Conveniently Wed to the Viking

by Michelle Styles

  As if on cue, the rain began to lash down, pelleting them with hard wet drops.

  Lady Ceanna crossed her arms. ‘Where will you shelter?’

  ‘Beside you. We should keep dry enough.’ He kept a carefully neutral face. ‘I promise I don’t bite unless you wish me to.’

  Her back went straight and her eyes flashed fury. ‘A holy maid is a noble calling. If a holy maid says something should be protected, it is done without question, as she speaks directly to God. No one wishes to risk eternal damnation.’

  Sandulf rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. ‘I’ve never forced myself on an unwilling woman and have no intention of starting with you.’

  She ducked her head, hiding her expression, but he saw the redness in her cheeks. ‘Another oath, Northman?’

  ‘I’m more at home with warriors than holy maids.’

  ‘Then we will pray our acquaintance will be of short duration.’

  She stalked over to the tree and sat while Sandulf collected an armful of bracken fronds which he laced over their heads for a roof.

  ‘It will keep the worst of the wet out,’ he said.

  Ceanna eyed the makeshift structure. Already she could hear the rain starting to hammer on the fronds, but they were dry underneath. ‘I shall pray that it works.’

  Vanora immediately curled up at her feet. The dog wagged her tail furiously when she realised Sandulf meant to sit next to her mistress. Sandulf sat, trying to make himself as small as possible, but their arms brushed. She moved as if he had burnt her.

  She eased off her slippers. Her stockings were torn to shreds and several blisters had formed. Her gown tore even more as she leant forward to examine her foot. He frowned, but handed her the ointment he’d acquired in Constantinople.

  ‘A little goes far.’

  ‘It smells pleasant.’

  ‘Frankincense. Shall I assist?’

  ‘I can do it.’ She rapidly put some on her feet and sighed as the ointment worked its magic. ‘Thank you. They feel better already.’

  He was about to ask her if she wanted any of his hard cheese when he heard a gentle snore.

  Sandulf broke off a bit and gave some to the dog. ‘I’ll keep the first watch.’

  Chapter Three

  Ceanna woke with a start and a head swirling with confused images about broad-shouldered warriors who were willing to fight for her and protect her; who had gentle touches and cherished her. Nonsense dreams which had no business in her practical waking life.

  Her hand encountered fine wool, warm and soft. Ceanna snatched it back. She froze. Her head was nestled against the crook of Sandulf’s arm. At some time in the night, rather than sleeping propped up against the oak tree as she’d planned, she had turned into his chest and now was snuggled up to him in the most intimate way possible. She started to move, but his arm tightened, pinning her against him. If she lifted her mouth even the slightest bit, her lips would brush his. The thought made her go warm all over. Her mouth tingled as if he had indeed placed his against hers. She ran her tongue over it.

  His eyes flared slightly as he looked down at her, but Vanora snuffled, breaking the spell.

  Ceanna rapidly scrambled away, nearly tripping over Vanora as she did so. So much for her proud declaration that she had a vocation to be a holy maid. She’d practically offered herself to him. Uninvited.

  * * *

  He stretched his arms above his head. In the early morning light, his muscles rippled, making her more aware than ever of their close proximity. ‘You’re awake. Excellent.’

  Ceanna swallowed hard, unable to rid herself of the knowledge that he knew where and how she’d been sleeping and that it amused him. Amused him. The thought was like a bucket of cold water poured over her head. He wasn’t interested in her, not in that way. Men never were. They were interested in the dowry she could bring to their marriage, rather than her limited charms. ‘I slept soundly.’

  ‘You snored.’ At her look, a dimple creased his cheek. ‘A solitary snuffle and very soft at that.’

  ‘I forgot to do my beatitudes.’ She screwed up her eyes and rapidly recited the various sayings she’d sworn to remember. ‘There, that is all. Oh, and remember to put ointment on my feet.’

  She belatedly crossed herself and gave thanks. Holy maids were supposed to speak to God, rather than making lists.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Going over yesterday so that I can make today better.’ She rolled her neck and arms, trying to remove the pins and needles from how she’d spent the night. ‘I normally say them at night while I plan how my next day will go. I like the certainty of knowing what to expect.’

  ‘Sometimes it is best to adapt and let things evolve.’

  ‘My feet are not as sore as they were last night. It is amazing how restorative a night’s sleep can be.’ She rapidly put on her slippers before he had a chance to inspect them.

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘They’re fine. I promise.’

  ‘I will judge the state of your feet, Lady Ceanna, before we continue.’ His tone did not allow for any refusal. ‘You may have plans, but I have responsibilities.’

  He reached over and captured her ankle with gentle fingers. Tiny pulses of warmth radiated outwards from them. Ceanna forgot how her lungs worked. She held herself completely still.

  He eased off the slipper and ran his hand slowly and methodically over the length of her sole. He set the foot down and lifted her other foot.

  She concentrated on a spot above his head and tried to remember why she was not attracted to this man. His touch was strictly impersonal even if her heart whispered what if. Men, as her aunt had pointed out on her last visit, were often enticed by considerations other than the physical, which was fortunate for Ceanna and her prospects of a good match.

  ‘Are you satisfied?’ she asked into the silence. ‘Will they do? We don’t have time to waste. We need to catch up with Urist today. Once we are there, I can ride in his fabled cart.’

  He let go abruptly and stepped away from her. ‘The mist is lifting.’

  ‘I will take that for a yes.’ She hated the small bubble of disappointment which sprung up in her breast. He wasn’t going to try to steal a kiss. ‘I will keep up.’

  ‘You have so far.’

  Ceanna wished she could see his expression, but the grey light before dawn hid it very well. It bothered her that she wanted him to think well of her. She rapidly fiddled with her hair, releasing the last of the plaits and then redoing the hairstyle into something far more simple. ‘You make it seem like some great heroic act.’

  ‘You’d be surprised. Most ladies I’ve met would be weeping. I regret I took you for one of those feather-brained females when we first met.’

  ‘I make no comment about the others, but I rarely cry or bemoan my lot. I try to plan my way out.’

  He turned and gave her a searching look. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘We need to go if we are to have any hope of catching Urist today. I am hoping our time alone together will be as short as possible.’

  * * *

  ‘Are you sure this is the correct way?’ Sandulf asked after they had rounded another bend and the empty track stretched out before them across another piece of open moorland. The sun was far higher in the sky than it had been when they had set off, but they’d made good progress.

  He was glad to put the distance between him and the place where they had rested. Waking up with her warm body in his arms had been a pleasant surprise. He hadn’t expected his body to respond in the way it did to her nearness. He’d almost stolen a kiss and the only thing which had stopped him was the dog’s bark. He’d made a mistake in touching her feet and slender ankles, feeling her flesh respond to his touch. It had taken all of his self-control not to pull her into his arms.

  He stared up at th
e sky with its gathering clouds.

  Lady Ceanna had been quite clear last evening that she wished to become a holy maid. From what he knew of such women from his time in Constantinople, they kept themselves pure in the service of their God. And she was a lady, not a woman who frequented taverns. Right now, he would concentrate on getting this holy maid to the guide and the whole party to Nrurim. Then he could focus on his duty again. Once completed, he’d find soft arms and even softer thighs between which to forget himself.

  ‘Are you sure this is even the right track? I would have thought—’

  She pointed. ‘It is how the path to Nrurim goes. Over this rise and towards a wood which has a river running through it, from what I can remember, before climbing to the first pass.’ She gave him one of her sideways glances which him made inhale sharply at the way her eyes sparkled. ‘Are you suggesting we should stop and rest? Again? My feet are fine.’

  He concentrated on the track.

  ‘I’m happy to continue on, if you believe you are capable of it.’

  ‘I’m a stout packhorse, even if I am dressed like some outlandish maiden at court.’ She stepped and caught the hem of her gown. She let out a muffled oath, but put her hand over her mouth. ‘A bad habit. One which my aunt is sure to correct.’

  Sandulf tilted his head to one side and watched her. ‘Is that the sort of thing holy maids say?’

  ‘When they tear their gown for the seventh time in quick succession, yes.’ She wrinkled her nose at him in a way that he found utterly charming. ‘You mock me. You think my vocation lacks sincerity, but I did have a vision. And I knew I had to follow my destiny.’

  ‘Even holy maids are permitted to get exasperated. Or did I miss something?’ He paused, trying to discern what she was not saying. She had mentioned this vision of hers several times, but he’d never met anyone less likely to have such a thing. ‘Are they supposed to be calm and serene at all times? Waiting for the next glimpse into heaven?’

  Her eyes became a vivid blue. ‘One of the first things I’m going to do when we discover Urist is change into my travelling clothes. You’ve no idea how difficult it is to move in this.’

  ‘Freedom to move means something to you. Most women—’

  ‘I’m not like my stepmother. I like to get things accomplished rather than passing on work to other people. Allegedly I bustle, instead of gliding like I should do, which is why I’m always tripping on the hems of my good gowns.’

  ‘Sometimes people should mind their own business.’

  Her laughter rang out. ‘My stepmother has strong views about how ladies should behave.’

  He smiled back at her, relieved to get their relationship back to more familiar ground after the shaky start to the morning. ‘Then I hope we find him soon for the sake of that gown. It is far too pretty to become rags.’

  ‘It deserved a better owner.’

  ‘It suits your colouring.’

  She fiddled with the tie on her cloak, wrapping it round and round her little finger. ‘You must have something wrong with your eyes. Red makes my nose glow.’

  ‘I see perfectly well, my lady. More lies from your stepmother?’

  A low sound made the laugh die on his lips. He listened for several heartbeats, waiting for it to repeat, but the sound of silence crushed the soul.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  Sandulf attempted to ignore the prickling in the back of his neck, the one he always got before a battle. ‘I would have thought we’d have caught up with Urist by now.’

  ‘You’ve heard something.’

  ‘Are we lost?’

  A tiny frown appeared between her arched brows and her pointed chin took on a stubborn cast. ‘I know how to get there. That wasn’t why I needed a guide precisely, it was more for protection. Urist can be vexing, but I find it difficult to believe that he truly left me stranded. There will be a logical explanation as to why it has taken longer than I thought it would.’

  ‘You wanted safety because the road can be hazardous.’ He nodded. ‘You were being cautious. A lone woman travelling and all that. But you changed direction several times yesterday when you were tired.’

  She glanced behind them again. Her face relaxed when she realised that they remained alone on the track except for Vanora, who was sniffing a butterfly. ‘I would not be foolish enough to start off without knowing how to arrive at my destination.’

  She was running away, he was sure of it now. It was why she’d set out dressed in that fashion. Sandulf gritted his teeth. The good thing was that she did not fear what lay before them—she feared what lay behind. Behind he could handle. In front? He thought about the assassin who was hiding in the monastery at Nrurim. Lady Ceanna was not a target, despite his dream in the grey light of dawn.

  ‘Why are you going to Nrurim?’ he asked, trying another way. ‘The truth this time.’

  She started marching down the road, her gown swinging to reveal the slenderness of her ankles. ‘I am going to become a nun, a holy maid. I told you last night before we went to sleep. A great desire—a vision, if I may be so bold as to call it that—came over me. I have to go and consult my aunt. Urist understood.’

  He frowned. Lady Ceanna remained wary. She might be many things, but he doubted she had been precipitously overcome with religious fervour. ‘Suddenly? Without delay?’

  She looked up at him through a forest of long lashes. ‘Isn’t that the best way, when you know a course of action is the correct one?’

  Sandulf kept his face carefully blank. Lady Ceanna bore no resemblance to any nun he’d ever encountered. Not that there had been many, but the ones he’d seen appeared to be overcome with a great desire to serve God and they wore sober clothing, not dark crimson gowns which were designed to show off every curve. Neither would they feel soft in his arms as she had done last night.

  He frowned. Noticing Ceanna’s curves showed that he had been without a woman for a long time, since before he left Constantinople. However, while he was happy to notice the curve of her mouth, the last thing he would be doing was sampling it. He would respect her right to her claimed vocation. Women went willingly into his arms or not at all.

  He refused to think about earlier and how he’d barely restrained himself from kissing her lips.

  ‘Because of this desire to be a holy maid, you had to leave your home immediately? Leave your family? Dressed like that? A dress suited more for a wedding or a betrothal?’ he asked, trying to piece together the truth of what she refused to tell him.

  She abruptly stopped. Her brows drew together, making her resemble a kitten which had encountered water for the first time. ‘What do you mean? Are you questioning my vocation? Don’t I have the right to travel without people questioning me?’

  She stalked off with her backside swaying. Sandulf forced his gaze to lift higher and attempted to ignore the hardening in his groin.

  ‘I wondered if you were running away from someone, rather than running towards something,’ he called after her.

  She glanced back. A spark of mischief shone in her eyes. ‘We’d agreed our business was our own. The subject of my vocation is a private matter for me, as I had understood such things should be. I beg you will refrain from speaking about it again.’

  ‘It makes a change from speaking about the weather or where Urist could be. I’ve never encountered a holy maid to speak with in any great depth.’ He shrugged and concentrated on the track. Her reaction confirmed what he’d already guessed. While she might hope their time together would be short, he hoped it was even shorter. The last thing he needed in his life was dealing with some wilful woman who refused to do the bidding of her family.

  She coughed. ‘Very well. Yes, my wish to become a holy maid was not something I foresaw happening the last time I visited my aunt. The vision came upon me suddenly. But she needs to believe in it as well as I.’


  ‘Your aunt? What does she have to do with anything?’ He willed her to confide. Ceanna was keeping secrets and those secrets could get them both killed, especially if half the countryside was even now in pursuit of her.

  She ducked her head so that all he could see was the top of her couvre-chef. ‘My aunt is the abbess. I will need her permission to join the church and devote my life to God.’

  ‘The abbess is your aunt?’ He thought about what knowledge he’d gleaned about the monastery. He knew it was a double monastery and ruled by a woman, rather than a man. He also knew that the current abbess was a powerful figure in her own right and had ties to the Alpin family who ruled Strathclyde. Lady Ceanna was exactly what he sought: the key to his entering the monastery without the assassin detecting him and escaping. Finally, the fates had embraced him.

  She kicked a stone and sent it skittering down the track. ‘My mother’s sister, but...’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ He examined her from under hooded eyes. ‘Unless you persuade her that this is a true and holy vocation, you think she’ll refuse you entry?’

  Her hand went to her hip. ‘Are you always this inquisitive? It is private business.’

  ‘Holy maids are few and far between where I am from and I am merely taking advantage of the opportunity.’ He gave a half-shrug, but his body tensed. He silently willed her to confide in him. ‘You should be at court, somewhere where that dress could be admired rather than tramping through the mud with me. It leads me to conclude your departure from home was hasty and carried out with something akin to desperation.’

  ‘I look forward to reaching Urist, who will have my trunk and my proper clothes.’ She tilted her nose upwards and resembled a strutting blackbird. ‘When we arrive, we can pretend we hardly spoke for the duration of the journey.’

  ‘Never spent the night together. Never woke up in each other’s arms.’

  Her cheeks coloured a delightful pink. ‘Nothing untoward happened.’