Chapter Twenty-Five
Despite the odd atmosphere in Dol Mawr, Merfyn had welcomed Arne into his home.
“When I was told there was a Norse ship on the shore, I had hoped it would be your brother. Is he well?” Merfyn said.
“He has recovered as well as can be expected. Thanks in no small part to you.”
Merfyn had fought alongside Bjorn a few months before, at the battle where his brother had almost been killed.
Merfyn, alongside Qasim and Stigr, had stood over him and fought off Marcant’s mercenaries, then tended to Bjorn, saving his life.
Arne would be forever grateful to the villagers here, but especially to Merfyn and his wife, Eirlys, who was currently beside the fire, fixing him a plateful of food.
“I am glad to hear it. And Ylva? Has she had her child yet?”
“Not yet. A fact which she reminds us of often.”
Eirlys laughed as she handed him a plateful of stew and patted her own rounded stomach.
“I know just how she feels, but tell her it will not last forever. And then she may wish for those quieter days.” Another child, who looked to be about a year old, sat blinking up at him from a seat next to his mother’s, his face covered in food.
Arne nodded, wishing he had been able to spend more time with Einar as he’d grown up, but so many things had prevented it. He had made those choices; he had no right to have regrets.
“Come and sit.” Eirlys gestured to a seat next to the fire beside her and he sat. She was not nearly as far along as Ylva. “Ylva will be a better mother than she expects.”
Arne blinked, then realised he agreed with her. Ylva would be far from conventional, but she knew how to love. “I think you’re right. And I hope she realises what a precious gift she has been given.”
“I’m sure she will. Do you have children of your own?”
Arne stared into the fire, then lifted his head to look directly at her. “Yes. A son. Although I have a lot to make up for when it comes to raising him.” A surge of emotion welled up inside him when he acknowledged his son aloud, quickly followed by regret that he had not done so sooner.
“You and his mother are not together?”
“She is dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” Arne said. “It is thanks to her I have these scars.”
Eirlys looked horrified, and Merfyn cleared his throat. “I am sure Arne has not come all this way to discuss his domestic situation. So, Arne, why have you come? You said you had been to Perthawc.”
“I was returning the missing princess.”
Merfyn and Eirlys exchanged a look. Did they think they had held her captive? Or hurt her in some way? Ironic when she had been more concerned about her own people harming her than his.
“Princess Maithgemm has been with you?” Merfyn asked.
“She was sent to us by Lord Cenydd,” Arne said.
Eirlys’s shoulders relaxed and she handed Arne a mug of ale but Merfyn was still frowning.
“I see. And did she wish to return to her brother in Perthawc, or were you in search of the reward?”
Arne laughed then took a swig of ale. “I can assure you, if she had refused to return to her brother, then we would not have done so, but—”
“But?”
“But I was not going to turn down Rhun’s offered reward. We did go to some effort to return her and her son safely.”
“So, Lord Caelin is still with her?” Eirlys asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. We were worried about the boy. Marcant… well, there are so many rumours that he planned to put Caelin on the throne.”
“This is well known?”
Merfyn and Eirlys nodded.
“Rumours,” Merfyn clarified.
“Do you think Caelin will be safe with his uncle?” Arne asked, still wishing he had not had to leave without having any way of guaranteeing their safety.
Merfyn was silent. “I don’t know. Rhun may seek to ensure Caelin can never become king. Especially now Marcant is back.”
“But if Rhun thinks Marcant is now loyal to him, then Caelin is less of a risk,” Eirlys assured him.
Arne clenched his fists. He had looked for any sign it was likely while he had stood in the hall with Rhun and Marcant.
Surely he wouldn’t murder a child, let alone his nephew?
Eochaid was only a young man and had no heirs yet.
Murdering Caelin before Eochaid’s line of succession was more established would be foolish, wouldn’t it?
Was a nephew not better than the line passing to another family?
He slumped back in his seat and drank some mead.
After a moment, he looked into the mug and swirled the last of the liquid before tipping that down his throat, too.
Then he put the mug down and looked up. “I need to go back. To return to Perthawc and ensure she is indeed as safe as Rhun promised me she would be.”
“It is late.”
“I need to know she and Caelin are safe.”
Merfyn hesitated for a moment then nodded his agreement. “I’ll have a horse saddled for you.”
“Finish eating,” Eirlys said when Arne made to follow Merfyn. “Then we will send you on your way.” So he sat back down and finished his food, although he chewed quickly and barely tasted it. All he could think of was Gemma and what might go wrong as long as she was under her brother’s roof.
When Merfyn came back in as he finished the last few mouthfuls of the stew, Arne looked up at him.
“Riders approach,” Merfyn said, pulling at the ties on his shirt.
“Who?”
“I’ve never lied to any of you Norsemen,” Merfyn began. “I am an honest man, but—”
“Who?”
Merfyn held open the door and Arne crossed to it and looked out.
In the streets of the village, Arne saw armed men.
Some soldiers, some mercenaries, others simply armed villagers.
His heart began to beat faster and he looked at Merfyn.
“Who are they?” Arne asked. The soldiers remained in position, watching him but making no threatening moves.
Had he walked into a trap? He stopped himself from grabbing the village headman and forcing an answer from him. “Merfyn?”
“Lord Cenydd’s men.”
“Cenydd has built an army?” The thought was both a relief and a worry. The relief that these were not Rhun’s soldiers was great but until he knew what Cenydd’s plans were, he remained concerned about the presence of so many armed men.
“Yes, but not to fight you,” Merfyn assured him.
Arne assumed he meant the Norsemen. He shouldn’t have been surprised Cenydd had chosen this tactic.
Cenydd’s predecessor had been brutally murdered by a fellow Briton, but he was young, and Arne had believed he would aim for diplomacy before might. “Come.”
Arne followed Merfyn out of the house, past the waiting soldiers, towards the gates. Seeing soldiers who must surely number in the hundreds, he accepted his assumptions about Cenydd’s tactics had been entirely wrong. The young lord was ready for battle.
He caught the eye of one of the soldiers, who nodded at him.
Arne recognised him as one of the Britons left behind at Car Cadell after Cadell’s murder.
A man he and his brothers had trained. He noted the man’s shorter sword and the axe hanging on his belt and smiled.
This Briton at least appreciated the skills the Norse had brought to these lands.
The question now was, would they live to regret trusting and training them?
Merfyn stopped and signalled to a guard in a watchtower, and the gates swung slowly open. Moments later, several riders cantered through the gates and drew their mounts to a halt.
“Close the gates! We were followed from Perthawc. Be ready to deal with anyone who attempts to enter Dol Mawr.”
Arne recognised the voice as Anwyl’s and watched as soldiers ran to close and guard the gates while most of the riders dismounted.
“Arne!” Caelin’s shout drew his attention to where the boy was seated in front of Anwyl.
Caelin was still carrying the basket with the cubs in it, and if Caelin was here then…
He looked up at the other mounted rider, cloaked in a garment far too large for their frame, but as the rider pulled the hood back he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Gemma.
“Gemma!” Arne took a step towards her, but Lord Cenydd stepped in front of him and halted him with a hand on his chest. Arne stared down at it, knowing that to risk antagonising Cenydd and his men, outnumbered as he was, would be foolish.
It might also endanger Gemma and Caelin.
So he stopped but refused to step back, observing Gemma carefully to ensure she was unharmed. She stared at him, unsmiling.
“Lord Cenydd,” Merfyn said, bowing.
“Merfyn, are all our preparations in place?” Cenydd demanded.
“Yes, my lord.”
Then Cenydd turned to Gemma. “Well, Princess Maithgemm, it seems you were wrong.”
Unsure what exactly was going on, Arne tensed as the younger man helped Gemma to dismount, then set her down beside him. His relief at knowing she was safely out of Perthawc was tempered by his curiosity about why she was here with Cenydd. Cenydd’s attitude towards her seemed almost possessive.
Arne took a step towards them, but this time Merfyn stopped him.
“Wrong?” Arne asked, his gaze not leaving Gemma’s face. She kept her eyes on Cenydd. Why wouldn’t she look at him? Yes, they had parted badly, but surely whatever had happened—
“Gemma assured me you no longer cared about her,” Cenydd’s words interrupted his thoughts. “She believes you’re more interested in gold than in her. I’m sure it is the only reason she agreed to marry me.”
All the air seemed to leave Arne’s lungs. He shook off Merfyn’s hand and took a step forward, gripping the hilt of his sword. “What?”
Gemma swallowed but said nothing, although her eyes flickered towards him.
Arne looked at Cenydd, suddenly wondering if he had misjudged the man and he was no friend of theirs.
Although Cenydd was not being unreasonable.
Arne had turned his back on Gemma, made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with her.
He knew it was likely she would remarry eventually. He just hadn’t expected… this.
“You are going to marry Lord Cenydd? That is why you’ve left your brother? But—”