Margriet took a sip and then another, and he waited in silence while she regained her wits. Well, if the truth were told, she'd not lost her wits, only her control. He suspected that losing control was something that did not happen often to the lady, nun or no'. Instead of staring at her now pale face, he turned back to the task he'd left when she'd brought him food-checking the supplies for the next day's journey.
After seeing her distress on the first days of their travel, he'd agreed to several changes in their plans. First, they broke the distance into small bits so that they could travel more slowly each day. Second, they changed their route, deciding to follow more of the rivers north then across the coast to the village of Thurso, where they would take a boat to Orkney. Third, although they carried most of their food with them, they now sent men ahead to the small settlements along their path to barter for fresh food and necessities.
Although his assignment was to bring her home, he had only the wild seas and winds of winter to limit his time to do that. That might be stretching it a bit thin, but he knew any arrangements would wait until their return and so the only rushing he did was that which he wished to do.
Or so he told himself over and over again since meeting the woman called Gunnar's daughter.
She moved behind him and he turned to face her. In that moment, watching her eyes and her expression as they changed from dark and untrusting to something more open and welcoming, he knew he must answer her question.
"Returning you to your father is my duty, one I accepted and will carry out as requested. Duty though is no' always conveniently timed and that is my hesitation."
Could she hear the lie in his words? This was a duty he did not want and-even more now that he'd met her-one that he regretted. She had not wanted to leave the convent, as she said over and over again, but she had no choice in the matter. Her father called her home to her duties to their family and honor.
As his called him.
His explanation pleased her at some level, for she raised her face to him now, not cowering or hiding any longer. The light of the setting sun behind him brightened her eyes and made her lips look fuller and softer. She spoke again, now, and this time her voice strengthened to what he knew it could be.
"You speak the Highland tongue as though you were born to it," Margriet said. "Are you Scot and not from Norway or Sweden?"
"My mother is Scottish, from the west."
Rurik decided that was all he need reveal. In spite of the offer relayed to him by Sven and Magnus, he would believe it only when the words came from his father's mouth. Allegiances changed. Arrangements changed. No need to hold himself up to shame if more promises were broken.
She did not ask another question, but seemed to think on his words. Sipping from the cup, she watched him as he continued his inspection. When he stepped away, she followed, never missing a thing he did. Finally, when the constant observation irritated him, he looked at her.
"Is there something you need, Sister?" he finally asked. "I cannot pay attention to the task at hand if I am conversing with you."
"Nay," she said with a shake of her head.
The wimple that had tilted precariously while she beat his back was now back in place, hiding the hair he knew would be bouncing around her shoulders if freed from its constraints.
Great Frey's Eyes, he lusted after a nun! With each attempt to rein it back and tamp it down, it reared again with the slightest gesture that reminded him of the woman beneath the garb. A shake of her head and he was lost? How could he have so little control?
When he thought she would return to her meal and the others, she did not. Instead, she finished the ale in one tilt of the cup and then looked at him.
"I wished to walk to the river and need your permission," she said. The lowering of her head for a moment would have appeared to anyone watching as acquiescence, however only he could see the flash of anger that darkened her eyes to a darker shade of blue.
Margriet Gunnarsdottir did not ask anyone's permission to do anything, they seemed to say, and he suspected it for the truth. Rurik nearly laughed at her attempt to placate him, but decided this bore watching.
"Sven, come!" he yelled. When his friend approached, he pointed at Margriet. "Escort the sisters to the river's edge. There might be a cooling breeze there to ease the heat."
She spoke no words of thanks to him. She said nothing at all and only granted him the smallest of nods in exchange for the consent she sought. Rurik knew the area was safe, for both he and his men had searched it thoroughly before setting up their camp. And, if she were gone, he could finish his work before the sun set.
Or so he told himself.
And that was but another lie heaped on the ones he already said or thought. He'd been living a lie for years, portraying the man those with whom he lived and fought next to expected him to be, and he'd lost the man he truly was. His sudden arrival without explanation at his uncle's holding, his upbringing in Sweden and Norway and on the Orkneys and his appearance-tall, blond, strong-all helped him create the facade of a Viking warrior of legend. He resisted a smile as he remembered but a few of the women and their reactions to him. On the verge of full manhood, their brazen interest in his growing sexual prowess spurred him on and he discovered that he loved women … and they loved him.
Now, he must find the truth of the real man within before confronting his father and the demands that family and honor required. Still though, his practiced behavior of the last ten years was more comfortable than examining his character, and so he found himself watching the sway of her hips as she walked away.
His gaze followed them-her-as Sven led the women across the camp and toward the river. Sister Elspeth walked with her head down, in prayerful contemplation or in her usual silence he knew not, and in a demeanor closer to what he thought a nun's should be. The young woman only spoke to Sven, who seemed intent on learning her Gaelic. Rurik shook his head and turned back to his task.
Why Sven bothered himself with the effort he could not understand, for there could be nothing between them and Rurik knew that Sven would not return to this or any part of Scotland. But the young sister laughed softly and corrected Sven's mangling of the words he tried to say. He decided there was no harm in it. After all, learning another tongue was no' such a bad way to spend the time on the journey.
A few minutes passed and Rurik mastered his lack of control and completed his inspection. Night approached, but the morn would find them ready to travel. He wanted to take advantage of the fair weather they had now before reaching the blustery and stormy northern edge of the country.
As they traveled farther, the conditions would surely deteriorate and their progress would be slowed. No more summery days with heat like this. No'many days of full sun beating down from above. Nay, he expected that the rain showers and winds of the far north would greet them soon. He surveyed the gathering once more and was about to see if any stew remained in the pot when her scream pierced the calm.
Rurik pulled the sword ever at his side from its scabbard on his belt and took off in a full run, calling out instructions to the men as he passed them. Branches slapped at his face and arms as he pushed through the dense brush. He ran not on the path where the women had walked, but into another area so that his arrival at the river would not be where expected. Better to surprise an attacker than give them the advantage of knowing where you would be.
The scene that met him as he reached the river's edge was like something from one of the farcical entertainments that Jocelyn planned at Lairig Dubh. One nun sprawled out in the water, the other standing on the edge trying to reach her. Sven standing nearby, laughing like a madman, not helping at all. Then, before he could do anything, the second nun went flying into the water as well. His men crashed through the bushes and circled the bank of the river waiting for his orders.
Sven caught sight of them first and frowned at him. Then the two women, both now mostly under water save for their wimpled heads that bobbled on the surface, noticed them standing at the ready for battle. Rurik could tell the exact moment when Margriet realized that she was the cause of their presence. And their fully armed presence at that. The obvious enjoyment left her face in a rush and she tried to stand up.