Chapter 3 #2
“Hardly. She stays with us because there are none amongst her own people she can be sure of. Not at present. And at least none powerful enough to protect her.”
“And what if she brings Marcant here? Will you mock me then? Or the king?”
“Our alliance has always depended on Rhun’s goodwill.
He sent his sister away and does not seem to have made any attempt to find her, even though he was told by Lord Cenydd someone had kidnapped her on the way to Car Luel.
” Ulf checked on the fishermen, who were muttering amongst themselves in Brythonic, then looked back at his brother.
“He might blame us for her kidnap if he discovers her here.”
“If he knows she is here, he may have decided it suits him for her to be here, in which case we are in no danger from him. If he knows and wants her back, he would have asked… or come and taken her. Tormod can’t easily refuse a request from Rhun.”
“And what of Marcant?” Arne said. “He must surely know by now that it was Bjorn and Ylva who spirited her away from Alt Clut at the start of winter.”
Ulf ran a hand down his beard, and his expression turned serious.
“Marcant may come here, although I doubt it will be at her bidding. She has already run from him once, although he had not revealed himself to her then for some reason. Perhaps he knew she would never agree to his terms. If he comes, it will be because he wishes us gone. And when he does, I will be ready for him. To dispense the justice he avoided.”
“Lord Cenydd was supposed to carry out the sentence for his murder of Lord Cadell,” Arne pointed out.
“That is not the crime for which I will make him suffer.” Ulf lifted his horn and downed it. “I will make sure he pays. That I promise you.” Arne watched as his gaze roved around the hall, but the woman he suspected his brother was looking for was nowhere to be seen.
Arne knew his brother was correct, although his reasons for hating Lord Marcant were personal in more than one way. After all, the man had murdered Aoife’s father and had never been punished for that, then he had almost killed their brother Bjorn at the start of winter. “Because of Rhiannon?”
Ulf looked past him, not meeting his eye. “Yes.”
Arne had not expected Ulf to answer. For months now, his brother had refused to be drawn into saying anything about the Briton he had rescued from Lord Marcant’s fort the previous summer.
“These men are mere fishermen from Ir Ysgyn. If they came from Marcant’s fort at Ardd Gowan, then they would not leave here alive unless I had her word they were not the ones who harmed her.”
“The way no one except Ingrid survived what they did to me?”
Ulf’s head jerked towards him, and he frowned, then nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Just like that. And now will you stop wondering about my intentions towards her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I avenged you and didn’t want to marry you.”
Arne grimaced, then they both laughed. “True enough. Fine, I will stop.”
He was tired of being constantly surrounded by enemies. Not knowing who to trust. He had a sudden urge to go home, and wished he knew where home was.
“Is it because of Ingrid that you watch her so carefully?” Ulf asked.
Arne didn’t move. He didn’t want to answer.
A knot of tension formed in the pit of his stomach.
He rarely consciously thought about the events of that day.
His brothers did not fully understand his reasons for hating Ingrid.
It was not only the fact she had had him nearly killed, it was the fact it was not only hatred he had felt towards her. “They have much in common.”
“Do they?” Ulf stared at him.
“You have seen the way she is, how people do her bidding, listen to her, help her.”
“And you think that makes her like Ingrid?”
“Everyone around Ingrid rushed to do her bidding.”
Ulf raised his eyebrows. “Not for the same reasons. People feared Ingrid.”
“Gemma has expectations.”
“She does. She is… what she is, after all. But it is far from the same, brother. Perhaps your judgment this time is just as clouded.”
“She expects to be treated like a…” Arne didn’t say the word, well aware the Britons sat only a short distance away. Why did thinking about her make him lose his usually tight control over his emotions?
“People like her,” Ulf shrugged and Arne realised his brother included himself in that number. “She asks for little, considering who she is, is always polite and is the closest friend of the jarl’s wife. How would you expect them to treat her?”
“Like she might tell her brother the best way to kill them all in their beds.”
“She is not Ingrid.”
“No.” Arne could accept that as the truth at least.
“I don’t think your fear is shared by many,” Ulf added.
“Perhaps it should be.”
“I will sleep with my sword beside me, and worry about it if it happens,” said Ulf. “Are you sure it is not because so many of the younger warriors are eager to help her with any task that you are annoyed?”
Arne glared at Ulf, picked up his ale, and drank it down, doing his best to ignore the amused expression on his brother’s face. It would have been less annoying if it wasn’t virtually identical to the expression on Tormod’s face the last time Arne had tried to speak to Tormod about Gemma.
“Do not forget who she is or who her brother is. One day she might hold the power of life or death over each and every one of us.”
“Tormod will never agree to the Britons’ justice applying in Kirkjaster.”
Arne knew he was right, however, the longer they remained here, the higher the chance things might change.
Kings died, were killed or could be overthrown, and King Rhun was more at risk than most. Currently, Rhun’s son, Eochaid, who had Dal Riatan and Pictish blood in his veins, stood to inherit the kingdom from his father, but there were currently no further heirs in his line.
Gemma’s son Caelin was not a prince, although if Rhun died while Eochaid had no heir, then, as his cousin, Caelin would be next in line to the throne.
As a wholly native-born Briton, the child appealed to many more than Eochaid.
It was the reason Marcant had kidnapped Gemma the previous summer.
His plans to usurp Rhun had been quashed when he had lost the battle of Isallawr last winter.
Complicating matters was the fact Eochaid stood to inherit the kingdoms of Pictland and Dal Riata also through his mother’s line, as his uncle, King Causantin, had no heir.
Many people did not want to see that union occur, and Arne supposed he was one of them.
Strath Clut, Pictland and Dal Riata united under the rule of a single king—it would be a kingdom of considerable power and size.
Perhaps even strong enough to push the Norse from all their lands.
And there were many more Norse communities all down the western coast, so the impact of that would be significant.
When their food was served, Arne ordered the thrall to take a meal to Gemma and Caelin in their room.
He ignored Ulf’s sly grin. He would make sure none of the Britons spoke to her, hope none of them knew they were there, and then he would speak to Tormod and try to settle once and for all the problem of the woman hiding in their midst. He only hoped that by then he had thought of a solution.