The Iron Lance by Stephen R. Lawhead Page A

pleasantly surprised reaction to his affection and generosity.
    In the days to follow, it took all of Murdo’s cunning to appear indifferent to the impending visit. He contrived to help Peder ready the boat; after wintering on the shore, there was always a deal of work to get the craft seaworthy once more, and the old sailor was most exacting about how the various chores were done. Peder had collected a supply of pitch to be mixed together with a little wool, the compound to be pressed into the seams and any cracks which had opened during the cold months. Then, the hull would be scraped with pumice stone and a fresh layer of pitch applied. Also, during the long winter, Peder fashioned lengths of rope from twisted hemp; these would have to be stretched and soaked, stretched and soaked again, and then spliced together to make good stout seaworthy lines—an arduous process, but, as Peder never tired of pointingout, at sea a man’s life hung by each and every strand of seaman’s thread.
    Save for the smell of hot pitch, Murdo did not mind the work. He preferred the sailing to farming anyway, and Peder’s rambling talk took his mind off the aching anticipation of seeing Ragna again. The thought tormented him like an inflamed itch, and he could not wait for the day. Easter had gradually assumed a towering significance for Murdo, and he began to fear he would not live to see it. The incomparable day hung over him like doom itself, and he even considered praying that God would allow him the blessing of beholding the lovely Ragna once more. If I can but see her dressed in her Easter finery before I die, he thought, I can depart this world a contented soul. And if, by some miracle, he was granted the favor of a kiss, he would meet judgment day a happy, happy man.
    Despite his feelings, however, Murdo made no prayers. He felt it beneath his dignity to honor that distant tyrant with his reverence, and he certainly did not care to enter into any bargains which might require him to atone in some disagreeable way, or attend church more often than he already did. He bore his affliction as best he could, working hard and taking long walks at dusk when his thoughts inevitably turned towards the forthcoming journey…and the ineffable delight which lay at the end of it.
    When the day of their departure finally dawned, Murdo was awake and ready before the cock had finished crowing. For the life of him, he could not understand why, this day of all days, everyone had suddenly become so sluggish and slow. It was not as if they were taking the entire holding with them; besides his mother, Murdo was the only other person going, along with Peder, of course, and Hin, one of the younger servingmen, who was to help with the boat. But there were numerous baskets andbundles of food, and several chests of clothing and other belongings to be loaded onto the wagon and carried down to the boat, and stowed aboard.
    â€œWe are not settling unknown territory,” Murdo observed tartly. “Why do we need all this—this tack?”
    â€œIs it impatient you are?” his mother cooed sweetly. “Ah, heart of my heart, you will see your Ragna again soon enough.”
    Murdo gaped at his mother. All this time he had been so careful—how did she know? How could she know?
    He could feel his cheeks burning, and turned away quickly. “I was only thinking of the weather,” he said vehemently. “Peder says we will have a good wind to begin, but it will grow tassy by midday.”
    â€œListen to you now,” Niamh said, her eyes glinting mischievously as she stepped near, “going on about the weather, when the merest mention of her name brings the color to your cheeks…or was that the wind as well?”
    He glared at his mother, but held his tongue lest he make the thing worse.
    â€œMurdo,” she coaxed, “you have been stalking around here like a caged bear ever since we decided to go to Cnoc