Chapter Eleven
The snow was falling thick and fast, and Caelin’s footprints had already begun to fill as Arne set out after him. He must find the boy. He couldn’t bear the thought of returning to Gemma without him. As he walked, he stepped in Caelin’s footprints as much as he was able, obliterating them.
What had the boy been thinking of? Arne stopped around halfway to the woods and looked back. Already the shieling was merely a shadow in the billowing snow. When Caelin had said he had heard someone, maybe he had.
Or was he being set up? Much as he didn’t want to doubt her, it was so ingrained in him that it was impossible not to.
When Gemma had told the boy to set up the game board, had that been some kind of code telling him to leave?
Did she know there were others waiting for him out here?
Was she letting him follow the boy, knowing there was an ambush waiting for him?
Had her tenderness towards him been simply a distraction?
His stomach knotted. The warmth of her hand on his skin had made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years.
He had not known his body could respond to a woman’s touch like it had done with Gemma.
The more time he spent with her, the more confused he was becoming.
Her concern over his scars had seemed genuine.
And she had only had her hands on his back and his chest. Imagine if she had…
He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the situation.
Surely no one would still be outdoors in the worsening weather, let alone be planning an ambush?
Pressing his lips together, he hurried on, trying to be aware of any signs of an ambush.
The world around him was a mass of revolving white eddies, more like being caught in a maelstrom underwater than travelling on land.
Still, the edge of the woods was not far now, and it would be easier to walk under the shelter of the trees.
His thoughts, however, kept returning to the image of her face when she had seen his body.
Or was he simply a gullible fool? He had thought Ingrid loved him all those years ago, after all.
Then, when she had the chance, she had seduced and married Tormod, the man with better prospects of becoming a jarl.
Not that anyone else knew the reason he had known where she was going to in the woods was because she had met him there first. It had made the sound of her laughter when he was being tortured hurt so much worse, although by then no emotion could have been worse than the physical pain he had been in.
Gemma did not seem capable of such deception, but then he had never suspected Ingrid of it either — at least not at first. Although he had to admit to himself that all Gemma’s responses today suggested nothing more sinister than a woman desperately afraid for her child.
He’d been watching them both for months now.
Caelin had an adventurous spirit, and part of her constant watching was because of that.
He understood her fear, and the helplessness of feeling your own child’s future was out of your hands.
That had eased since last summer, when he had fostered Elisedd and Einar.
It had been a coward’s way of raising his own son, but it was the only way to do so without having to tell Tormod what had really happened before he had married Ingrid.
His cousin was concerned enough about what the people of Kirkjaster thought of him.
This might be enough for Tormod to turn his back on him for good.
And Ulf and Bjorn… they would despise him for keeping such a thing secret.
If he had been able to move on, marry and have a child of his own, things might have been different, but that was unlikely to ever happen.
It had been years since he had been with a woman.
He didn’t even know for sure if he could still perform with someone else, so he preferred to take care of his needs himself without risking the expressions of horror and disgust when women realised his scars covered every part of him except for the one smooth patch on his back. The patch Gemma had touched earlier.
He shivered in remembrance. For a moment, he had thought she would turn away, but she hadn’t. He shouldn’t have taunted her as he had, but the result — her hands on the skin of his chest — meant he didn’t regret it. She had felt the worst of the scarring and she hadn’t flinched.
He sighed. She was a princess. He was scarred, a monster and only the cousin of an invading jarl.
But if he closed his eyes there was a warmth on his chest as if her hand were still there.
He shook his head. These thoughts were foolish.
He was sure Gemma would never have risked Caelin.
There was no way she would have sent him out alone into a winter storm.
The fear on her face had seemed so real.
No woman who looked like her, however, could be interested in a man who looked like him.
A sudden gust blew his cloak open, chilling him. His priority was to find Caelin, and soon. The boy had been outside longer than he had, and with fewer layers of warm clothing.
He reached the tree line after what seemed like an eternity and relaxed a little as he was granted some protection from the wind.
Caelin’s footsteps were clearer here, but not by much, and they would not be there for long.
Even under the tree canopy flakes were falling fast. The ground was soft and spongy from its layer of pine needles, absorbing the sound of his footsteps.
He stopped and listened, but there was no sound other than the wind.
No animals moved, no birds flew up anywhere around him.
Caelin had made no attempt to cover his footprints, making it easy to track him.
If he was truly running away from Arne, then surely his mother would have told him to at least try to make his trail harder to follow.
Although if he was leading him towards an ambush…
He continued on with his hand on his sword.
Arne reached a break in the trees, ducked his head against the wind, and moved forward as fast as he was able. The boy’s footsteps had not been deep to begin with and were now almost covered. Suddenly there were no more footsteps in front of him and no sign of the boy anywhere.
“Caelin! Where are you?” Had the boy been whisked away by some malevolent woodland spirit?
Or was he hiding in the trees? No, above him were nothing but snow-covered branches.
He bent down and examined the last of the footprints, dusting the snow from the surrounding ground.
To his left were some thick holly bushes, growing alongside a protruding rock face.
The leaves just in front of them looked as if they had been disturbed recently.
“Caelin!”
The holly bushes moved and Caelin crawled out, shallow cuts from the sharp leaves on his face.
“Thank the gods,” he said, pulling the boy close.
Caelin returned the gesture, but then pushed away from him. “Arne, quick! We need to help them.”
“It’s not safe, Caelin. You must come back with me now.”
The boy grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the rock face. “We can’t leave them. Please.”
“What? Who?”
“The puppies. Please. They’re in a cave, there behind the bushes. They are still alive, but their mother is cold. I think she is already dead and they won’t survive much longer. We need to take them back to the shieling and warm them at the fire.”
“Puppies? What? Caelin…”
But the boy had pulled the bushes aside and made to crawl back through.
“Wait.” Arne stopped him, and chopped at the bush with his axe, clearing the mouth of a small cave.
He scratched his head. How had Caelin known this was here?
He didn’t think the boy had ever been up here before.
And to not only know there was a small cave, but to know there were puppies inside it?
Except that out here on these moorlands the creatures could not be puppies.
At least it was not an ambush, but this only opened up a whole new set of questions.
Caelin had said he heard them, but that was impossible.
Was this like Aoife’s visions? Arne had been grateful for her warnings in the past, so perhaps it was best to not reject Caelin’s discovery out of hand either.
“Careful,” Caelin said. “Don’t hurt them.”
Caelin pulled the last of the undergrowth aside and Arne peered in.
He tensed when he noticed movement in the den, then sighed and knelt down.
He placed a hand in front of the mother wolf’s mouth but felt no breath.
Carefully, he checked for a pulse, but there wasn’t one.
Then he put a hand on Caelin’s shoulder and together they looked at the two little cubs, curled against their mother’s still body.
Caelin reached towards them but Arne stopped him.
“These are not puppies.”
“But—”
“They are cubs, wolf cubs, and they will grow up wilder than any hound.”
“But they’re so tiny. And they’ll die.” Caelin’s eyes were wide and his expression stricken.
“I’m sorry.”
“But…” Caelin swallowed. A single tear ran down his cheek before he wiped it away violently. “But… but they’re just like me…”
“They’re not. You have your mother back at the shieling and she is very much alive and worried sick about you. We must go back before we get too cold and something bad happens to us, too.”
“Can’t we take them? They are still so little and so warm. I don’t want them to get cold, Arne. Do you know how cold someone is when they are dead?”
Caelin’s face was so pale and sad it nearly broke his heart.
Who had he seen dead? His own father, maybe.
He pulled the boy against his chest and hugged him tight, felt him choke down a sob.
Then Caelin stretched his arms around him as far as he could and squeezed him, before he pulled his head back to look Arne in the eye.