Chapter Seven
How could Gemma think that the next morning they would be doing anything other than heading straight back to Kirkjaster?
He gritted his teeth as he thought about the risks she had taken to both herself and her son by heading out into the gathering snowstorm with no clear plan.
Tairmbert, indeed? They hadn’t even been halfway there when he’d found them.
They would have died or been killed long before they reached it.
Was she telling him the truth? He still had his doubts.
Everything he knew about Gemma made him think this was entirely out of character for her.
Bjorn had every respect for her — no mean feat with his older brother — but this had been foolhardy.
Had she really had no plan? Had the fishermen managed to speak to her, passed on a message telling her of a place to go where she would be safe?
It seemed unlikely. There was little in this area of the peninsula—only a few small settlements up near the isthmus.
None large enough to be considered a village, and all were at least half a day’s walk from here.
Most were odd places populated by those who rarely pledged allegiance to any one group of people, but who would deal with anyone — Briton, Gael, or Norse — who wished to use the isthmus to portage between the two lochs, Long and Llumonwy, often for a fee, sometimes in exchange for goods or even information.
Perhaps she had thought to find someone there to help her.
Or else there was someone already there waiting for her.
He wondered whether someone would come in search of her during the night, but decided that for tonight at least he was safe.
Such a heavy snowfall would keep most people at home until it thawed.
Even if her kin were waiting for her somewhere, they would surely think she would have waited in Kirkjaster until the snows were over.
“Look, Mama!” Caelin clapped as the fire began to burn steadily.
“You’ve done well.” Gemma put her hands on the boy’s shoulders and they drew closer to the fire.
At least she had dressed them both in warm clothes, but it had not been enough for the sudden change in weather and they appeared to be soaked through.
His own clothes were much more suited to extended periods of time outside than either of theirs were.
He watched them as he removed his own outdoor clothing and hung it up to dry.
Even from across the room he could see how badly she was shivering.
“Do you have dry clothing with you?”
It took longer than he would have liked for her to turn to him and answer.
“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Why had she been so foolish? If he hadn’t found her…
But now he had, he must keep her alive. No matter what risk she posed to Kirkjaster alive, it would be disastrous if his people were blamed for her death.
He needed to make sure she and her son lived long enough to return to Kirkjaster, and he did not want to spend any more time up on these desolate moors than necessary.
“Then you should put them on. Here.” He pulled a couple of blankets from a shelf. They were thick and warm. “Change your clothes and then wrap yourself in these.”
She lifted her pack onto the table and struggled with the buckles.
Torn between his anger and concern, he pushed her hands out of the way and opened it for her.
She yelped when he touched her hands, so he took them in his own and carefully pulled each glove off.
The leather was wet and cold, her skin like ice.
In silence, he took one hand and placed it between his own much larger ones.
She tried to pull away, but he clamped his tighter. She moaned.
“It hurts,” she whimpered.
“Shh. You cannot do anything when your hands are so cold.” When their eyes met, something shifted inside him.
She looked so sad, so forlorn, as if her whole world was ending.
He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her he would take care of her, that everything would be all right and no one would ever hurt her again.
He pushed those thoughts away. The only future Gemma offered was one of danger and uncertainty.
He loosened his grip on one hand and transferred it to the other.
A single tear slipped from her eye. She dashed it quickly away and turned her head towards the fire.
When Arne let go of her hand, she reached into the pack and awkwardly removed the clothing inside. Arne noted the obvious care and attention that had been given to every neatly folded item.
“Caelin,” she said, and the boy came to stand beside her.
“I will see to the boy,” he said. “You get yourself warm.”
“I can look after my son.”
“Can you? What were your plans for tonight again?”
She twisted her hands in front of her. “I… I had to leave. Surely you understand. If those men had seen us—”
“If you had stayed in your room where I put you, then they would never have known you were there.”
She didn’t reply and his suspicions returned.
“Did they know you were there?” he demanded. “Did you speak to them?”
Her head jerked up. “No, I… I did what you told me.” Then she lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing would not have driven you to risk your lives crossing these moors.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and kept her full attention on Caelin. “You didn’t want us there. Even Rhiannon said we were a danger.” She turned away from him and the shieling filled with a difficult silence.
Caelin tugged on his sleeve. “We aren’t dangerous, are we?”
Arne knelt beside him and sighed. “It’s not your fault. But we are surrounded by danger and need to be careful.”
Caelin nodded solemnly. “I will, I promise.
“Rhiannon told me about the soldiers. The reward.”
“Then you know why we ran?”
Arne sighed and nodded. “Yes.”
“When can we go home?” Caelin asked.
Arne placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Before we do anything else, we need to get into dry clothes and get warm. Then we need to find food.”
Gemma rummaged in her pack. “I have brought some. It’s not much, but it is better than nothing.” She lifted out some oats, vegetables, and a little smoked fish.
“I’m hungry, Mama,” said Caelin.
Arne saw the concern on Gemma’s face. “Have you eaten today?”
“A little,” she said.
He nodded, relieved she had at least prepared for her journey. “Then, as soon as you are dressed, you can make us some food. I will make sure we have enough wood to get us through the night. Come and stand near the fire, Caelin, while we get you out of those wet clothes.”
The boy was old enough to dress himself, so Arne had to do little except help him untie the wet knots and hand him clean, dry clothes from the pile Gemma had given him.
She had packed as much as she could carry, clearly not intending to return.
But he still did not understand why she had come this way, away from all the places familiar to her.
She must have been very determined to leave.
Or else there was something he didn’t know.
He had positioned himself so that Gemma was behind him as she changed, and he kept his focus on the boy.
He heard the rustle of material as she removed her wet clothes and cursed himself for not going out to chop the wood.
He had only stayed because… because he worried she would run again.
The shieling was draughty, intended only for a few women to live in during the summer months while they tended the sheep, so it had not been built to retain heat as well as most buildings.
Satisfied that Caelin was dressed in dry clothes once more, he watched the fire burn brighter.
As long as he kept his attention on the flames, he would not be tempted to look at her.
Despite the suspicions he knew were justified, he had to admit to himself the biggest issue he had was that she reminded him of Ingrid in one key respect—he wanted her and couldn’t have her.
He’d thought long ago he and Ingrid would get married.
They had kept their relationship quiet as Ingrid was not from their village.
Hers was a neighbouring one led by a jarl who was their enemy and known for his greed.
They had met secretly at an abandoned house in the woods, intending to only tell their families once they married.
Then Arne’s father had died suddenly and he and his brothers had left the village suddenly to deal with the arrangements and minimise the disgrace.
Tormod’s father had not allowed him to accompany them as he claimed they couldn’t spare another warrior from the village, but Arne was sure the jarl did not want any further association with his dead brother.
He hadn’t been able to meet with Ingrid before he left, and by the time he had returned, Ingrid had already married Tormod and wanted nothing more to do with him.
He still wasn’t even sure how Tormod and Ingrid had met and as she hadn’t acknowledged knowing Arne already, he had kept quiet and barely spoken to her again.
Seeing her with another man was too painful at first. It had not been until months later, once he realised Ingrid was pregnant that he understood her haste to marry.
That, and the fact Tormod made no secret of his ambition to become a jarl, and it was clear that Ingrid longed for status and wealth over anything else.
Arne hadn’t known what to do. Tormod’s authority would have been damaged if Ingrid’s deception had become known.
So Arne had told no one, just watched from a distance, doing what he could to ensure Einar was cared for and didn’t suffer from Tormod’s neglect of his bastard son.
By then, it would have been the ultimate betrayal of the Brothers of Thunder if Tormod had known Arne had been in love with his wife before him – that she carried his child. It would have changed everything.