Conveniently Wed to the Viking

by Michelle Styles

  Ceanna motioned to Vanora to lie down outside while the woman instructed Sandulf where to find the axe and how much wood she wanted chopping. His eyes widened slightly at the size of the log pile, but he started swinging the axe straight away.

  A fine stew stood bubbling on the hearth. Everything about the cottage was neat and tidy. The scent of drying herbs filled the air. A black cat opened one eye when Ceanna entered, rose and twined her way about Ceanna’s ankles. She bent down and stroked the silky fur. The owl flapped down and watched, then flew out the door. The woman beamed her approval.

  ‘You keep the cottage very well,’ Ceanna said in the silence which followed.

  ‘It suits my needs. Some come to seek me out because they think I can cure what ails them.’

  ‘Can you?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘I help more than I hurt. My animals let me know who to help and who to hinder.’

  ‘I am grateful they approve of me.’

  ‘A fine man, your Northman,’ the woman said as she set out several wooden bowls on the table.

  ‘I like to think so.’

  ‘Worth hanging on to by my reckoning. When you have lived as long as I have and have buried five husbands, you get to know these things instinctively.’

  ‘He has proved useful. He helped me to cross the Awe when I panicked.’ Ceanna concentrated on the bubbles popping in the stew. The words sounded mealy-mouthed, but she didn’t want to go into the full story.

  ‘He cares about you. I could see it in his eyes. He’d have got down on his knees to beg for shelter for you. The good ones are few and far between.’

  Ceanna gave a large huff. Cared about her? He barely knew her. She turned away from the stew. ‘We...that is...’

  ‘I know what it is like, my dear, when you’re young and life calls to you.’ The woman’s smile grew and it was clear that enlightening her as to the true state of affairs was not going to do anyone any good. ‘It reminds me of my third husband. We ran away together. We’d have been happy except...’

  ‘Except what?’

  ‘He died too soon. Before I ever let him know how happy I was.’ Her voice broke on the last words. ‘It is why I have learned about herbs, so I can help instead of being a foolish woman, wringing my hands.’

  Ceanna put a hand on the woman’s elbow. ‘I’m sure he knows now.’

  The woman dabbed her eyes and gave a loud sniff. ‘Do you think so? That gives me comfort. I’ve been thinking so much about him recently. Then seeing how your man looks at you...’

  ‘Can I help you get the pottage ready?’ Ceanna moved away from the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Sandulf had shed his tunic and was still busy chopping wood. Time seemed to stand still. All Ceanna could do was to watch the way the muscles in his back moved and his skin became slick with sweat.

  ‘He does that so that you will notice him. No sane man would do so unless he wanted to catch a woman’s eye.’ The old woman gave a leering smile. ‘I’ve lived a long time. I know what men are about. If you’d like a potion, I’ll give it to you. Something to keep his eyes on you. The young girls sometimes seek out Mother Mildreth for such things. Several have sworn by its effectiveness.’

  Ceanna tore her gaze away from Sandulf’s rhythmic chopping. A potion to make him love her. It was tempting, but then she’d never know if he truly desired her or if it was purely the herbs. ‘He merely wishes to keep his tunic clean.’

  ‘And the potion?’

  ‘Keep it for someone who needs it more than I do.’

  Mother Mildreth gave a loud cackling laugh which made the cat jump. ‘Youth is wasted on the young. When you’re old, you realise how many opportunities you’ve blithely tossed away because you were afraid of starting.’

  ‘If you can show me where we’ll be sleeping, I can put that to rights.’

  The twinkle came into the woman’s eyes. ‘I like the way your mind works, my lady. I’ve some herbs which will make everything sweet-smelling and ensure good dreams.’

  ‘I’m not...not any longer, that is. Call me Ceanna.’

  ‘Sometimes, it is not about what people call you, but how you see yourself. Anyone can see from your bearing that you are a lady. Now let’s see to the bedding.’

  * * *

  Ceanna stared up at the blackened roof and willed morning or a dreamless sleep to come. The stars shone through a slit in the wall turning everything a dull silvery tone. And the dried rosemary, valerian and lavender flowers Mildreth had sprinkled made the hayloft smell delicious. She knew they should help her sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she thought of the river and the kisses she had shared with Sandulf.

  His hair had gleamed in the firelight tonight after he had finished his work and taken a dip in the pond which lay some way from the cottage. She might have refused to accompany him after he jokingly made the suggestion, opting instead for a quick wash in front of the fire, but it had not stopped her imagination from speculating.

  If anything, it had been made worse by Mildreth nudging her in the ribs before Ceanna retired to the makeshift bed in the hayloft and wishing her a good evening’s sport.

  Many solid reasons existed why giving in to her desires must not happen. The first and foremost was that her aunt would never agree to her being a holy maid if she suspected that Ceanna’s professed religious devotion was less than it might appear. And, she sighed, who was she fooling? She didn’t want to give in to her desires because she was afraid of rejection. He’d kissed her a second time, part of her mind argued, thoroughly and completely. Did that seem like a man who was indifferent? Ceanna clenched her fists.

  Beside her Sandulf lay, oblivious to her distress. He had fallen into a deep sleep the instant he closed his eyes.

  She turned on to her side and then on to her back again. And then she heard it, a little noise, almost a small whimper. She froze, certain it came from Sandulf. She waited and heard it again, a low keening sound coming from between his lips. His hands lashed out, flailing as he started shouting No! over and over.

  ‘Sandulf?’ she whispered, shaking him. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Ingrid? You’re alive.’

  ‘It is me, Skadi. Wake up. A bad dream. You are safe here in Mother Mildreth’s hut.’

  The flailing ceased. He shifted on to his side. His contorted features were silver in the pale light. His eyes blinked open. ‘Ceanna? Is something wrong?’

  ‘You cried out in your sleep. You kept saying no. You were obviously dreaming about being somewhere else.’

  She listened to the steady sound of his breath and wondered if he had drifted off to sleep.

  His hand brushed hers. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. Bad dreams are terrible when they come.’

  ‘Do you know what the dream was?’

  ‘My dreams are always the same—the day my father and sister-in-law were murdered. I’m sorry to disturb you.’ He started to rise. ‘I’ll go and sit by the hearth. Sleep will be beyond me now.’

  ‘You didn’t disturb me. I was awake.’ Ceanna put a restraining hand out. ‘Stay. We don’t want to break Mildreth’s illusion about us.’

  ‘What is her illusion?’

  ‘She has a romantic heart. She believes we’re lovers escaping from some disapproving parent. There was nothing I could say to dissuade her. The very notion, eh?’

  The words came out in a great rush. She felt all her muscles tense as she waited for his derisive laughter at the mistake.

  ‘Do you often find it difficult to sleep?’ he asked rather than enlightening her as to his views about their supposed romance.

  ‘I must be overtired. I always find it difficult to sleep when I’m exhausted,’ she said, forcing the bubble of disappointment back down her throat. ‘I keep thinking about Urist and the poor woman from the village with the knife in her belly.’


  ‘You slept well last night.’

  ‘That was before,’ she said with a weak laugh. She really did not want to think about waking up in his arms or the kisses they had shared throughout the day any more. They had obsessed her every time she closed her eyes. She should be thinking about other things, things which people with true vocations considered right and proper, like long bouts of prayer on hard stone floors. She sighed. Such things held little appeal. She was going to be hopeless and her aunt would instantly see through her ploy. ‘I hope it wasn’t my restlessness which caused your unpleasant dream.’

  ‘It comes more frequently than I’d like. I hate the powerlessness I felt when Ingrid died. My eldest brother was right. I froze when I should have acted.’

  Her heart knocked. ‘This Ingrid, she is the one whose murderer you chase.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am sorry for you. And for Ingrid.’

  He cupped her face with his hand.

  ‘Do you think he is in Nrurim, this murderer of yours?’

  His hand fell away. ‘Annis, my new sister-in-law, led me to believe it. Either he is hiding there, his treacherous heart waiting for another opportunity, or it is possible he may have wished to atone for his many sins, as you Christians would say.’

  ‘If he was responsible in any way for the assault on Urist’s group, then he hasn’t,’ Ceanna whispered. ‘My aunt may even be in danger. She could be harbouring a viper who will strike without warning.’

  ‘Perhaps. He may not even be there.’

  ‘Was he responsible for the deaths of all your family?’

  ‘Of my sister-in-law? Most certainly. He also may know the identity of the man who killed my father. My new sister-in-law did not think he had time to kill both my father and Ingrid. Someone would have claimed the honour of bringing down such a fearsome warrior and my half-brother Rurik said no one had done, not to King Feann who organised the attack to avenge his sister’s honour. And he would have showered them with gold if they had.’ Sandulf explained rapidly about the massacre at Maerr and its aftermath.

  Ceanna listened with growing sympathy. ‘Why aren’t you with your brothers, trying to discover exactly what happened?’

  ‘I was sent away, sent east on a trading ship of my aunt’s new husband, but Brandt would have banished me in any case. He took his wife’s death badly and he blamed me because I should have protected her. I am alive and she is not, and I should have given my life for her. I heard it in his voice and so I went.’

  ‘But you are searching now, by yourself. Why?’

  ‘Without me, the assassin Lugh will never be held to account for his crimes against Ingrid. I alone saw his face with the shooting-star scar. I know what the man is capable of.’

  Ceanna heard the barely suppressed anger in his voice and wondered who it was directed towards—the assassin or his brothers. Or himself?

  ‘Your father made many enemies.’

  He sighed. ‘My father made no secret of his ambition and lust for power. He ruled through fear instead of through love and respect. Once I had wanted to be like him, but on my travels I learned there were many ways to be a leader of men, ways which build men up instead of tearing them down. Should I ever become a leader of men, I have vowed to be different from my father.’

  ‘How did you know where to look for this man?’

  ‘I left Maerr on board my Uncle Thorfinn’s ship, but about a week into the voyage, a man called Rangr sidled up to me and said he’d heard I was Sigurd’s youngest and he had a story to tell me, but to keep it quiet. The captain shouted it was my turn to row and so we couldn’t talk.’

  Sandulf fell silent. Ceanna nudged him. ‘You can’t stop now, you are getting to the interesting part.’

  ‘After my shift, I went to meet this Rangr, but as I went near him I spied a partly concealed knife in his hand. One of the helmsmen shouted to have a care and told me to turn around, but I had seen the knife. Rangr lunged forward, intent on killing me and, together with the helmsman, I managed to tip him overboard.’

  ‘I presume he died. What happened to you? Were you punished?’

  ‘Afterwards, the captain told me Thorfinn’s personal guard had declared Rangr was prone to sudden intense rage and to keep an eye out for any trouble. Before that incident, he had had a go at another of the crew. It was good riddance, but I would have to do double shifts of rowing from then on as punishment for costing them a rower. I went to Rangr’s place on the rowing benches and discovered a gold pendant, very like the one my father had given my mother when I was born, concealed by one of the loose boards.’

  ‘You thought she had hired this man to look after you and you accidentally killed him?’

  ‘She could have done. My mother worried about me. But if he was supposed to be protecting me, who wanted me dead on that ship? And why did he change his mind and try to put a knife between my ribs? After Rangr’s death, they worked me hard enough to kill me. The whole incident made me jumpy, so I escaped as soon as we docked in Kaupang and gave my oath to another captain who was travelling east.’

  ‘You said your mother could have hired the man? Why do you doubt it?’

  ‘I discovered another pendant—a golden arrow like the one which my mother was given for Brandt’s birth—around the neck of a man in lodgings in Constantinople. I recognised him and his companion as two of the Saxons who had carried out the massacre at the longhouse, the ones who had slit the throat of Vigmarr, the father of the woman my middle brother Alarr was to marry. Vigmarr was one of the best warriors in the north. I gained the trust of one of them before I enacted my vengeance. Before he died, he showed me the pendant and said it was payment for that job. I had to wonder—what if both pendants were given by my mother as payment to get rid of my father?’

  Ceanna stared into the darkness, trying to discern his features. ‘You think your mother had something to do with the attack on your father? They could have been stolen. You said everything was in confusion.’

  ‘You don’t know my parents. My father, he was obsessed with power and gold, far more concerned with amassing both than with his family, and he was willing to sacrifice everything, including his honour, to get it. My mother worried that he was going to divorce her and make another alliance. They were either arguing or icily ignoring each other’s existence in the months before the attack. My mother is a proud woman and she may have had enough. But arranging for all of what happened to my family... I hope not. I hope she did not orchestrate the attack. Her potentially dishonourable blood runs in my veins.’

  ‘And I know their son, who has saved me several times over in the last few days. Someone taught you that sort of honour.’

  He moved so he was lying on his back. Their bodies barely touched in the narrow loft. ‘That came from my brothers.’

  ‘Tell me about her, your brother’s wife, the woman who died.’ She hesitated, remembering how touchy he’d been on the subject earlier. ‘It might make it easier to sleep if you remember the good things, rather than dwelling on the bad.’

  ‘There’s some truth in that.’ Sandulf described his eldest brother Brandt and how he’d worshipped the ground he walked on. And how when Brandt had married, he’d worshipped his wife as well. How he’d hoped to marry someone like her—golden-haired, tall, with a beautiful smile and an even sweeter temper.

  This dead woman sounded like everything she wasn’t, Ceanna thought with a pang. She had no wish to marry Sandulf. She simply wanted to get to Nrurim and restart her life. Even though the prospect of a life immured in a convent held less appeal than ever.

  ‘She sounds wonderful,’ Ceanna said, injecting real warmth into her voice. Hating a dead woman was not something worthy of a holy maid.

  ‘Ingrid was lovely. Beautiful on the inside as well as on the outside. I was supposed to be looking after her that day. She was carrying her first child. Her feet ached, a
nd she didn’t want to stand for the whole ceremony and maybe shame the family. We’d gone into the longhouse because I had suggested it as everyone in my family was sure to come back there after the ceremony. No one would know, you see. I’d even ensured she had a dish of honeyed plums before she asked, in case she was hungry. She often appears in my dreams, all bloodied, demanding I fulfil my oath.’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘And you are. You’re doing what is required. Tell her to hush so you can focus on your quest.’ She gave a small yawn. ‘I have to hope I can rest.’

  ‘Sleep will come soon enough.’ He sighed. ‘Now, what is your trouble that keeps you from sleep?’

  ‘Mildreth thinks we are...lovers,’ she blurted out before she had time to consider the implications. ‘What if she asks how it was for me? How do I answer without giving the truth away?’

  He turned on to his back and stared up at the faint starlight peeking through the cracks in the ceiling for so long she thought he must have fallen asleep.

  ‘We’re friends, Ceanna, which is better,’ he said as she opened her mouth to whisper his name. ‘Tell her it is none of her business, but you slept very well indeed.’

  Friends. Her heart panged a little. She hadn’t realised until he said the word that in many ways she had hoped the decision would be taken from her. That he would kiss her and things would go beyond the point of no return, that she wouldn’t have to think about the half-truths that she’d told and the lies she would have to tell when she reached Nrurim. Pretending to be a holy maid with a profound vision was a sensible plan, one which ensured Dun Ollaigh’s safety. Glaring flaws existed, she knew that, but the good intention was there.

  While her heart grieved, the sensible part of her rejoiced. She wouldn’t have to lie to her aunt about her purity.

  ‘Is it better to be friends?’ she whispered around the lump in her throat.

  ‘I’ve had many lovers, but my friends I count on the fingers of one hand, particularly my friends who are women.’

  ‘Are you trying to insult me?’