Chapter Eleven #2
“Please, Arne. I need to help them. I will let them go when they are bigger. Please.”
“Caelin, we cannot be sure that we will survive ourselves even without cubs to care for.”
“Then helping is the right thing to do. Why should we expect to survive when we deny another that right?”
Arne was proud of the way the little boy stood up straight, his arms pressed against his sides, determination on his face. “I’m not going without them. I can’t think of them here, getting colder and colder until… Please, Arne…”
One of the cubs squirmed, sensing now that something was wrong. It lifted its little head, then flopped back down and nuzzled closer to the other cub. Then it lifted its head again and sniffed the air. Shivering as it caught their scent, perhaps.
Caelin was right. If the wolves did not survive, if they couldn’t help them, it would be sad, but the guilt he would feel if he deliberately left them out here knowing they would die was worse. And he doubted Caelin would ever forget or forgive him.
“All right, then. But you must remember these are wild creatures, not pets. They cannot stay with you forever.” Arne reached out and carefully picked them up when Caelin nodded.
The one which was more awake tried unsuccessfully to gnaw on his gloves and he smiled at the sight.
Arne stood, the cubs held securely against his chest. With his other hand, he wrapped his cloak around him, then gripped Caelin’s hand tightly.
“Come, we must go back to your mother. Quickly, and there must be no more running off. Your mother was distraught. And those men earlier… They may still be around.”
Caelin nodded solemnly and glanced back at the dead mother wolf. Then he wiped his hand across his eyes and they made their way slowly back through the swirling snow to the shieling.
Arne was used to travelling alongside groups of other warriors, and sometimes even families, but in this moment, the weight of responsibility was heavy.
Tormod acknowledged Einar as his, and so the responsibility for his own son had never sat fully on Arne’s shoulders.
And his foster son, Elisedd, had a loving mother in Rhiannon.
Both would be cared for in Kirkjaster while he was gone.
But up here on the moors it was entirely up to him to keep Gemma, Caelin and now two tiny cubs alive.
At least he was sure Gemma had not sent Caelin out to meet any of her kin.
He shook his head. How could he have thought such a thing?
Perhaps, after all, he could trust her. At least for a few days.
Then, just as he had allowed to happen before with Einar, he would simply say nothing of his feelings and let Tormod decide their future once they were back in Kirkjaster.
He tried not to admit this was the coward’s way out.
Caelin tripped and only Arne’s firm grip on his hand stopped him from falling. Arne was impressed that he kept going once he had righted himself, but the fourth time he tripped, Arne knelt beside him. “Do you want me to carry you?”
Caelin looked away, clearly considering it. Then he peered inside Arne’s cloak. “Are the cubs still alive?”
Arne moved his cloak aside and checked the cubs. Caelin hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward too. They watched the small bodies rising and falling with every breath. “They are.”
Caelin nodded, then reached out and stroked the back of one of the cubs.
“I can carry you, too.”
“No. They need you more than I do.”
“Caelin, I can carry you all,” Arne said softly, admiring the boy’s selflessness.
“I will walk.” Caelin waited while Arne stood and readjusted his cloak.
“Then walk in my footsteps. It will be easier.” He continued on, frequently checking to ensure the boy was still behind him.
Caelin’s nose was tipped with blue, although his cheeks were pink.
They walked in silence, one foot in front of the other.
Their earlier tracks to the shieling were growing fainter and fainter and the snow deeper and deeper, but just as the trail ended Arne spotted a shadow not too distant and smelled the wood smoke from the fire.
“Nearly there,” he said. “Just a few more steps.”
He knocked, then called, “It’s Arne.”
“Did you—”
He lifted the wooden beam and opened the door, then pushed Caelin forward as Gemma hurried over, reaching for him.
Arne stepped inside, closed the door and locked it. Gemma was hugging and kissing Caelin while at the same time scolding him — all in Brythonic.
“Caelin! What were you thinking, running off like that? Don’t ever do that again. You could have been killed or captured or frozen to death.” Each phrase was punctuated with a kiss on his head.
“I told you. You wouldn’t listen. I heard them calling and I didn’t want them to die. They were getting cold, Mama, just like Papa and my sister.”
Gemma stilled, and he heard her draw in a shuddering breath before she lay her cheek against the top of his head.
His chest felt tight. Her husband had died at Alt Clut, had he not?
Had she lost a child there, too? She loved Caelin wholeheartedly.
Had the Norse siege taken another child from her?
He swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“We should get you out of these clothes and beside the fire.”
“I am not so cold, Mama. Arne walks fast. We need to help them first.”
“Who? What is he talking about? Who was out there?” Gemma looked at him in confusion.
Arne moved over to the fire and carefully pulled the tiny wolf cubs from inside his cloak.
“Mama, puppies!”
“Puppies?” She met Arne’s gaze.
He shook his head. “Wolf cubs. Their mother was dead. We brought the cubs in the hope of saving them.”
“I heard them calling, Mama. I had to go into the woods to get them. I’m sorry.”
“Caelin, you must promise me never to do anything like this again.”
“I promise, Mama. Can we make a bed for them?” Caelin said, now evading his mother’s attempts to hold on to him.
Arne waited until Caelin had sat down next to the fire then handed him one of the cubs.
He carefully checked the remaining one over, then swapped with Caelin, noting how gentle the boy was with the tiny creatures.
The cubs responded well to him, butting their heads against him and trying to nestle into his touch.
Arne smiled at the expression of delight on Caelin’s face.
Gemma came and stood at his shoulder, and Arne sensed her tension.
“We can’t keep them. What happens when they grow into wolves?” Her voice was tinged with hysteria.
“We can worry about that later.”
“But—”
“Their mother is dead,” Caelin said, his voice breaking. “Someone has to take care of them.”
“There will be no danger to Caelin,” Arne said. “I promise you.”
Gemma nodded, then sighed and sank down beside her son. “We will do our best with them for now, Caelin. I know you will give them the best chance of surviving.”
“I don’t want to lose someone else,” Caelin said, a single tear making its way down his cheek.
Arne noticed the sadness on Gemma’s face as well. Was she thinking of her husband and daughter? He felt an impulse to comfort her, but didn’t know what to do or say which would help.
Instead, he took the second cub from Caelin and cradled them both in his hands while Gemma hugged her son, murmuring to him softly. Then she wiped his face and held his chin with her fingers.
“Find a basket to put them in. We’ll give them blankets and put them next to the fire.” Her tone was brisk, practical and was enough to both reassure the boy and spur him into action.
Caelin pushed himself up and set about searching the shieling.
Gemma turned her attention to Arne and said quietly, “What if they die now? He will be devastated.” Gemma glanced at Caelin, wringing her hands in her lap.
Arne moved the cubs into the crook of one arm, then sat down beside her and gripped her hands with one of his to still them.
“They may well die,” he said softly, “and there is nothing we can do about that. All we can do is feed them and keep them warm but…” He frowned at her when she opened her mouth to speak, relieved when she closed it again.
“At least this way they have a chance. And Caelin will know he did his best. In the end, it is all any of us can do. If we had left them out there, they would certainly have died and he would have been just as distraught as you fear he might become.”
She bowed her head, and he wondered what she was thinking. “As would Caelin and I,” she said eventually, lifting her head. “We owe you our lives.”
He searched her face for any sign of deceit. But she seemed sincere. More worryingly she sounded… defeated.
“One day, I hope to be able to thank you and your brothers. Bjorn saved us before, and Ylva. Tormod let us stay in Kirkjaster and asked few questions or expected much of us.” She looked at him, and twisted her hands around to hold his.
“But if you had not followed us yesterday, that would have been Caelin and I freezing to death in the woods.”
He pulled his hand back as if she’d burned him. She frowned, as if confused by his actions, and reached for him again.
“Don’t,” he said gruffly. What was she doing? Was she offering herself to him? Did she think to repay him by taking him to her bed? He had a sudden memory of Ingrid’s face, her expression as she encouraged the others to hurt him. He tried and failed to stop a shudder running through him.
Gemma stopped and drew her hand back, blushing and shaking her head. She lowered her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean…. Tell me what you want from me.”
“Nothing. I want nothing from you except for you not to be a threat to the lives of those I care for.”
A silence followed, broken only by the sounds of Caelin searching.
“You are willing to keep the wolves,” she said, finally.
He peered down at the cubs. One day, when they were grown, the wolves might indeed turn on them, but he knew he would see the signs long before it became a danger.
Most likely, they would leave of their own accord once able to fend for themselves.
He looked back at her. She was a woman, one used to a certain status and level of power, but a woman nonetheless.
Alone and with her son, she was vulnerable.
She was placing a great deal of trust in him.
He should deal with the situation as he found it and stop seeing her as being like Ingrid.
His past was not Gemma’s fault. A day or two and he would have her safely back at Kirkjaster.
He must make her see that it was the best course of action.
Tormod would make arrangements. For everyone’s sake.
He met her worried gaze and opened his mouth to speak, but Caelin thrust a basket between them.
“I have found a basket. It might be the one the shepherds use for their bread.”
“It may well be,” said Arne, grateful for the distraction.
“And this is the smallest blanket I can find.”
“Well done,” Gemma said. She stood up and took the two items from Caelin, then set about making a bed for the cubs.
He watched her, noting that although she may not be used to manual work such as most women were, like cooking and scrubbing, the care with which she smoothed the blanket into the basket was obvious.
When she had finished, he placed the cubs inside, seeing her smile as she covered them and tucked the blankets around them.
He didn’t miss her rubbing each tiny head, nor the tender joy on her face in response to the little noises the cubs made.
Princess or not, she was a loving mother—there was no doubt about it.
He could almost believe now that her entire reason for having left Kirkjaster so abruptly was to ensure her son’s safety.
But… and it was a major but… he still wasn’t sure who she would be willing to sacrifice to ensure Caelin’s safety if she was forced to. Him? Kirkjaster? Herself?
Gemma placed the basket close to the fire and ruffled her son’s hair as he sat down to watch the cubs sleep.
She must have sensed him staring at her because she turned.
She was nervous, and he almost regretted that he was the cause of her nervousness.
He shivered, thinking how it would feel if she were to care for him the way she had cared for the cubs.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do to thank you and everything I try to do is wrong and makes you hate me more.” She lowered her gaze.
“The only things you need to do are obey my instructions to keep us all safe and get us safely back to Kirkjaster.”
She looked up at him and nodded. “And if something happens when we go back… will you blame me for that?”
“No.”
“Then I will do as you say. And return with you.”
He hoped she wasn’t lying. But he didn’t know whether she was more dangerous to him if she was, or if she wasn’t.