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?’
‘The dowager Queen of Agthir. She and King Sigmund have long been allied,’ Svanna added. ‘Agthir is wealthy. Their new queen does follow a Christian path.’
The monk licked his lips. ‘I can recall hearing something about it, now that I think on it.’
The corners of Svanna’s mouth twitched, but Rand noticed she allowed the monk’s tall tale.
‘I must ask for your best chamber.’
‘My abbot is away in Tara with the high king.’ The monk started to close the door. ‘The private chamber? Lord Randolfr, you must understand that I hesitate because the abbot normally only allows people that the King Máel Sechnaill has specified.’
‘We are on the King’s business. Send your abbot to me if he squeaks.
’ Rand gently urged Svanna forward into the vestibule of the monastery before the monk could slam the door in their faces.
Svanna, though Rand knew she’d deny the suggestion, was chilled to the bone.
Her lips had taken on a bluish tinge and her teeth were chattering.
‘I require hot pottage, mulled mead and furs,’ Rand said. ‘I’ve no wish for my bride to catch a chill.’
‘I’m fine,’ Svanna mumbled as a pool of water collected about her boots.
‘Your bride appears to be damp.’
‘The rain was heavier than I considered it would be,’ Svanna said, answering his unspoken question about how much she understood.
She glanced up at him, her blue-tinged lips turning up into a brave smile.
‘The accommodation will be suitable wherever this monk can find us room. A dry corner to sleep and a fire to warm my hands.’
The monk licked his fleshy lips. A sudden and unexpected surge of protectiveness ricocheted through Rand. He simultaneously knew a man of God had no business looking at his wife in that way and that he needed to get her warm and dry as quickly as possible.
‘Excellent news,’ the monk said, rubbing his hands together. ‘The stables where you last stayed…’
‘Your abbot enjoys my benefice. Take us to your best chamber. Now. I require a private chamber and food and I am unaccustomed to having to ask twice. That portable brazier your abbot is fond of will also be required.’
‘I know the one you speak of, but…it is in the abbot’s private room.’
‘The abbot is away and unlikely to return before we leave.’
‘Yes, my lord Randolfr.’ The monk gulped twice and rushed off as if an imp from hell was snapping at his heels.
‘The stables would have been fine. I’ve no wish to put anyone out or store up resentment.’
‘I’ll not have anyone disrespecting you, Svanna. When they do, they disrespect me. We will get you warm because you appear incapable of considering your own needs.’
‘Unfair.’
‘We either argue about nothing, or you can get warm.’ He put his hand in the middle of her back and propelled her forward. Someone needed to look after her when she refused to, and that job fell to him.
* * *
After taking off her sodden leather cloak, which seemed to keep in the cold, and carefully hanging it up, Svanna stood in the small chamber and tried to keep her teeth from chattering.
Several of the lay brothers had ensured that the iron brazier was lit, and a mountain of furs were put on the bed.
Finally, a trencher of steaming pottage was brought in.
The lay brothers then hurried out of the chamber, leaving her alone with the glowering Rand.
‘The food smells good,’ she said into the silence which followed.
She refused to address his remark about not looking after herself properly.
She’d been looking after herself very well ever since her real mother had died.
And she didn’t need any interference from Rand.
‘I can’t remember the last time pottage smelt so delicious. ’
‘Please fill your belly.’
Svanna sank down on a stool in front of the brazier and began to eat.
She waited for the warmth from the food to seep into her, but nothing. If anything, the coldness increased. She gave another violent shiver, nearly knocking the pottage to the ground.
‘Clothes off,’ Rand said, fastening the door. ‘You are sodden.’
She wrapped her arms about her middle. A wave of tiredness passed over her, but if she slept now, she worried she’d never wake. ‘My trunks have not arrived yet. I’m warm, far warmer than I was before. My gown is only damp.’
‘They will arrive soon enough. I will bring them in when they do.’
‘What? I am supposed to stand shivering naked in front of that brazier? No, thank you very much.’ She snapped her fingers.
A surge of anger rushed through her, providing her with some much-needed warmth.
But she also knew her arguments lacked the force of logic.
‘Just like that and at your say-so? I doubt that very much.’
‘You are far too cold and not thinking straight. I’ve encountered this before. The cold makes a person do foolish things.’
‘Not me. I know what I am doing. I fell through the ice once,’ she said, unable to prevent her teeth chattering. ‘All I need is some more warm food. Maybe a fur about my body.’ She crossed quickly to the bed, grabbed a fur and tossed it around her shoulders. ‘Look to your own needs.’
His scar puckered. ‘You require more than that fur.’
She hated his reasonable tone. She hated that deep down she knew he was right. Mostly she hated that she wanted to believe his concern was more than mere words.