Chapter Twenty-Five

Miriam found she needed to swat away troublesome flies more often than wandering hands. She had been dismayed when they were forced to get into a small riverboat. This would eat up the distance quicker than anyone following them. She glared at each man in turn, mentally comparing them to Ketil and deciding they didn’t measure up.

Beards didn’t make the man; the man wore the beard. These were straggly and not particularly clean. The same applied to their clothing, patched and torn in places. Their black eyes showed only avarice or lust, while she was hoping for surprise followed by concern at the advent of strangers.

She nudged her sister. “Which one is yours, do you think?”

Daphne was in another of her huffs and refused to speak.

Miriam had tried to leave signs along the way, breaking off twigs where possible and even dropping a diaphanous veil. Her hairpins she assumed she might need for protection. But here on the water, it was harder. Maybe another veil? Modesty would not help her