‘Aye. We are to take a ship to Ireland.’
‘Ireland! I cannot go there.’
Cullen pulled his horse up and rounded on her. ‘It seems you have to do many things you don’t want to do since your little raid on my father’s herd. Best you just grit your teeth and get on with it. And if you don’t like it, any more than you like my bed or this marriage, then turn your horse and go home. I won’t stop you.’
‘You know I cannot. My friends.’
‘Aye, your friends will suffer more than you do. So stop arguing, point your horse in that direction and keep going,’ he snarled.
Lowri could only stare at his angry face. She had mortally wounded Cullen’s pride and did not know how to make amends. What could she say? ‘I want to hate you, but I cannot. I don’t want to lie with you, but it was glorious when I did, which makes me a whore who has betrayed her family, her clan, everything she stands for. I hate the way you are looking at me now, with disgust, regret and rage. Wanting you makes me hate myself.’
How could she ever admit to any of that?
Cullen looked away from her and sighed. ‘We’d best get on, or we’ll miss the tide.’
‘What will happen to me in Ireland?’ she said.
He winced. ‘Never fear, nothing so bad as happened to you last night.’
There was no more talking after that piece of bitterness, just a tiring ride under skies which were mockingly sunny and cheerful. They came to the crest of a hill, and below, stretched an ocean of grey-green water, sunlight sparkling off the swell. A stone groyne blackened with mildew stretched out to sea and, tethered against it, was a ship, not huge, but dwarfing several boats rocking beside it in the swell. Swathes of white campion flowers smothered the jagged shoreline, like frost, witha tangle of purple vetch sending tendrils up the stone walls and hedgerows of the little fishing village running down to the water’s edge. It would all have been a stirring sight, had Lowri not been sunk in abject misery. The light feeling inside when she had shared her body with Cullen the night before was well gone. Now, there was only dread of what was to come.
Lowri followed Cullen down the path to the sea, her breath stolen by a buffeting wind coming over the sand and shingle. He stopped outside a smithy and, after some spirited haggling, told Lowri to get off her horse, for it had been sold.
So, they were at the point of no return. They were really going to Ireland. Lowri wanted to run as fast as her legs could carry her, away from Cullen, from her mistakes. But she could not. He took her arm and steered her along the groyne to the ship, which bore the name ‘Alainn’ on its weathered prow.
‘Rabham,’ shouted Cullen at an older man, running up the gangplank and clapping the man on the back. Lowri could not hear what they were saying, but when Cullen began pointing at her, the old man laughed loudly and shook his head. Her cheeks burned with shame, only slightly cooled by the stiff breeze which was causing the rigging to creak and the sails to billow.
Cullen strode back over to her and took her arm in a hard grip. ‘Come on. Rabham is sailing on the tide.’
‘Why is he laughing at me?’
‘He’s laughing at me, not you, for I told him I’m wed. Hurry now.’
As soon as she set foot on the boat, she was struck by the sway of the vessel. Lowri had been on boats on rivers before, but never something like this. The ship shifted under her, loose androcking, just like her life, which had no real foundation anymore. The vessel smelled of fish, overlaid with rot, like boiled cabbage.
Lots of shouted orders followed from Rabham, who seemed to be the captain. His crew were few, and a hard-looking bunch of men. They busied with their work but seemed to find Lowri fascinating. Their eyes on her were curious, covetous, and not altogether friendly.
The Alainn creaked her way out of the harbour, and the sails flapped and swelled. Lowri stood clinging to the guard rail as the shoreline became a distant gash of green. The chop was strong, and the ship rose and crashed down harder as they hit the open water, where there was nothing to stop the sweep of the wind.
Cullen stood well away, in conversation with Rabham. He was ignoring her, and his indifference hurt for reasons she could not fathom. Eventually, he deigned to come and speak to her.
‘Get below, lass. The crossing can be rough.’
Lowri eyed the dark stairwell leading below. It brought back memories of her confinement in the stinking darkness of the hole at Scarcross, so she shook her head. ‘I’ll not go down there. I will stay here in the open and the light.’
His face softened as if he understood her fear, or was she just imagining kindness where there was none?
‘The wind is in our favour, lass, but the crossing can still take a day, and we might be sailing into the night, and it will get colder. You’ll suffer out here.’
Lowri looked away, out to sea. ‘What does it matter to you if I do suffer?
His jaw worked. She was being unfair. His hands had been rough last night, and his manhood hard, but for a big man,he had held her gently, tenderly almost. Cullen had pulled sensations and feelings out of Lowri she did not know she possessed. Hatred for herself, for him, was a fist in her throat.
‘Have you been to sea before?’ his angry voice intruded like a rafter crashing from the ceiling.
‘No.’
‘Then why are you not seasick? Most folk throw their guts up the first time.’
