Chapter Ten
Gemma refused to acknowledge how relieved she was that Arne had come back alone and that he hadn’t told the other men about her presence. “Who were they?”
Arne nodded. “Caelin, will you put some more wood on the fire and tend it so it doesn’t go out while the venison cooks?”
“Be careful, Caelin.”
“Yes, Mama,” he said but he exchanged a look with Arne and she knew Caelin didn’t want her to fuss over him.
Caelin sat himself down by the fire, the poker in one hand and set about deciding which log to put on next, and where to place it.
So long as he was distracted and not paying attention to whatever Arne wanted to tell her.
She’d heard the other men and realised he had been right.
A woman alone, especially with a child, was in danger from any number of sources.
“Hunters, they said. Most of them were Norsemen,” Arne said. “And at least one Dal Riatan.”
“With the Norsemen?”
“They seemed comfortable to be together. One told me he had a new bride from amongst their people,” Arne said. “I’ve heard they call themselves the Gall-Ghàidheal, the ones whose villages have mixed.”
“Oh.”
“They asked me if I had seen you. There’s a reward for taking you to the king.”
Gemma gave a start, then swallowed, trying to calm her racing heart. “Just me?”
Arne shrugged. “Both of you. Although each of you is almost as valuable alone.”
Gemma frowned at him. “Surely it is Caelin who—”
“You could have another child.”
“But—” She paused. She had wondered if Rhun had sent her to Car Luel last year with that in mind.
Had there been a man there whom Rhun had promised her to?
Would he have told her? She was no longer sure.
They had been heading south with Marcant’s sister, the disgraced Lady Ula, intending to send Lord Cenydd north to claim his place as the new lord of Car Cadell.
En route, however, she had been abducted, and when Cenydd had been the one to send rescuers to Alt Clut for her, she had wondered if he had considered marrying her himself.
But he had sent her to Kirkjaster as soon as she had arrived back at Car Cadell after her rescue, so that did not seem likely.
“I’m sure it would not be difficult for the king to find you another husband whether you wanted one or not.” Arne remained in the doorway, watching her. “And there are many lords among the Britons who would be happy to father a potential future king.”
She nodded. “I suppose there are. And my brother might choose to negotiate a marriage except I don’t believe it’s in his interest for that to happen. His own position is far more secure if Caelin and I are both gone. I think that was why he sent us to Car Luel last year.”
“And then there is Lord Marcant—”
“Yes. I find it strange that Marcant himself did not push for that, either last year or even earlier. His wife died before I married. Perhaps my father saw the threat he posed even before he murdered Lord Cadell.”
“It is strange he is not married,” Arne said.
“It is. Marcant and my father were great friends. Until… I’m not sure. There was an argument a few years ago. After I was married. I never really understood what it was about.”
“Will you return to Ir Ysgyn?”
“I don’t think I can. At least not until I have spoken to my brother. Even then, I will be forced to fit in with their plans.”
“And what if those plans mean your son gets his lands back? Or even that he gets to be king?”
Gemma sighed. “Then I think the number of people who want him dead or want to use him to gain power themselves will only increase.”
“So, you will do what? Walk away from everything you are?”
“I have no choice. To keep Caelin safe, I think we must leave.”
“And go where?”
“Perhaps north. I have heard many people are leaving from Dal Riata to live on the new island where only the monks have lived before.”
“They are, but…”
“What?”
“It is a cold, dark, desolate place and you would have no status.”
“Better that than being dead.”
“Perhaps. But what if it was like this?”
He moved towards her and for a moment she thought he was going to… she wasn’t sure what she thought he was going to do, but he didn’t do it. “Has Marcant always been this dangerous?”
“No,” Gemma said. “He was loyal to my father at one time. Then there was a disagreement. And since Alt Clut… Perhaps he simply saw an opportunity. Aoife told me what he planned to do. Kill Tormod and his child and marry her himself.”
“You would be a far greater prize. Marrying Aoife would only have added Cadell’s lands to Marcant’s own, while you…”
“He already had control of my husband’s lands and my son. Aoife would have added more land to his own while he already controlled my husband’s.”
“Surely your royal blood was more valuable to him. His own son could have been king.”
Gemma frowned, realising Arne was right.
Why had Marcant not tried to marry her? He had never even suggested it.
It was one reason she had almost trusted him as Caelin’s steward.
However, she had not known about his attacks on the settlement, nor his plan to murder Lord Cadell.
“When you put it like that, it seems odd that he didn’t.
Caelin would still have been in the way of any child of his inheriting, but—” She shuddered.
If Marcant had been Caelin’s stepfather, no one would have dared to question an unfortunate accident befalling the boy.
How would she ever know what was the right decision to make? The Norsemen didn’t care about the Britons’ internal politics as long as it didn’t affect them. As soon as it did, they might as easily turn on her.
“If I go back it’ll be a constant worry that Rhun or Eochaid might choose to eliminate the threat of Caelin becoming the people’s choice for king.”
“And they may wish to eliminate you as well.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “Eochaid’s future would be more secure with both of us gone, certainly.”
Arne stared at the fire for a long moment. “I will not let them harm Caelin… or you.”
Her breath caught and she turned her head sharply towards him, but he kept his gaze on the fire. Had she heard him correctly? Surely he wasn’t offering to… “I know you said you would protect Caelin, but… but you said I was a danger… you thought I was going to betray Kirkjaster.”
Finally he turned, and she struggled to read his expression. “And if you do, then I will deal with you. But I won’t let anyone else harm you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, almost dizzy at his words. Much as she wanted to be independent, it was not likely to ever be possible. Then, not knowing what more to say, she got to her feet and went to the fire. “I’m sorry, you must be cold and hungry. I will see if the food is ready.”
“I need to finish washing first,” he said. “I was able to clean my leathers and gloves in the stream, but I would like to wash properly before eating. Give me the bucket to fill in the stream and you can heat the water for me.”
“Is it safe?”
“I let them believe I was here alone. They could have harmed me earlier and did not,” he said. “And it is not likely they will wait around in this weather.”
She swallowed and glanced nervously at the door. “You think they didn’t believe you?”
“There is one among them who is definitely not to be trusted.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s a long story. And not connected to your situation.”
She nodded, worried about what he wasn’t telling her.
Still, she was in no position to insist on anything.
Arne was right. They needed to hide. Those other men knew he was here.
They might come back for any reason. There was no point in her taking any risks.
Not now. Not over this. They’d come so far.
She turned and lifted the cauldron from its place by the fire. “Here.”
“Thank you.” He took it, and she was careful to make sure her hands did not touch his as she passed it to him.
When he opened the door, snow billowed into the shieling, soaking the floor inside the door as it melted.
The door closed behind him and she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
Their entire conversation had made her tense.
But then the door swung open again and Arne handed her the cauldron full of snow.
“It is a near white-out now. And the wind is getting up. It was too far to go all the way to the stream when the snow will melt, anyway. I think we will be here today, and perhaps tomorrow.”
She peered into the cauldron and then back up at him. “Even I can tell this will melt into nothing in no time.”
“Then pass me the bucket.”
She hung the cauldron on its hook over the fire and passed him the wooden bucket. For the next few minutes he went in and out, passing her the bucket to allow her to empty the snow into the cauldron.
“That’s enough, I think,” she said when it was nearly full. “You can wash properly in this.” He began to undress and she kept her eyes on the water as it heated. She heard his kirtle land on the floor.
“These will need to be washed as well,” he said, indicating the discarded kirtle and the shirt he still wore. He untied it and pulled it from his breeks and she froze, wondering whether he was going to take it off. He didn’t.
“I… I will do that once you are clean,” she stuttered. After he had chopped wood and hunted for the deer, it was the least she could do.
“Thank you. Is there a cloth?”
She hurried to the shelves where she had found all the necessities left neatly stocked for the following year.
She found a washcloth and a larger one for drying, then turned to pass them to him.
He dropped the washcloth into the basin and swirled it around in the warm water, before lifting it out and wringing most of the water from it.
Then he took a sliver of soap from a small pouch hanging from his belt and moved it over the washcloth until it lathered.