Making his way to her, he easily pushed the others out of the way and Rurik took her arm. Guiding her toward the gate, he nearly did not notice when she planted her feet and stopped moving with him. Annoyance grew once more and he turned to face her.
“No more delays, lady,” he demanded. “I thought that was clear in my instructions. An hour, no more, to finish your preparations.”
“Sister,” she said, her lips pursed in an enticing and yet mutinous manner, at once beguiling and infuriating him for his reaction. “You may call me ‘Sister.’”
Silence reigned as everyone quieted to await his response. In spite of the habit and veil, he was still not certain of her standing, but decided to give her the benefit of his doubt. “Sister, then. There are only a few more hours of daylight and I want to take advantage of every moment.” To get you as far away from here as possible and then discover your truth.
Her next action surprised him. She stepped toward him and leaned in closer, until he had to bow his head to hear her words. “I would beg a few more minutes to say farewell to the Reverend Mother.” Margriet met his gaze and he noticed tears gathering there. “I have lived here longer than I did with my father or mother and I beg your leave to speak to her privately before departing here.”
Rurik lifted his head and looked at those who stood watching. Taking a breath in and letting it out, he fought the urge to strike out needlessly. Aye, he and his men had waited for nigh to three days while the woman before him thwarted his attempts to carry out his task. Aye, he wanted to be quit of this place and be on his—their—journey north. But, from her actions thus far, Margriet demonstrated that she clearly did not want to return to her home. Or perhaps the tone of the summons from her father or some words within it were the cause of her hesitancy. Regardless, he would rather be her escort than her warden.
Rurik took a different tact—and turned towards the chapel. “I would like to speak to your reverend mother myself. Perhaps if I assured her of your safety, you would feel less concern over this parting?”
She shook her head vehemently, making the veil wobble a bit to one side. “Nay, sir. She said that you terrify her and she wishes not to speak to you directly.”
“Make haste then, la…Sister. ’Tis long past our time to be on the road.”
Not wishing to give her the complete victory, Rurik turned and strode to the gate. Crossing his arms over his chest, he met the stares of his men, daring them to utter a sound. Wise men that he knew them to be, they did not. Instead they made themselves busy with the final adjustments to the pack horses.
Wise men indeed.
In a shorter time than he thought possible, the lady approached, followed by the younger woman she’d tried to pass off as herself. A chuckle nearly forced its way free as he noticed that both still dressed in habits. Rurik stepped back and allowed them to pass, watching as his men guided and assisted them onto the horses brought for their use on the trek north.
After a few more minutes while the lady’s belongings were secured to her horse, they were at last on their way.
Margriet fought the urge to look back and lost the effort. The place she’d called home and the people who had become her family when her father exiled her to Caithness grew more and more distant. Now her battle was to keep the tears that burned her eyes and throat from falling. After a final glance and a deep breath, she turned back and aimed her gaze at the road ahead.
Slipping another of the herbs into her mouth and chewing it against her stomach’s distress, she struggled to focus on her future life instead of the past. Grabbing on to the thought that this unexpected intrusion into her life might actually hasten the inevitable and that thought impossible, Margriet realized that this was the first time in so many years that she would see the world outside the convent, and see her home and the sea. The thought of crashing waves and surging water shot a burst of hope and excitement through her and she tried to smile at it. Something good would come of this chaotic beginning after all.
The sun’s light penetrated the thick canopy of trees surrounding them and fell onto the damp ground in scattered shadows. Though this part of the road was not new to her, the views of it were. As each of the men leading their group passed in and out of a sunbeam, their bodies were outlined in shimmering gold. Try as she might, she also lost the battle gawking at such male beauty.
In spite of her years of living in the convent, in spite of her previous weakness and the cost of it that was still to be paid, Margriet allowed herself the pleasure of inspecting the warriors who escorted her. At least those introduced to her.
Each one was appealing in his own way, and to a man, they’d inherited the height of the Norse warriors of long ago. Magnus, with his dark hair and eyes that made him appear mysterious and nearly dangerous, except when he smiled and the illusion disappeared. Sven, the opposite in coloring, allowed his wheat-colored hair to fall freely down his back and she’d noticed that his eyes were the color of the blue sky at sunset.
The trees swayed in the wind and the light shifted to surround the leader of her escort. Rurik—he’d told her without telling her his family’s or father’s name. It was not an uncommon name in Kirkvaw or the Orkneys so there was no way to associate him with one family or another unless he revealed it. He resisted when she frowned at the lack of forthrightness and she let it go for the moment. Her father would send only a reputable, trustworthy man and there would be time enough while they rode north to ferry across the sea to her Orkney home to discover his connections. For now, she watched as he rode ahead of her, both guiding and guarding their traveling party.
Margriet’s stomach trembled and her breath hitched as she remembered his strength and his closeness and, most especially, his green eyes that changed from the color of the leaves now surrounding them to the color of the emerald she remembered on the hilt of her father’s battle sword. When the object of her reverie turned as though he’d heard her thoughts, she met that intense gaze and truly lost her breath.
Although certain only a moment had passed by as she stared at him across the distance, Margriet feared others had noticed her perusal. She forced her eyes from his and shifted on her mount. Such scrutiny of a man was unseemly for a nun and she must remember her disguise or it would be of little use and protection for her or Elspeth.
When she next dared to raise her eyes, Rurik still watched her. It was his turn to break the connection that stretched then and he said something to Magnus as he turned away. It seemed that she was the subject of whatever comment had been made, for Magnus moved his horse to the side of the path and allowed the rest to pass him by…until he reached her side.
“Sister,” he began. He did not seem to trip over the word as his leader did. “Rurik asked if you are well enough to increase our pace. We have much distance to cover before the light fades.”
“Well enough?”
“You were ill…before,” Magnus stammered as many men did when confronted by a female and certain ailments. She sat up a bit taller on her horse and cleared her throat.
“Tell Rurik to fear not, I will keep pace with him.”
Magnus smiled then, exposing a pleasing countenance of masculine angles and lines that framed a wide brow and strong chin. His eyes widened in what seemed to be merriment and then, after a brief nod, he rode back to Rurik. From the shared laughter and the glances, Margriet knew for certain that she’d done something untoward. She thought on her words, but could discern nothing amiss in them.
She would never understand them.
Of course, part of her problem was a lack of experience and a dreadful lapse in judgment during her only experience! One aspect about herself that Margriet had discovered