She hated that she wanted to cradle her tingling palm to her cheek.
The first hard drops of rain hit her. She reached for her cloak and wished again that she had thought to wear more layers than the thin summer gown, but the weather had seemed perfect back on Islay, the sort of day which started warm and became blistering. ‘I think we might be in for a storm. Luckily, I have my leather cloak.’
‘Make sure you keep warm. The cold can creep into your bones.’
‘Don’t worry, I will.’ She hoped she would. She’d never done very well in the cold since she was a young girl and had fallen through the ice when out skating with Karn. It had been partly his fault as he’d dared her to go further and, channelling Ingebord, she had. Her nurse had wrapped her in fur and plied her with hot drinks, all the while berating Karn, but Svanna had known she’d borne part of the blame. Later, after the incident with Turgeis, she’d decided to stop trying to behave like the true Ingebord had because every time she did, catastrophe happened.
‘But that is the problem—it is now part of my job to worry. I have seen how little regard you have for your personal safety.’
She concentrated on ensuring the hood was over her head and keeping out most of the bone-chilling rain. ‘I won’t mention your penchant for rushing into burning buildings then.’
‘That might be wise. It could spoil the mood.’ His eyes danced again and she knew that her heart had slipped a little closer towards that perilous slope of falling for him.
Chapter Ten
Rand banged his fist against the monastery’s heavy oaken door and tried to ignore the pounding rain now pooling about his collar. Normally, he would collect the horses he’d had stabled here and press on to his hall at Donaghmoyne, but the strength of rain made him pause. The fords were notorious for sweeping unwary travellers to their doom. He might be a strong rider, but he had no idea about Svanna.
Thus far, she’d managed the rough crossing with nary a murmur, but he didn’t want to push things. He knew exactly how much women could complain if they were soaked to the skin and forced to travel.
He pushed away the faintly disloyal thought about his late wife. Bridget might have been a poor traveller, but she’d had many other wonderful qualities. He wanted to remember all of them to be able explain to Birdie about her special mother when the time came. It bothered him how her good qualities slipped away, and he kept thinking about what had irritated him. Theirs had not been the most peaceful of relationships. He’d always known that she’d only married him because her father had threatened to marry her to an elderly petty king in the far north of Eire, a man who had already buried four wives. Her little rebellion of love was what she sometimes called him; sometimes, far more often towards the end, merely her rebellion.
Rand banged his fist harder than strictly necessary. Their union had worked after a fashion, and he had no desire to recreate that marriage. Svanna would be a very different sort of wife, one married solely for duty.
‘Open up. Lord Randolfr on the King’s business.’ He shook his fist at the still closed door, giving vent to his anger at his own behaviour. ‘Do I have to kick this door in?’
‘Lord Randolfr as I live and breathe!’ The elderly monk peeped out and then threw the door open. ‘Back far sooner than any of us here anticipated. On a night such as this! I thought your knocking was the tapping of the oak against the outer wall. Please forgive me.’
Rand allowed the obvious lie to pass. ‘Have my horses been well fed? Or will I be having words with the stable master again?’
‘Our lay brothers have done what you asked. Everyone regrets the previous mix-up.’ The monk inclined his head and Rand could see beads of sweat appearing on the top of his tonsure. ‘The horses can be made ready in a short time, of course they can, but the going will be rough if you wish to travel to Donaghmoyne tonight. I fear flooding further up the valley.’
Rand gave a brief nod. Going up and through the valley would be the quickest way to get to Donaghmoyne and Birdie, but if the fords were flooded then they would have to take the longer way around, adding another day and a half onto their journey.
‘The morning will be soon enough to make an assessment. I’ve no wish to brave dangerous floodwaters in the dark, but they can rapidly recede.’
‘Our prayers at compline will include ones for the flooding to recede.’
‘Prayers on my behalf are always welcome.’
The monk bowed his head. ‘We always pray for our main benefactors, including you.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Rand gestured towards where a sodden Svanna stood. She appeared to have ducked her head in a bucket of water, but she stood straighter than a newly forged sword. ‘My lady wife and I require accommodation for the night.’
‘Your lady wife?’ The monk’s eyes bulged. Rand knew the gossip would spread like wildfire from holy house to holy house, reaching Tara in double time, more than likely, before he had time to put his nose through the gates.
It could not be helped as he needed to discover Thorarinn and his bride, but at least he would control the substance of the rumour as much as possible.
‘My bride has accompanied me. The alliance with Lord Sigmund of Islay is complete.’
‘King Máel Sechnaill will be pleased as he greatly desired to have such an alliance.’ The monk bowed his head, his fat cheeks becoming tinged with pink. ‘Rumours have reached us at this lonely outpost.’
Rand schooled his features. He had allowed that rumour to circulate when he’d departed. ‘A kinship alliance with Agthir in the North Country now exists.’
‘I thought it was to be with Islay and the new high king.’
‘That will come in time,’ Svanna said in a heavily accented Gaelic. She obviously understood the language far better than he’d previously thought. ‘My foster-mother and King Sigmund intend to marry.’
The monk started in surprise. He’d obviously dismissed her as ignorant of his language. ‘Your foster-mother?’
