Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Arne strode through the hall, wondering again why Gemma had chosen to stay.
It was a grand building now, fitting as the residence of a jarl, but it was no royal residence.
He had seen the new one built by King Rhun in Perthawc.
And, much as it pained him to admit it, he didn’t understand why Gemma, a princess, was content to remain here in Kirkjaster with her son, when they could have been in either Perthawc or, indeed, their home fort of Ir Ysgyn.
The lands Caelin had inherited from his father lay across the firth from Kirkjaster and bordered Marcant’s.
The king had placed a steward in charge until Caelin reached his majority, but Arne thought it strange that King Rhun had tried to send Gemma and Caelin to Car Luel rather than the boy remaining with him in Perthawc.
There were many things going on in this kingdom he did not understand, and he was right to be suspicious.
The other Brothers of Thunder were settling in, becoming accustomed to this place and its people.
Finding wives and starting families. It was up to him to ensure they did not allow complacency to put them in danger. Or was that his own guilt?
No. It was widely believed that last year Rhun had played a part in his own father’s execution at the hands of the Norsemen in Dublin. And with a brother like Rhun, how could he even begin to trust that Gemma would not betray them if it would benefit her and her son?
And yet, he was finding it increasingly hard to doubt her.
Until today, despite watching her as carefully as the hawk he was named for, he had seen nothing to show she planned to betray them.
Aoife enjoyed her company, and even Rhiannon, who was deeply distrustful of almost everyone, seemed to be willing to place her faith in her.
Bjorn refused to hear a word said against her, and Ulf and Tormod were almost as protective.
But the Brothers of Thunder had been taken in by a woman like that before, and while the others might not see the similarities, Arne did.
And as the one who had lost the most before, he refused to take any risks this time.
Ingrid’s betrayal had almost cost him his life and the others didn’t know the whole truth about her.
Perhaps that was why he was the only one who saw through Gemma’s facade.
Outside, the bitter wind against his face reminded him she had not seemed to know how he came by his scars.
It surprised him she had not asked before.
Most did. Typical. He spent so many hours wondering about her, suspicious of her every move and watching her for any sign that she was meeting with fellow Britons to plot to attack the settlement, while she had not even bothered after four months to ask how he had been scarred.
Arne reached the beach to find the rescue was over.
The longship had been pulled safely ashore, and a coracle now lay beside it, upside down to allow it to dry.
Four men wrapped in blankets began to shuffle towards the hall, flanked by Norse warriors.
He was about to follow them and ensure Gemma was never within their sight when he spied his younger brother, Ulf.
“Arne! Come and help with these baskets. We saved some of the catch.”
Arne lifted a basket onto his back and strode after him. “Why are we carrying fish? Aren’t there enough thralls?”
“Of course, but let us show them that these fish will be guarded by warriors and that if they want them back, they will have to get past warriors, not merely some thralls.”
“Why were they out fishing in this weather?”
Ulf glanced over at the men. “It would seem there is trouble in Ir Ysgyn.”
“They are from Ir Ysgyn?” He knew better than to say either Caelin or Gemma’s names aloud as long as there were strangers within earshot.
“The steward put in place by King Rhun, Lord Fergus, is demanding higher and higher taxes from his people and Fergus’s collectors are ruthless. Added to this are the problems with the previous steward, and the people are unhappy.”
Arne and Ulf exchanged a look. Lord Marcant had already taken a great deal of wealth from both his own lands of Ardd Gowan and those of Ir Ysgyn, which he was overseeing for Caelin, to fund his rebellion.
“From what the fishermen say, there are shortages of everything.”
“Even food?”
“It would seem so.” Ulf looked out at the stormy water. “They knew it was risky, but they were desperate. And desperate men do desperate things.”
Arne nodded. “And what will happen with their catch?”
Ulf shrugged. “I am sure an agreement can be reached. Surely they value their lives more than some baskets of fish.”
Side by side, they overtook the exhausted and shivering men as they reached the doors.
“Those are our fish!” one shouted as they passed. Not so badly injured, Arne decided, if they were so keen to defend their catch from those who had saved their lives.
Jarl Tormod stepped out from the hall, and Arne grinned.
His cousin was a formidable figure when he chose to be.
He addressed the men, who now stood staring at him.
“I am sure you are all grateful to my men for rescuing you and would like to show your appreciation. Your catch will serve as payment. It is unlikely any of you would have reached shore without our longship coming to assist you, and your whole catch—and all your lives — would have been lost then. Now, at least, you may keep some of it, and we will also arrange for you to return home when you are recovered. Tell us, which of the lands south of the river is your home?”
“The lands of Ir Ysgyn,” a different man answered. “Lord Caelin’s lands, governed at present by Lord Fergus.” The man spat on the ground at his side.
Arne exchanged a look with Ulf as they carried the baskets around the side of the hall to the huts used for smoking and preserving.
Were they really fishermen or did they suspect Gemma and Caelin were here?
Although given the weather and the danger the men had placed themselves in, the story about the food shortages rang true.
There was also the possibility of Gemma taking advantage of the arrival of some of her own people.
He had raised this with Tormod before, but his cousin had told him she wasn’t a prisoner and was free to leave whenever she wanted.
Tormod had agreed that he could watch her to make sure she didn’t betray them, but his cousin’s eyes had been full of pity, clearly thinking Arne was living in the past and not the present.
When Gemma had asked to join in with the other women when Ylva taught them to defend themselves, Arne had wanted Tormod to refuse her request. Tormod had agreed, reluctantly, and tasked Arne with ensuring Gemma’s safety instead.
It angered Arne that Tormod did not see Gemma as a threat.
Her friendship with his wife was blinding him, just as his love for Ingrid had blinded him before.
Arne tensed. It hadn’t only been Tormod who had been deceived by Ingrid, and Arne’s sense of betrayal ran far deeper than he had ever admitted to his brothers. He placed the basket down beside Ulf’s, ready for the thralls to preserve. Then they went together into the hall to eat.
“Let us sit here,” he said to Ulf, indicating a table near the door to the passageway, which led to the smaller rooms at the back of the hall where Gemma and Caelin were.
Arne was taking no risks. His presence here would ensure that Gemma would have no opportunity to meet the fishermen and talk.
Ulf raised his eyebrows, but sat. He gestured to a thrall, and the woman brought them each a horn of ale.
Arne listened as closely as possible to the fishermen, grateful that Ulf was the quietest of his brothers.
The fishermen, from what he heard, spoke only of the loss of most of their catch and the situation at home.
Two of them were clearly not happy with Tormod’s proposition, however, there was little they could do about it.
There was no mention of Gemma. Or Caelin.
No mention of anything except fish and the sea and taxes.
“You are very serious today, brother,” Ulf said.
“Am I not always serious?” Arne replied, before taking a long, slow draught of ale.
“Yes, but more so today. I saw you with her. She was heading towards the shore as the men were rescued.” Ulf relaxed back in his chair and moved his head slowly from side to side, stretching out taut muscles. Arne was not ready to relax.
“Do you think she was trying to speak to them?”
“She says she was trying to find our mother.”
“For Aoife? That could well be true.”
Ulf observed him as he moved on to stretching out his shoulders and arms, then took a long drink of ale, but Arne refused to be goaded into responding. “You think they have come for her?”
Arne was sure his brother was smirking.
“It is possible.”
Ulf raised his eyebrows. “If that is the case, then why have they not simply asked? Why pretend to drown?”
“You think I am being ridiculous?”
“No.” Ulf sighed. “I think you should not let your feelings cloud your judgment.”
“I am not likely to do that again, Ulf.”
His brother nodded at him and took another drink. “Where is she now?”
“In her room.”
“At whose request?”
“Mine.”
“And she agreed?”
“She did.” Arne rubbed at the back of his neck.
Gemma had not argued with him about remaining in her room.
She was more annoyed that he was the one giving her orders, rather than the orders themselves.
Perhaps he was being ridiculous. Perhaps she did need to stay hidden from her own people, and it was not just an excuse to remain here.
Ulf glanced at the closed door, then back to the Britons, who were still sitting, shivering around the fire. “And so, you are sitting here to what? Ensure she does not consort with them in secret?”
“It is a reasonable risk.”