entirely untrustworthy.
He broke the wax seals, opened it and started to shake. On the top of a folded linen cloth lay a small gold figurine, holding out a shield, slightly battered but as shiny as when his father had first shown it to him. He stared up at the ceiling, struggling to get hold of his emotions.
The memories from that day when Ingrid was first given it flooded his brain—his father’s preening at the figure’s sheer weight in gold; Brandt’s look of absolute horror and fury when his father presented it to Ingrid in a brief ceremony; his mother’s anger that her husband should seek to embarrass their son in such a fashion through offering a morning gift to his daughter-in-law as if his eldest son possessed nothing; and how Ingrid had smoothed everything over with a few well-chosen words.
When he felt he could trust his emotions, he handed the box back to Mother Abbe.
‘Satisfied?’ The old woman gave a disingenuous smile, holding her hand out for the box to be given back to her. ‘Ceanna, you must return with your father’s men. Your husband—’
‘Turn that gold figurine over, please,’ he said. ‘I want you to do it, not me. You saw I only looked at it, but did not touch it or turn it over.’
‘The statue? I must say it is an odd interpretation of Our Lady, but who am I to argue? It was important to Brother Mattios.’
‘If you look closely, you will see that it is a Valkyrie with a shield. She has cats at her feet. On the back will be the rune for Ingrid, the wife of my eldest brother. The figurine belonged to my sister-in-law, who sometimes wore it as a pendant. It was her morning gift after their marriage. I am certain of it.’
With a faintly trembling hand and an over-confident smile, the abbess plucked the ornament from the box. Her smile faded to nothing. ‘I can’t quite make it out, but something is there. I do not know how to read runes.’
‘May I see it?’ Ceanna took the gold figurine from her aunt and held it up to one of the torches. ‘There are definitely markings on the back. Can you scratch the ones for Ingrid in the dust, Sandulf? I want my aunt to see the truth. I want the scales to drop from her eyes.’
He didn’t deserve a woman like Ceanna. She’d believed in him. His sense of responsibility towards her filled him, pressing down on his lungs with a choking certainty. He picked up a stick and quickly scratched the runes.
‘See, Aunt.’ Ceanna passed the figurine to her aunt. ‘Sandulf has scratched the runes in the dust. They match precisely with what is on the figurine’s reverse. There is no way he could have seen them.’
‘I… They…could be the same markings.’ The abbess’s voice was little more than a thread on the wind. ‘You mean it is not Our Lady, but some heathen idol?’
‘It seems mighty peculiar to me that someone as devoted as Brother Mattios held such store by something which is so blatantly heathen. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know and that is why he sealed the box.’ Ceanna tilted her head to one side. ‘What do the runes mean, Sandulf?’
‘They mean I belong to Ingrid. My father gave the figurine to my eldest brother’s wife as a morning gift from the family. My father said it was because a woman would need the heart of a warrior to breed strong sons from his eldest son.’
Ceanna looked down at the ground, her cheeks flaming. ‘I see.’
‘I carved the runes myself during the night. Something for a younger brother to do on the occasion of his eldest brother’s wedding, or so my father proclaimed.’ Sandulf forced a smile. Brandt had shouted at him when he discovered Sandulf’s part in it, but Ingrid had been understanding about why he hadn’t defied his father. It was then she had really won his heart—telling him to ignore Brandt’s cross words. ‘Ingrid thought it sweet of me, but kept it locked away, saying it was far too expensive to wear every day. My father insisted on her wearing it the day of the massacre as my eldest brother had been called away.’
‘Was it lost in the massacre?’ Ceanna asked.
Sandulf concentrated and brought the terrible scene to mind. Blood everywhere. Ingrid’s clothes ripped. He could not remember seeing it then. Or even earlier, now that he came to think of it. Ingrid had kept a shawl wrapped about her body even as they sat in the longhouse. ‘I don’t remember it on her corpse, but she would have been wearing it; she won’t have wanted to risk my father’s temper on such an important occasion for my family. She was like that, always eager to ensure things ran smoothly.’
Ceanna took the figurine from her aunt’s hands and placed it back in the box. She handed the box to Sandulf. ‘This belongs to you and your family, not to the man who calls himself Brother Mattios.’
His throat closed with the emotion. With his fingers tightening about the box, he nodded.
‘Do you have an explanation, Aunt, for how this could have come into Brother Mattios’s possession?’ Ceanna crossed her arms and gave her aunt her hardest stare. ‘Or may I finally draw the obvious conclusion? Brother Mattios was not the same Brother Mattios who left Jarrow. Sandulf’s intelligence was accurate after all—you have unwittingly been harbouring a fearsome assassin.’
The abbess shook her head and took a step backwards. The colour had drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaking. ‘He had the correct papers. We were anticipating his arrival, you see, to view a manuscript whose provenance was in dispute. Father Callum warned me that he was not all he seemed, that his Latin was not very good for a scholar sent on such a mission, but then Father Callum unexpectedly sickened and died. You must understand that Brother Matt—that that man was utterly charming. So devoted to prayer. So dedicated to silence. Seemingly gentle despite that awful scar on his face.’
‘No one told me about a scar.’ Every sinew in Sandulf’s being tightened. ‘Was it in the shape of a shooting star?’
‘He called it his angel’s kiss,’ her aunt said. ‘And said it made him more devoted. I liked that about him, that he saw God’s hand in everything.’
‘Ingrid’s murderer, Lugh, had a scar on his face which resembled a shooting star,’ Sandulf said.
The abbess’s hands shook. ‘Maybe it could be called a star, a double star with a cross.’
‘Who nursed this Father Callum in his last days?’ Ceanna asked. ‘I take it that he was very healthy until Brother Mattios arrived.’
‘Your stepmother and Brother M—’ The abbess sank to her knees. ‘May God and all the angels forgive me. Father Callum was a good soul. You must take the box far away from here. Destroy it. It must be cursed.’
‘That heathen idol, as you called it, meant a great deal to my father,’ Sandulf said, unable to prevent the words spilling out. ‘Any curse came from the assassin you sheltered.’
Ceanna put out her hand. ‘Sandulf!’
Sandulf gave an unrepentant bow. ‘I do beg your pardon, my lady, for my words. It would be my pleasure to take this back on behalf of my family, for whom it has great value, Lady Abbess.’
The old woman turned her face away.
‘Helping us will ensure Father Callum gets some justice,’ Ceanna said softly. ‘Something which has been denied to him.’
The woman’s skin turned the colour of old parchment. ‘From what your husband has been saying about this killer, those little boys are probably dead. I thought I had been firm in doing my duty, but I have been betrayed. Miserably. In my arrogance, I sent them to their deaths, Ceanna.’
‘Did you know Captain Feradach before this Brother Mattios arrived?’
‘He came to visit…the man who claimed to be Brother Mattios shortly after he arrived from Jarrow. He said that Feradach was his brother. It was why I recommended him for advancement with your father.’
‘I see.’ Ceanna stood up straighter—a lady demanding justice prevail in every sense of the word. ‘You appear to have made a number of grave errors, Aunt. There is every reason to believe this Mattios—or Lugh, as Sandulf calls him—will be headed towards Dun Ollaigh, seeking to use those little boys for his own gain rather than delivering them to their aunt in Éireann as he promised.’
Sandulf ground his teeth. Dun Ollaigh—the one place where she’d be in the most danger. The danger from her stepmother and this Feradach had increased immeasurably. His stomach churned. He wanted her with him, but he had to be sensible. He would fight better knowing that she was safe and that somewhere safe had to be here. He silenced the little voice deep within which protested. Once everything was resolved and he had earned the reward of a better life, then he could return here and start their marriage together properly.
‘Aunt, what say you?’
‘I hadn’t realised the danger,’ the old woman admitted, her body crumpling. ‘I was fooled by his devout prayer and his charm. I was so worried about you and I wanted the boys to be elsewhere. They were very noisy, you see. I missed the peace and quiet.’
Ceanna rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘It is well that I am leaving, Aunt. You would discover I enjoy talking far too much.’
Sandulf firmed his mouth. Ceanna made it sound as if she was going off with him, hunting Lugh. ‘I’ll travel much more swiftly on my own. You should remain here.’
The hurt in Ceanna’s eyes made his insides twist. It was for the best. Her safety above all things. What could he offer her really? Until he’d made peace with his brothers, he could not consider anyone or anything else. He’d been fooling himself earlier.
‘I will go with you,’ Ceanna said. ‘I know Dun Ollaigh and its ways.’
‘You will be safer here. Your aunt understands that now.’
‘Are you already disobeying an order from your husband, Niece?’
‘Aunt, will you excuse us for a brief time? I need to speak with my husband alone. He can be pig-headed at times.’
‘You are the one who was insistent on marrying him.’
‘I know and I have no regrets about that.’
‘Take as long as you like.’
She ushered the sisters and guards out of the scriptorium.
In the silence which followed her aunt’s departure, Ceanna struggled to hang on to her temper. Her insides felt as if they had been torn out. She knew he worried for her safety, but she felt as though he was abandoning her at the first opportunity. Her husband did not think she would be able to contribute anything in the hunt for the assassin.
She firmed her mouth. He wasn’t thinking straight. Seeing that golden Valkyrie had upset him. The terrible look he’d given it had showed her all she needed to know about the state of his heart. He cared for the dead woman far more than he could ever care for her. He’d never made any sort of promises about that. He had promised to be her husband, but he had only ever promised her friendship. She was emphatically not someone he was in love with. The knowledge made her chest ache all the harder because she knew she was rapidly falling in love with him.
‘See the matter from my perspective. I have a duty towards you as your husband.’ He put his hands behind his back. ‘Knowing you remain safe will enable me to fight harder. If you return to Dun Ollaigh, then you put yourself into danger. You wanted to be at the monastery before we arrived here.’
A small part of her knew she had to fight the temptation to remain safe and secure behind the high walls of the monastery. It was what she had set out to do—find sanctuary from her stepmother. She would be safe here, if there was safety in being a prisoner. In the past few days she’d felt more alive than she had done since long before her mother and brother had died.
Ceanna the Indispensable. The words rolled about in her brain again. Sandulf didn’t see her as such yet, but she’d make him see it. ‘You need me, Sandulf. More than ever, you need me.’
A muscle jumped in his jaw and his brows lowered. ‘I don’t need anyone, particularly not you. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with Lugh on my own. When I was growing up, my brothers always told me I was incapable of handling things by myself, even when it was easy to see that I could. You need to remain here and stay safe. It is the best way you can help.’
His words stabbed her, but she kept her back straight.
‘You have only a limited knowledge of Dun Ollaigh or its inhabitants. I have all the knowledge you will need. However, we won’t know what you need until you need it. It is why I must go with you.’
He put a heavy hand under her elbow, but she shook it off with an impatient gesture. ‘I want to keep you safe. Safe means remaining here in this monastery.’
She raised herself up on her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers. ‘You protected me all the way here. Why shouldn’t I put my trust in your sword arm?’
‘Because—because I am looking out for your welfare.’ He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. ‘For once in my life, I am attempting to do the right thing. Be reasonable, Skadi.’
‘I know you are trying to protect me, but you will need to be with me to provide that protection. I don’t trust anyone but you.’
He made a face. ‘And if I am useless at it?’
‘What happened to Ingrid was not your fault. It was the fault of the assassin, the man you are trying to prevent from murdering again.’ She put her hands against his chest. ‘You will have to accept that I am going to return to Dun Ollaigh and bring this man and his brother to justice. I will not be left behind to wonder and worry.’
His arms went around her and held her tight. He rested his chin on top of her head. ‘Goodness knows what sort of mischief you and Vanora would discover without me guiding your steps.’
‘Perish the thought.’
He laughed. The muscles in Ceanna’s neck eased. The storm had passed, after a fashion. ‘If there is any fighting to be done, you make sure you are far away.’
‘I will do my best.’
‘I mean it, Skadi. I will not have the death of another innocent woman on my conscience.’
Ceanna knew from the tone of his voice that she’d won. Her heart squeezed. It scared her how much she cared for this man and she knew that she had to be willing to let him run headlong into danger to complete his mission. He had saved her by marrying her and now she must do all she could to help him find the assassin. It was the terms of their deal.
She marched to the door and pulled it open. Her aunt tumbled in. ‘I think my father’s messengers had best remain here with you, Aunt. The element of surprise will be key to discovering the truth about Lugh.’
Sandulf stroked his chin. ‘My wife speaks true. The messengers can remain a while longer under your excellent hospitality.’
The guards protested loudly, but Ceanna was relieved when her aunt smiled, the first genuine smile Ceanna had seen. ‘I think my niece makes an excellent suggestion.’
‘Aunt, when we find the boys, I will ensure they go to their relations in Éireann. I give you my word.’
‘You hate travelling over water, they tell me. Ever since your mother and brother died.’
Ceanna glanced at Sandulf, who nodded. ‘Some things are more important than my irrational fears. This is one of them. Watch for my message.’
‘Despite my reservations, marriage appears to be good for you, Niece.’
Ceanna firmed her mouth. She would be a widow before long if Sandulf did not succeed. But she could not bear to be abandoned, even though she would finally be safe. She only wanted to be by his side, to be his Skadi in truth, even if it meant watching her beloved husband die at the hands of the treacherous assassin who had massacred his family, or dying alongside him.