Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Arne did not know how Bjorn put up with his wife. Ylva was currently standing in front of him, glaring. Her attitude made him want to apologise not only to her, but to Gemma as well. Except he had done nothing wrong. His only concern was the safety of Kirkjaster.
“Why do you distrust her so much? What has she done that you are so suspicious?” Ylva demanded, her voice low so Gemma would not hear.
“Do you trust her?” Arne asked.
Ylva folded her arms on top of her rounded belly and rolled her eyes. “Yes. She is a woman, alone with her son. You should be protecting her.”
“I am. But my priority is to protect Kirkjaster and all those within it. Including you.”
Ylva sighed and shook her head. “You are not seeing the woman who is in front of you now, Arne. Stop treating Gemma as if she were Ingrid. She is not trying to ingratiate herself with the jarl while having another lover.”
Arne tensed and glared back. How dare she?
She had no idea. Or did she? He had always wondered if Ylva had known…
no, if she had, she would have told Bjorn, if not Tormod.
He was sure Ingrid had taken the knowledge of what had happened before her marriage to her grave.
And given Tormod blamed Ingrid’s mystery lover for the attack on their village in the Norselands all those years ago, Arne had never been able to tell him the truth.
“Gemma has asked for nothing from us except to remain here in safety,” Ylva continued. “These actions are making you look like a fool.”
Before he figured out a response, Ylva swept back along the passageway to Aoife’s room.
Following her to set her straight would leave Gemma unguarded, so he was stuck here.
Ulf had gone to his bed long before, as confident as Ylva that Gemma would not endanger the settlement by speaking to the fishermen. Arne would take no such risk.
He remained where he was, not even fetching a chair to sit on so as not to fall asleep.
That moment earlier, when one of the fishermen had stumbled drunkenly through the door, had put him on high alert.
Until then, he had been merely suspicious.
Now, he was convinced they knew something and were here looking for Gemma.
After their earlier conversations, it was clear Tormod and Ulf disagreed.
The fishermen had been in far too much danger out on the firth, Tormod had pointed out.
No one would risk their own lives so foolishly just to find a missing woman and her child.
Gemma was not just any woman, however. She was the Britons’ princess, a possible queen or mother of kings, if the current circumstances changed. And Caelin was second in line to the throne.
He thought back to the conversations the men had had with Tormod.
The fishermen had clearly been resentful of Fergus’s management of their lands.
They wanted Caelin to return and at least give them hope for the future.
For the first two years after her husband’s death, and under Lord Marcant’s stewardship, it had essentially been Gemma who had taken care of the Ir Ysgyn lands with only a little help from Lord Marcant.
He was relieved her association with the man was minimal, but his opinion of Marcant had lowered further.
Marcant had been content to expect crops and soldiers from Ir Ysgyn, along with the usual taxes, while expecting Gemma to be the one to oversee those lands.
It didn’t surprise Arne that she was capable of doing so, though.
As the ale and mead had flowed more freely, a deeper resentment had become apparent.
The Britons seemed to know that Bjorn and Ylva, disguised as traders, had spirited Gemma away from Alt Clut despite the lack of evidence.
Rhun had been the one to send them away from Ir Ysgyn in the first place, forcing them to journey to Car Luel with Marcant’s disgraced wife and daughters, but the Britons seemed to be conveniently ignoring this.
They were also ignoring the fact it was Marcant who had captured Gemma and Caelin and held them captive at Alt Clut over the summer.
No, the Britons’ narrative blamed the foreign Norsemen for all their woes.
Arne had been unable to listen to any more of the snide comments from the men they had rescued only a few hours earlier.
The Norsemen were again being blamed for internal struggles amongst the Britons, and Arne was coming to resent it more and more.
Over the past year, Lord Marcant had left stolen Norse weapons at the scenes of atrocities and while many Britons knew Marcant had intended to falsely blame the Norse for these attacks, it was clear enough doubt existed that the stories weren’t fading.
Strangely, Gemma did not seem to resent the Norsemen, despite having more cause to than any of these men.
But then, as a princess, she had a different perspective on the events from those who lived their lives with day-to-day survival as their primary concern.
When all noise from the hall finally quieted, Arne opened the door.
The fishermen were sound asleep in the centre of the hall near the fire, on makeshift beds, while their own unmarried warriors slept in their usual places around the sides of the hall.
He grabbed some blankets and settled down to sleep in the passageway outside Gemma’s room, where he would be sure to awaken if anyone tried to go through.
Rhiannon, Elisedd and Einar would be safe in their house tonight.
It was more important that he remain here, where anyone trying to go either in or out of Gemma’s room would be sure to disturb him.
Arne’s sleep was broken, his dreams filled with nightmare visions of blood flowing and filling his eyes, draining slowly from his body to coat the floor all around him.
He also dreamed of pain. Pain everywhere.
Pain with every single, tiny movement. A scream woke him and he leapt to his feet, his breath coming in short, desperate pants — partly because of his dreams and partly because of the scream.
He tried to push open Gemma’s door, but it was still barred.
“Gemma?” he called, knocking.
“What is it?” she answered, just as Tormod threw open the door to his room and stepped out, his face panicked.
“Arne, thank the gods. Find Ragna,” Tormod ordered. “The baby is coming.”
Another scream, low and pain-filled, came from behind Tormod, and Arne hurried to fetch his mother. As soon as he went back into the hall, he noticed the outer doors slightly ajar and looked towards the fire. The fishermen were gone.
Cursing, he hurried outside, noticing the door to the hut where the food was preserved was also open. He would deal with that soon. First he needed to do as Tormod had asked. He ran to his mother’s house and banged on the door, then went inside.
“Mother!” He hurried to her bedside and shook her awake.
Ragna pushed herself to a sitting position and blinked at him. “What is it? Is it Aoife?”
“Yes.”
“Tell Tormod I will be there soon. Tell the thralls to heat water. Oh, and find Rhiannon — or is she with Aoife already?”
“I’m not sure. I will go home and see if she is there. Wake her if I have to.”
“You don’t know? Did you not go home last night?” Ragna frowned.
“No, I stayed on guard in the hall.” Arne wondered how his mother could make him feel guilty without accusing him of anything.
“Guarding Gemma?”
“Guarding us against her.” He’d expected Ragna to understand, but her current expression, with her lips in a tight line, implied if she did understand, she certainly did not agree. Was he the only one who saw the risk Gemma posed? He rubbed at a tight spot at the back of his neck and turned to go.
“Arne…”
“I must go. Hurry, Mother, please. The fishermen have gone.”
“I am sure there is no reason to rush. First babies take their time no matter how bad it sounds.”
“So long as you are willing to tell Tormod the delay was yours and not mine.”
“Away then, and deal with that. Try to keep Tormod out of our hair for now.”
Arne returned to his house. He didn’t sleep in the hall with the other warriors now, despite being unmarried, as he fostered the two boys.
Rhiannon stayed with him also, as she was Elisedd’s mother.
Arne fully expected that situation to change as soon as Ulf and Rhiannon sorted out their feelings for one another.
He wasn’t sure what would happen to Elisedd at that point, but they would work it out somehow.
Inside, he knocked on the door of her room.
“Rhiannon? Rhiannon!”
He heard movement from inside the room and then Rhiannon peered out, already dressed apart from her apron. “Arne? I heard screams. Is it Aoife?”
“Yes.”
“I am nearly ready.”
“Very well. I must instruct the thralls, then find Ulf and search for the missing fishermen.”
“They’ve gone?”
“Yes. And they’ve taken the fish.”
Rhiannon stepped out of her room. “They did catch those fish,” she reminded him.
“And we saved both them and the fish. Are their lives not worth that cost?”
She shook her head. “Let’s go to Lady Aoife. Will you allow Gemma to be there?”
Arne held his breath for a moment, then sighed. “Yes, with the fishermen gone, I’ll tell Gemma she can attend to Aoife. She is already awake.”
They hurried across to the main hall together, and Rhiannon went ahead of him down the passageway to Aoife and Tormod’s room.
Arne knocked on Gemma’s door. After receiving no response, he pushed it open easily.
The room was empty. A strong sense of foreboding swept through him.
She had seemed so concerned about Aoife the night before.
Maybe she had gone to her friend when she heard her labour pains beginning?
If so, where was Caelin? He hurried down the passageway, but as he reached the door to Tormod’s room, there was another long, low scream from Aoife.
He knocked, and a growing rage filled him as he waited for an answer.