Chapter Twenty-Three #3
Rhun gestured to one of the guards, who approached them, and they stood watching as the guard counted the reward out coin by coin, placed it in a poke and handed it to them.
Arne hefted it, tied it on his belt, then nodded first at the guard then to the king.
He knew Gemma was watching him. Knew he should have let Ulf accept the reward and distanced himself from it, but he hadn’t.
He looked at her and raised the poke. Only yesterday, the devastation on her face would have made him take her in his arms and comfort her, but now he was its cause.
But this was for the best. For Gemma and Caelin at least.
“We will send word to your jarl,” Marcant said. “Everything will be different now. Our alliance must be renegotiated.”
Walking out of the great hall was one of the hardest things Arne had ever done. When Caelin had called out to him, he had almost got down on his knees and begged Gemma not to stay. Instead, he was leaving, the weight of the gold as heavy as the guilt that lay on his shoulders.
When they reached the dock, Arne looked back up at the royal residence, wondering whether Rhun would keep his word.
Ulf had said nothing as they left the hall, but he sensed his brother’s eagerness to talk.
“What? Arne demanded.
“Are you sure you have done the right thing?”
“For Gemma and Caelin? Yes.”
“And for yourself?”
“No.”
Ulf placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. They boarded the longship and the other warriors set their oars in place and rowed out to where they would set the sail.
“I do not know if I can face her,” Ulf said, breaking the silence that had descended.
“Who?”
“Rhiannon.”
“Because of Marcant?” Arne asked.
“I don’t understand why more of the nobles have not challenged Rhun for pardoning Marcant. The man deserves to pay for what he did.” Ulf frowned and clenched his fists. “The only thing that saved Marcant just now is that Rhiannon has never told me what happened.”
“Never?” Arne was surprised. Ulf had been the one to carry Rhiannon out of Marcant’s dungeons, so Arne had assumed he knew what had happened there. Ulf had rarely shown such a constant interest in any woman.
“No. And if she does not wish to relive it, then I will not make her.”
“She needs someone like you to protect her. She is a good woman, a good mother. I fear the settlement grows more and more precarious every day. And I believe the longer we stay somewhere, the safer it should feel.”
“You are going soft, Arne. You sound like an old man, long resigned to die in his bed.”
“Well then, you don’t have to worry about me just now. I am unlikely to find a bed comfortable enough to sleep in on this ship, never mind die in my sleep.”
Ulf laughed, and Arne realised how rare the sound of his younger brother’s laughter had become in the time they had lived here in Strath Clut.
“I should have killed him. How can King Rhun accept a man such as that?”
“Rhun is barely clinging on to his own power. He must surround himself with powerful men, men he can control. And who is easier to control than a man whom you hold the power of life and death over?”
“Perhaps. But do men such as that really owe you any loyalty?”
“No. And that may be Marcant’s downfall. Do you think he will harm Caelin?”
Ulf looked downriver. “I hope not,” he said softly.
Arne took a deep breath, trying to control the worry.
Should he be leaving them? His gut said no.
But Gemma had wanted him to leave her, hadn’t she?
She had done everything in her power to turn him against her, almost as if…
Arne swore under his breath. None of it had been real.
She was doing it all on purpose. But why?
To protect him? But why would she… and then he realised.
Gemma believed Caelin would be safe; she would do everything in her power to keep Caelin safe herself.
But Arne… she wasn’t sure she could keep him safe, and so she had pushed him away so he did not end up dead because of her.
And the only reason she would have done so was if she loved him. He swallowed.
Ulf was quiet, respecting his silence until they rounded a bend in the river and Perthawc was out of sight.
“I… I don’t think she has just gone back to claim Caelin’s birthright,” Ulf said as Alt Clut came into view far ahead of them.
“Why else would she have gone back?”
Ulf rubbed the back of his neck and sucked air through his teeth. “This time it might have been me who said—”
“What did you say?”
Ulf looked south to where they were passing the lands of Ir Ysgyn.
“Ulf?” Arne warned.
“I may have said that if she stayed it would put your life in danger.”
“What!”
“It’s true. If King Rhun discovers—”
Arne covered his brother’s mouth with his hand and hissed at him to be quiet.
“If the king finds out what happened in the shieling, he could demand that you are executed,” Ulf whispered. “And worse, he could insist Tormod carries out the sentence. I don’t want you dead because of a woman. And I don’t want Tormod to have to live with that either.”
Arne took a deep breath. If he told Ulf the truth now about Ingrid, he might not be so reluctant to see him dead.
Ulf was not likely to understand why Arne had never admitted the truth.
How could he, when Arne was not sure himself?
Would the knowledge that he had been Ingrid’s lover before Tormod, that he was Einar’s father, destroy the bond the Brothers of Thunder shared forever?
Tormod had been so convinced he was to blame for the attack on their village in the Norselands, for Arne’s own injuries, but knowing that Tormod had already lost some of his status because of Ingrid’s actions, Arne had not wanted to make the situation worse by proving Tormod wrong.
Or had he simply chosen to not have to face his cousin’s wrath?
No matter which was true, he could no longer hide from the truth and face a more uncertain future.
A future starting with him getting Gemma back with him, where she belonged.
“Sail to shore at Dol Mawr,” Arne ordered the warrior holding the steering board. “I am going to go back.”
“Then we will come with you,” Ulf replied.
“No. Go to Kirkjaster and speak to Tormod. Tell him about Marcant. I will go to Merfyn and get a horse.” Merfyn was the headman of the village who had fought alongside Bjorn last winter when Gemma had first been rescued.
The village lay at the eastern edge of Cenydd’s lands and within a short ride of Perthawc.
Ulf stared upriver, then slowly turned to look at Arne again. “Very well, but you should not go alone.”
“I’m not planning to confront them. If I go alone, I can hide more easily. Make sure Gemma and Caelin are truly safe. I will wait for Cenydd to leave and speak with him. Or perhaps watch for them leaving for Ir Ysgyn. If they do.”
“You don’t think they will?”
Arne sighed. “I thought she truly wanted to go back. When she came out of the shieling dressed in her own clothes…” He turned to his brother. “But with Marcant there... Despite what King Rhun has promised, I am concerned for her safety.”
“Let me come with you. I do not wish to be sailing down here again in a repeat of last winter.” Ulf shuddered. “Bjorn barely survived. And you have already used up your luck when it comes to surviving injuries. It is not a risk I wish to take, possibly losing a brother here.”
“You will not lose me.” Arne laid a hand on Ulf’s shoulder and smiled. “Lord Cenydd is there. Although if Marcant has been pardoned, then either Lord Cenydd is out of favour, or Rhun will be expecting him to retaliate. Either way he may not be the safest ally.”
“Is she worth it?” Ulf asked.
“Yes. She is. And I should not have let her go.”
“If she is in danger, rescue her. Bring her back to Kirkjaster and we will decide as the Brothers of Thunder what to do. You should not have to face this alone.”
“Thank you.” Arne turned to look at the village as they approached. He gripped Ulf’s arm. “If anything should happen to me… look after Elisedd and Einar. And Rhiannon.”
“I will,” said Ulf. “Although Rhiannon is not yours to protect.”
Arne tried to steel himself for what he was about to say, as well as his brother’s reaction to it. He tightened his grip on Ulf’s arm. “And tell Einar… tell Einar never to doubt that his father loves him.”
Ulf looked down at where Arne was holding his arm, then back up at him, his forehead creased in a frown. “But Tormod— What? Arne… you were… that was why Ingrid…”
But the longship had now reached the shore and was scraping on the shingle. Arne strode to the prow, ready to climb onto the beach. He looked back at his brother who was staring at him open-mouthed.
“Should I tell Tormod?” Ulf called to him.
“Only if I don’t return,” Arne shouted back. “Otherwise I will tell him myself.”
“Very well,” Ulf agreed as Arne pushed the longship back out onto the water, then watched from the shore as it sailed onwards without him.
Ulf looked back once and shook his head, then turned away.
Arne gazed beyond the longship down the black river to the endless darkness of the ocean beyond.
It was rare to see the Northern Lights from this place, and only a crescent moon lit the night, but he prayed he would live to see them again.
And perhaps if he and Gemma made it together to the new lands of Thule in the north, then they would.
As Arne approached the gates of Dol Mawr, he called out to the guards. “I am Arne Olafsson, brother of Bjorn Olafsson, cousin to Jarl Tormod of Kirkjaster. I request an audience with Merfyn Ap Rhys, leader of this village.”
One of the guards opened the gates to let him in, then escorted him to Merfyn’s home. There were a few villagers around, standing talking or finishing off the day’s tasks. All of them glanced over, but as soon as they noticed him looking at them, they returned immediately to their activities.
It shouldn’t have seemed suspicious, and yet it was.
They were too quick to dismiss his presence.
It felt almost as if the village was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, but in the meantime pretending as if everything were normal.
Arne tensed as he strode deeper into the too quiet village, hoping he wasn’t walking into a trap.