Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Gemma watched the coracle, still a distance out on the waves of the firth, being tossed about violently.
The men on board were shouting for help in Brythonic.
On the beach, a longship was launching, and as soon as it had been pushed out, Gemma spotted Ragna standing at the edge of the beach.
She pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair and kept her head down as she headed towards the place where Ragna was giving orders to a group of thralls.
“Bring blankets, quickly! And put more wood on the fire in the hall,” Ragna shouted as she approached.
Gemma took a step towards her and was about to call out when a large hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked back against a hard, muscular body. She tried to scream and pull away, but her captor was too strong. Then she saw the deeply scarred skin on the man’s hand. Arne.
“Shh,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. Swear to me you won’t shout.”
She tensed. How dare he treat her this way? She pushed at him, but he tightened his grip and fear slithered through her. He was stronger than her. He could easily hurt her if he chose to do so. Panic set in, and she pushed against him again.
“They must not see you. What if they are here to kill you? Or Caelin?”
She forced herself to relax in his grip.
He might be right. He might not. No one had tried to kill her yet, but being out of her brother’s control for the past four months would not have made him think more kindly of her.
Whether or not Arne was kind, she knew his brothers would not tolerate him harming her physically.
His brother Bjorn had nearly died saving and bringing her to safety last year, and the jarl had given her his word that he would protect her.
She owed these men so much already. Staying quiet was not too much to ask.
She nodded and he removed the hand from her mouth, but kept her tight against his body. To anyone who happened to notice them, they might look like a couple standing close together simply to watch the rescue.
“I’ll not shout or make a scene,” she whispered.
“Why are you out here?” he demanded.
“I came to fetch Ragna. Aoife is unwell and is asking for her. Do you want me to disobey your jarl’s wife?”
“And where is your son?”
Einar and Elisedd were back on the beach, in the shallow water, eagerly awaiting the return of the longship to shore with the rescued men.
“I think your boys must have taken him to our room as soon as the ship was spotted, as they have been told to. I have not seen him outside since.”
“You should go there too. Now. Before you endanger us.”
Gemma’s breath caught. “I would ne… never…”
“You may have all the others fooled with your smiles and your beauty, but I will not take any risks. If you are not a traitor, then you will do as I ask.”
She pulled away from him, and he let her go. “How dare you? You said they might kill me. Were you just manipulating me into obedience?” She kept her voice low, despite her anger. Drawing attention to them would only justify his accusations that she meant to alert the fishermen to her presence.
“Yes.”
She opened her mouth to argue, and he put a finger to her lips.
“Not here. Not now,” Arne said.
Gemma swallowed, but nodded. Arne was right, she should not be here.
The thought he held such a grudge against her wounded her.
Hadn’t she done everything in her power to prove she would follow Tormod’s instructions, live as the Norse lived?
She had asked for nothing except to be allowed to stay, and she’d earned her keep all winter by sewing and mending.
But this was not the time to argue with Arne. For now, her priority was Aoife.
“Then you must tell your mother Aoife needs her. And quickly.”
“I will. Now go, but do not draw attention to yourself. Go nowhere except your room.”
Gemma nodded again even as anger coursed through her.
Who was this man to give her orders? She was no common woman who needed to obey a jarl’s cousin without question.
And the tone of his voice made it sound like he thought she was the enemy.
Even his comment about her being beautiful had seemed more like a criticism than a compliment.
Behind her, the longship scraped onto the shingle. This was a discussion for later, so she headed back to the hall. Several thralls were hurrying back and forth, and she did her best to blend in with them, although anyone watching closely would see the difference in their clothing.
At the door, she risked a quick glance back and saw the men being helped ashore, and Arne and his mother Ragna coming towards her.
She made the mistake of looking at Arne.
His anger was palpable. She hurried inside, away from the man who looked at her more as a foe than a friend.
Once in the great hall, she headed directly for the corridor leading to her room.
A door at the end was being held open and she recognised Aoife’s maid, Rhiannon, standing in the dim light.
“Gemma!” Rhiannon called to her. “I’ve been waiting. Lady Aoife is asking for you. She said you had gone to fetch Ragna.”
“Ragna is on her way,” Gemma said and opened the door of her own room.
“You’re not coming to see her?”
Gemma shook her head. “Arne has told me to go to my room. How is she?”
“Her colour is better and the pains have passed.” Rhiannon sighed. “Please come and see her.”
“I will come when I can. I must do as Arne requested.” Which was true.
Although she was tempted to disobey him, with the arrival of the fishermen, it was important for her not to take any risks for Aoife’s sake.
This time, at least. Neither did she wish to face Arne’s displeasure.
And as Rhiannon was with Aoife, Gemma went into her own room as ordered.
She was relieved to see Caelin was already there, sitting on his bed. He looked up when she entered, but his face fell when he saw her. He had clearly hoped for someone more interesting. “I wanted to watch what was happening,” he said.
“I am sure Elisedd and Einar will tell you all about it later.”
“It won’t be the same.” He folded his arms and glared at the floor.
“You know we need to stay hidden.” Gemma sat beside him and hugged him.
“I don’t want to hide anymore, Mama. I want to be like everyone else.”
She closed her eyes as his small arms wrapped around her. He hugged her back and blinked away tears. She was failing him, but what could she do?
Last summer, her brother, King Rhun, had persuaded her she and her son would be safer in Car Luel.
On the way there, however, they had been abducted and taken to Alt Clut, where a community of Britons, unhappy with Rhun’s rule, were hiding.
They planned to build an army led by Lord Marcant, murderer of Aoife’s father, and ultimately install Caelin as king in his uncle’s place, but with Marcant as the real power.
Thankfully they had failed and Marcant was now a fugitive and his army dispersed.
Gemma and Caelin had escaped thanks to Lord Cenydd, Aoife’s cousin and her father, Cadell’s, successor, aided by the Norse.
After their escape, however, she should have gone directly back to her brother and insisted on Caelin being allowed to regain his own lands.
But she had not. Lord Cenydd had warned her against it, seeming to fear she was in as much, if not more danger from her brother than from Marcant.
So she had remained here with the Norse and since then all had been quiet.
She wished she knew what the right action to take was. Every choice was fraught with risk.
Aoife had welcomed them, and for now Kirkjaster seemed like the only place they were safe.
The Norse showed no interest in using her son as a bargaining chip, nor in plotting to put him on the throne of Strath Clut in Rhun’s place, as her own people might have done.
The price of that safety was having to remain hidden whenever anyone arrived at the settlement.
Few knew her true identity, although any passing Briton might recognise her and if that happened, either Rhun or Marcant might come to take her back and make Kirkjaster a target in the meantime.
Everyone here would be far safer if she and Caelin left. Caelin was too valuable to remain free forever. She sighed. No one cared about either of them, not really. Only about what they might gain from controlling them.
She opened her eyes at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Someone knocked softly on the door and, without waiting for an answer, opened it. She tensed, thrusting Caelin behind her as she stood and turned to see who it was. Arne.
“Who do you think you are barging in here?”
“I knocked.”
“You didn’t wait for an answer.”
“No.” He closed the door behind him. He gestured for her to sit but she didn’t. He sighed. “What is wrong, Caelin?”
Gemma moved Caelin in front of her, but the boy kept his face against her dress, probably not wanting to let Arne see his tears.
“He is missing out on the excitement. I have told him Elisedd and Einar will tell him all about it later.” She frowned at Arne, hoping he would understand, and indeed he seemed to as he kept his gaze on her rather than looking at Caelin.
The strange mix of kindness and suspicion confused her. “How is Aoife?”
There was a long silence in which Arne opened and closed his mouth a few times. “My mother says pains like she is describing are common in some women and may go on for weeks yet.”
Had the situation been different, Gemma would have laughed at the expression of discomfort on his face as he spoke of things more commonly kept to women’s conversations. Still, she appreciated him telling her.
Gemma nodded, pursing her lips. “I am worried about her.”
“Really?” His gaze on her was steady and his distrust palpable. Then it flicked to Caelin, and the hard line of his mouth softened slightly.