Chapter Seven #3
He took a deep breath of the chilled night air and looked out through the open door.
The forest was not too far south of their position, but the shieling sat on barren moorland, visible for a great distance from the north.
The smoke from their fire would be seen from the sea-loch to the west. Their presence would not be a secret, although the heavy snow would shield them adequately, at least for tonight.
He could only hope the weather would delay anyone coming to see who was there long enough that they would have left before they arrived.
Besides, they had no choice. They would freeze to death with no fire. He lifted the axe and let it fall.
“Arne.”
The axe missed and thudded into the stump instead of the log he was about to split.
Gemma was peering into the dim interior.
A shaft of moonlight coming through the doorway behind her fell on his bare chest. He considered grabbing for his shirt, but didn’t.
She had said he wasn’t a monster earlier.
Maybe it was time to show her just how wrong she was.
With the moonlight from the doorway behind her, he couldn’t see her face and was glad he didn’t have to see the expression of disgust or even fear that was surely on it.
She turned away before she spoke, and he knew he had repulsed her.
“Your food is ready. If it sits any longer over the fire, there will be nothing left of the broth.”
“I will be in soon.” He brought the axe down hard on the log he had missed and sent parts of it flying in all directions. When he looked back at the door, she had gone. He returned the axe to its hook and stacked the last few pieces of wood in a basket to take inside.
Spending the night alone with her out here on the moors might prove fatal.
If her kin had arranged to meet her, they would not be best pleased to find him here.
Maybe he should leave. But Tormod had tasked him with ensuring her safety and he would do as his jarl had commanded.
More than that, even though he tried to tell himself he didn’t… he believed her.
When he went inside, she looked up at him immediately. He didn’t miss the flash of fear that crossed her face, fear of the monster she’d seen in the woodshed. But that fear was replaced by a timid smile as he placed the basket of logs in a safe place.
“If you bring me a bowl, I will give you the last of the broth.”
He picked up the last bowl on the table and held it out towards her.
She ladled broth carefully into it, her awkwardness with every task reminding him that until last summer she had been a princess, not required to fulfil any such basic tasks for herself.
She watched as he lifted the bowl to his lips, but before he tasted it, he stopped.
Why was she watching him so carefully? He eyed the broth and took an experimental sniff.
“You taste it first,” he ordered.
She frowned, clearly confused. “I’ve already had mine.
” She gestured towards another bowl on the table.
It looked like it had contained the same broth, but she could have easily added something to the pot after she and Caelin had eaten.
His mother kept various poisons to deal with vermin.
Perhaps Gemma had stolen one of them when she took the food.
He lifted his bowl to her mouth and she pulled back a little, frowning. “I won’t taste a single drop until I have seen you swallow some.”
“But—” She shook her head, then sighed and held out her hands.
He handed the bowl to her, the rough, scarred skin on his fingers brushing against hers.
He saw her shudder at the feel of his skin and drew his hands away.
The last thing he needed was a reminder of his hideousness.
She took a small sip, and he watched until she swallowed.
She held out the bowl. When he did not take it, she looked at him.
Her tongue ran over her top lip, catching the last drop of the broth.
He forced his thoughts away from the images it conjured for him of what he might rather she was doing with her tongue.
“More,” he said, his voice gruff.
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “But there is not much—”
“More.” He no longer knew whether he wanted to drive home his suspicion of her, or to torture himself by watching her mouth.
It was his suspicion that came across to her as her shoulders slumped, and she quickly did as he asked, never taking her eyes off his until she had swallowed more of the broth.
He hated that he had caused the sadness in her eyes, but he wasn’t ready to risk trusting her, no matter how much he hurt her feelings.
This time, when she held the bowl out and lowered her eyes to the floor, he took it, careful not to touch her at all this time.
He drained it in one gulp — she had not been lying when she had said there was not much—then put the bowl on the table.
She didn’t move, and he wondered what she was waiting for.
“What is it?”
“Was it… was it all right? I know I am not a good cook.”
He was torn between wanting to reassure her, and wondering whether this was all a bid to engage his sympathy and lure him into trusting her.
“I would not have thought you cared.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it.
The hurt on her face as she picked up the bowls and turned away to set about washing them made him feel like the lowest of men.
He didn’t want to trust her. Too many lives depended on it, but somehow… he was starting to.
Ulf had told him that Gemma could not help who she was, and yet Arne was treating her as if she had a choice. As she stood up after placing the bowls in the basin of water she had filled next to the fire, he had no idea why, but he reached out and touched her arm. “The broth was good.”
But the damage had been done. Although she paused, she did not look back at him.
Arne looked around, realising he had not seen Caelin since he came back inside. “Where is the boy?”
“Sleeping.” Gemma nodded towards the bed. “I’m sorry, but he climbed in without me noticing and is already asleep. I can wake him if you want the bed.”
“No, you two sleep there. I will sleep next to the fire.”
“If you are sure.” She still refused to look at him, and he regretted his words more than ever. At least if he let her sleep in comfort, he would feel a little better.
“I am.” He watched as she cleaned the bowls, then he lifted the basin and emptied it outside. When he closed the door, he barred it from the inside.
“Will we be safe here?” she asked. “I could stay awake.”
“Sleep. The weather is so bad that we should be safe enough for tonight.”
“Will we be able to leave in the morning?”
“Perhaps.” He doubted it very much, but there was no point arguing over something that was not yet a certainty. “Rest.”
He settled down by the fire as she slowly made her way to the bed and sat. Realising she was not going to undress while he was still awake, he closed his eyes.