Chapter Sixteen
Gemma watched Arne as he worked. She’d never doubted his strength, but there was a grace and beauty in his movements few men possessed.
She smiled, remembering how he had touched her, how he kissed, but it was the way he looked at her that had seemed to burn through all of her reservations down to her very core.
Not that she had reservations about making love to him.
No, that was the one thing she was very sure of.
The snow fell faster and faster all around them.
Up here on the moors, they were lost in a world of white.
No sign of the loch or the mountains. Even the nearby forest was invisible.
An occasional bird call sounded from the forest and in the distance, snow slipping from tree branches landed with soft thuds on the ground below.
It was as if they were in their own private world, a world where it didn’t matter who they were and where her son was safe. For now, at least.
She knew Arne was aware of her presence.
He’d noticed her almost as soon as she’d opened the door.
She was surprised he hadn’t sent her back inside immediately — but who would be out in this?
He hadn’t acknowledged her in any way, just continued with his steady rhythm of placing, swinging, and splitting the logs into smaller pieces for the fire.
She took a deep breath of the clean, cold air and sighed.
It was nearly Imbolc. The green shoots of snowdrops would soon be pushing up through the snow, and when the snow cleared, they would bloom prettily.
She fancied she could smell the new world awakening from this cold, hard, dead one. Why could it not be like that for her?
“You shouldn’t be outside.”
“There’s no one here.”
“The shieling will get cold if you leave the door open.”
She pulled the door closed behind her and took a step towards him.
Arne faced her. The axe thudded into the chopping block and he let it go and strode towards her.
She breathed in a shallow breath, held it.
The expression on his face was set and serious, but when their gazes met, she knew he wanted her.
If only they were able to stay here forever, with no one else around to remind them of who they were or to threaten their happiness.
She smiled at him as he approached. Happy—she realised she was actually happy for once—then his lips were on hers and he pressed her back against the door, his body warming her while his kisses aroused her.
“Come into the woodshed.”
She glanced over at it, made a face at how small and dark it was, but he had taken her hand and was towing her towards it.
“Turn around,” he said when she turned to him at the door.
“But—”
“Put your hands on the wall.”
“Why can’t I look—”
“Turn around,” he demanded. It bothered her that he was back to this, not wanting her to see him again, even in the dim light of the woodshed.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Who was she to argue with him?
She should respect his choice, whether she thought it was unnecessary or not, and maybe one day he would trust her enough to not care.
She didn’t want to prevent herself from getting at least part of what she wanted, so she turned and placed her hands on the cold stone of the wall.
He followed close behind her, blocking the doorway of the tiny building.
He lifted her skirts, ran his fingers between her legs, touching her, testing her readiness for him.
She moaned at the feelings he was creating in her and tried to turn towards him.
“No. Keep your eyes forward.”
She sighed, moved her hand to touch his thigh and knew he was opening his breeks. He nudged her legs further apart with his own. She braced her hands on the wall, pushing back as he entered her easily.
“You were ready for me.”
“Yes,” she hissed as he hit a sensitive spot inside her, making her groan with pleasure.
She closed her eyes and let her forehead rest on her hands.
He gripped her hips tightly, and they moved together, faster and faster.
His fingers slid around her hip to touch her and she cried out as she came, her muscles clenching around him.
Arne thrust deep inside her, then she felt him stiffen and his head fell forward against her shoulder.
Neither of them said anything, both trying desperately to catch their breath.
After a moment, he withdrew, and her dress fell back around her ankles, but he continued to press her up against the wall. His breathing was deep, uneven. He shuddered.
“This was a mistake.”
“Arne, no… I thought—"
“What if there is a child?”
She thought for a moment, counting days, relieved it was the possibility of a child, rather than the act itself he considered a mistake.
Last night he had withdrawn from her before he came, but there was still a chance she could get pregnant.
However, the timing meant it should be safe.
“It is unlikely. But if it happens, I will deal with it the way I deal with everything else in my life.”
He turned her around so she was leaning back against the wall and looked at her, frowning. “And how is that?”
“Badly,” she admitted, and laughed. He didn’t.
“It does not look to me like you are doing badly at all.”
He brushed his lips over hers and she shivered. How she wanted to believe him.
She snorted. “Really? I am a princess, and for more than half a year I have been running away with my son from… I am not even sure who from. My brother? Lord Marcant? And we are currently sheltering in a shieling on a bleak moor, with limited stocks of food in the middle of a snowstorm.”
“You are alive. Your son is alive. The venison will last for days. We are together.”
She grabbed his arm when he stepped outside the woodshed and started towards the shieling door. The snow had stopped and for now the woods and loch were visible again. “Do you wish we could stay here?”
“In one way, yes.”
They stood together in the open doorway, embracing one another. She placed her head on his chest and allowed herself to relax, to breathe and believe in him.
“Although personally, I would prefer to be somewhere with a few more luxuries,” he said. “And I am sure you are used to higher standards than I am.”
She tightened her arms around him. “None of that matters when you don’t feel safe. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel safe. For saying you would protect me. It says something about my life that I feel safest in the arms of a man who doesn’t trust me and only followed me because he thought I was about to betray him and his kin.”
His arms tightened around her in return, but he said nothing.
Just then, Caelin pulled the door open, and they jerked away from one another.
“Mama?”
“Stay inside, Caelin,” said Gemma, looking around. Caelin’s voice was high-pitched and would carry, especially in the cold air.
“You are supposed to be inside too, Mama.”
“Your mother will stay inside from now on,” said Arne gruffly, as he moved aside to let her pass and go into the shieling.
She tried to tell herself he didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But it still hurt.
They followed Caelin into the shieling and she settled down beside the fire while Arne washed quickly in the basin.
She looked into the basket to see both cubs now with their eyes open and moving about far more than they had last night.
It was funny watching them pushing against each other, climbing half on top of one another, then falling off.
“We need to give them names. What shall we call them?” Caelin picked one up and stroked it.
She admired the way he was so gentle with them.
Most children his age did not know their own strength or when to stop, but Caelin seemed to be remarkably attuned to the tiny creatures and was gentle and caring with them.
“You must think of names for them, Caelin.”
“Arne, help me choose. They’ll need to be Norse names so that I can call for them and anyone who hears will not realise I am not Norse.”
Gemma stilled. To her the future was unclear, and yet it seemed as if Caelin assumed he would remain in the Norse settlement at Kirkjaster, or at least amongst Norse people. Hiding. He probably did not realise what that meant.
“Why don’t you pick two names? One if we live amongst the Britons and one for if we live amongst the Norse?”
“No,” Caelin said. “When we go back to Ir Ysgyn, they should be able to keep their names.”
Gemma frowned at the way he spoke as if he took for granted that he would return home. She glanced at Arne and saw he too was frowning.
“The Britons might resent that,” Arne pointed out.
“I will be their lord,” Caelin stated. They’ll have to like it if I say so.”
“Caelin—” Gemma took a deep breath. She had never really talked about this with Caelin, assuming he was too young to understand.
He really was too young, but it was clear he had picked up bits and pieces of information and made assumptions.
She needed to discuss this with him, and soon. If only she knew what to say.
“Have you asked the cubs what their names are?” Arne asked, breaking the tension.
Gemma laughed, but stopped when she realised he was serious. What sort of nonsense was this? Animals did not know their own names. But Arne was watching Caelin carefully as if expecting him to do… what? Ask them?
Caelin held the cub out in front of him, as if he was choosing a name based on either the cub’s appearance or some deeper connection with it.
“She says her name is Lycka,” he announced.
She glanced at Arne, who frowned at Caelin and asked to hold the cub. Arne checked it carefully and nodded at her.
“Do you know if the other one is a boy or a girl, Caelin?” Arne asked.
“It’s a boy.” Caelin held the second cub in front of him as he had done with the other one. “He says his name is Loki.”