Chapter Seven #2
But that hadn’t been the end of his humiliation.
When Ingrid’s family had plotted to murder Tormod, Ingrid had said nothing and simply watched as Arne suffered in Tormod’s place.
Afterwards, Tormod had blamed Ingrid’s mystery lover for all of his unhappiness.
Arne knew he could never have convinced him otherwise and he worried that Tormod would have sent him away, separated him from his family, if he had learned the truth.
He was pulled from his memories when Gemma came to stand beside him, dressed now in dry clothes.
“Do you have something to change into?” she asked him.
“No. When I set out this morning, I left in a hurry, intending only to find you and return you to Kirkjaster before nightfall. Ulf went back to get the horses but I doubt he will be able to follow me tonight because of the snow. Perhaps he will arrive in the morning.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “My clothing is more suited to travelling in poor conditions than yours and I am dry underneath. I am going to go outside and ensure the shieling is safe for us tonight. And bring in some more wood and peat for the fire. Only my outer garments will need to hang up to dry. I will be fine.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to reassure her.
He wouldn’t be out here, sleeping in the shieling in a snowstorm if it hadn’t been for her, and yet he didn’t want to upset her further.
Seeing how cold and wet and exhausted she was, he was finding it hard to be angry with her.
“With the food you have brought, I can leave hunting until the morning.”
“There is only enough for a day or two. I expected…”
“What?” He frowned, wondering again if there was someone waiting for her. Someone willing to provide her with food and shelter as they had done for so long at Kirkjaster.
“I expected to be able to buy some.”
“So, you’ll take from Kirkjaster, but are willing to buy from others?”
She glared at him but bit her lip, and he realised she was more afraid of him than he had expected. “I left a brooch for your mother…. for the food… It will more than cover the cost of what we took. I’m not a thief.”
He said nothing, unsure why he was needling her like this.
This he believed. Besides, Tormod would not have expected her to pay for her food.
Gemma had worked alongside Aoife sewing clothes for the warriors all the time she had stayed in Kirkjaster, which was more than any member of any royal household would be expected to do when gracing one of their allies with their presence.
“Why do you say these things?” She sat down on the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumped. “And if you think these things… Why did you follow us? Why not just let us go?”
“Tormod asked me to bring you back.”
“You told me I was a danger to your family when I was in Kirkjaster.” She rubbed her cheek as she considered his words. “That’s why I left.”
“Is it now?” He widened his stance and folded his arms. Did she really think he would believe she had been thinking of his family and not herself when she had decided to leave?
“Yes. I didn’t want the settlement to be attacked if anyone knew I was there.” Her voice wavered and, had it been anyone else, he would have thought they were sincere, but with Gemma… He let his hands fall to his sides, fists clenched.
“That hasn’t bothered you before. It didn’t bother you last year when you nearly got my brother killed.”
“That was not—” She frowned up at him. “The battle in which Bjorn was injured… I didn’t cause that.”
Lord Cenydd had been the one to send Bjorn and Ylva on their quest. Not Gemma.
Ylva had left Bjorn on the battlefield alone to protect Gemma, but that had ultimately been her choice, not Gemma’s.
Arne knew all this, knew she was not to blame, and yet he couldn’t make himself stop.
There was so much about the situation that reminded him of the past. He remembered what his mother had told him earlier about not letting the past blind him to the present and rubbed his forehead with both hands.
This conversation was going nowhere. “I’m heading outside. We can discuss this further later.”
“Very well.”
He watched her as he lifted his gloves from where he’d left them drying and pulled them on as he waited to see what she did. She didn’t seem to be doing anything except staring at the food she had brought.
“Are you going to cook?”
“Yes. Of course… I… I will need water.”
He nodded at her, sure that was not why she had yet to move.
“If you hand me the cauldron I will fetch water from the stream for you. That should give you plenty for cooking. There will be a basin somewhere that you can empty the rest of it into for washing the dishes once you have heated it.”
“Thank you,” she said handing him the cauldron, then she turned to search for the basin while he headed outside.
The snow was still falling, heavier now, and he doubted Ulf would have left Kirkjaster.
Hopefully, it would stop, and in the morning he would take them back to the settlement. But what would that accomplish?
After making it to the stream and back through the increasingly heavy snow and handing her the water, he pushed open the door to the woodshed, lifted the axe from its hook on the wall and set a large log on the stump.
Then he set to work placing, chopping and splitting the wood into usable pieces, unable to stop thinking about the woman in the shieling.
Gemma was a danger to them wherever she was now.
The Britons, certain groups of them anyway, did not need a reason to attack the settlement.
They had done so in the past and he was sure they would do so again, whether Gemma was there or not.
But while his mother might be trying to tell him that Gemma was not Ingrid, he had often seen her sitting watching the guards as they patrolled, and more than once had found her checking for safe routes in and out of the settlement.
Something he would not have noticed had Ingrid not done it before.
She had refused to answer him when he had asked her why.
Ylva had laughed when he had mentioned it and patted his arm. “As warriors we both always know how to escape,” she had told him. “And a woman alone often has good reasons to know the fastest way to escape.”
Arne thought about the way she had feared him earlier and knew Ylva was right.
While he would never attack a woman in that way, Gemma had no real reason to trust him.
And most women who looked at him saw only a monster.
Was she worried about that here? Tonight?
He could at least reassure her he would never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it off the field of battle.
The wood in the shed had been well-prepared for the following summer and would burn well, as would the peats.
As long as they were here, however, he would need to continuously refill the wood supply and return in the spring to replace the peats.
Despite the cold weather, the work soon had him sweating, so he pulled off his kirtle and shirt, and wiped his brow with his arm.
He looked down at his gloved hands. Life was easier in winter when he was able to cover up.
The scars marring almost every available patch of his skin were a reminder of how Ingrid had betrayed him, but also of the way he had betrayed Tormod.
A secret which still ate at him. The scars turned him into a hideous creature, the sort parents warned their children about.
Nevertheless, Gemma had never warned Caelin away from him, and the boy had never seemed to notice his scars.
As he lifted the axe to split some of the larger pieces of dry wood, he remembered the first time he had seen her. It had been near dusk on the shore at Car Cadell. Gemma had stood up onboard the byrthing beside Ylva, and Lord Cenydd and his advisor, Anwyl, had bowed.
Arne had been transfixed at the sight of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, the Norse clothing she’d borrowed from Ylva not initially telling him she was a Briton.
Her dark hair cascading down her back in loose curls had inspired him to want to run his hands through it, reawakening feelings towards a woman he had not felt in years.
Then Ylva had stumbled ashore, distraught about Bjorn, and he and Ulf had left almost immediately, sailing through the night with Gemma and Caelin to Kirkjaster before setting off to retrieve their brother, not knowing whether they would find him alive or dead.
As they had travelled through the darkness to Kirkjaster, he was entirely aware of her presence.
The fact that it was because of her and her son that Ylva had left Bjorn on the battlefield alone was perhaps what had turned him against her from the start.
She and Caelin had walked across the isthmus at the darkest time of the night while he and Ulf had portaged the byrthing themselves.
Thankfully, it was smaller and easier to manoeuvre than a longship, but he had resented every moment that kept him from going to rescue his brother.
Resented this mysterious woman who Lord Cenydd valued above Bjorn.
It had only been when they arrived at Kirkjaster that Aoife had finally told him who she was.
The Britons’ princess. Rhun’s sister. Not Gemma at all, but Princess Maithgemm.
And, therefore, not for him. He had said nothing when Tormod had agreed to shelter her, seeing only another beautiful woman from the past that Tormod had forgiven despite her previous sins.
It seemed as if only he had sensed what danger she brought to Kirkjaster.
Everyone else seemed to fall under her spell.
He wondered when exactly she had escaped that morning. She must have taken advantage of the focus on Aoife, and had also avoided the guards, allowing her and Caelin to escape undetected. This more than anything made him suspicious of her.