Elisedd refused to meet her gaze after he finished speaking.
“Do you know who did this? Or why?”
Elisedd looked at the ground and said nothing.
Behind her, Tormod scoffed and her stomach felt like it was full of the rocks that lay all along the beach.
“You heard them speak. You came across the sea-loch in a boat with these men. You must know who they are,” Tormod said.
“I heard the men speak, but I was hiding and couldn’t see their faces. They didn’t know I was there.” Elisedd looked at Aoife for support. “My mother told me to come here and warn you, to make sure that you did not get the blame again for something that was not your fault.”
Aoife saw Tormod frown at those words and hurriedly questioned Elisedd about the details before Tormod could ask the boy what he meant.
“I hid under some sails on the deck.”
“That was quite a risk to take,” Tormod said, clearly not believing him.
“They would not use the sails that night. It was too calm. It was one of the reasons they had chosen it, as the wind would not spread the smoke and give you warning of the fire.”
“Who was behind it?” Tormod asked, gently this time.
Elisedd looked up at Aoife and bit his lip. “I don’t know who planned it, but the man in charge of the boat was Rhydderch’s son.”
“Your father’s steward?” Tormod asked.
“Yes,” Aoife said. It didn’t surprise her. Rhydderch had always sided with her stepmother—even over her father. She had often worried about how loyal he was to her father. However, nothing she said had shaken Cadell’s trust in Rhydderch. Aoife had never understood it.
“Rhydderch and Father Bricius do not want the Norsemen here. And there are other men who have visited the fort saying this. They want them to return to their lands in the north,” Elisedd said, although it was clear something more was troubling him. “They hoped that either the burnt crops would force them to leave or that you would be blamed for the fire and sent back to them. So you see, I had to come. I promised my mother I would find you and look after you. It isn’t fair that they blame you. It isn’t fair at all. Just like at Alt Clut.”
“Thank you for telling us this.” Aoife wound her arms around the distraught boy and hugged him. He pushed away from her, obviously embarrassed by his outburst of emotion, and ran a short distance down the beach. She suspected Rhiannon feared for her son’s life now that his father was dead and had thought he stood a better chance with Aoife than by staying at Car Cadell. How bad must the situation be for her to have sent her son to the unknown with no guarantee of safety?
Tormod grasped her arm and turned her to face him. “What is it they blame you for? Is Alt Clut the reason they sent you away?”
She wondered how much of the story should she tell him? What should she keep from him - for her own safety?
“Yes.” She moved to stare across the loch towards her father’s remaining lands. “My stepmother blames me for the attack on Alt Clut.”
After a moment’s silence, Tormod laughed. “She blames you?”
She nodded, frowning. For her, it was no laughing matter. “I… I became unwell at the feast and we had to leave. It was only a few hours before the attack. No one else escaped that night. Because I was ill, the others—both the survivors and the relatives of those who were captured or killed—they blamed me. They said I was cursed.”
“Cursed?” Tormod said. “That sounds to me more like good fortune. Extremely good fortune. If you hadn’t left then, you would have died during the siege or… My countrymen are not known for their delicate handling of prisoners.”
“I’m sure King Artgal would agree,” she said wryly. “If they had heeded my warning, then many more, including King Artgal, might still be alive. Instead, they blame me for the deaths. They think that my illness caused the events to occur.”
“They blame you?” Tormod said. “How can they possibly blame you? Do you know how many months Ivarr and Olaf spent planning the attack? The number of men involved, the ships, the preparations…” He put a hand on each of her arms. “Your former king was foolish and ignored all threats. His army was unprepared, his decisions unwise. Alt Clut was an easy target for those who are not afraid of the sea and her moods. Only the strong survive. Your illness saved your family — it played no part in whether the raid happened or not. They should instead be searching for the Briton who told Ivarr and Olaf about the feast.”
Her understanding of the situation shifted. Was Tormod right? Was none of this her fault, after all? She had warned her stepmother about the attack, nothing else. And if another Briton had been the one to betray them, then she was not to blame at all.
She smiled at Tormod. Her family owed their lives to her, and if Ula chose to consider that a disgrace, then there was nothing Aoife could do about it. She straightened. “You are right. I was not to blame. It was convenient for them to blame me. I don’t know why they attacked you here last night. Other than as revenge. Maybethey oppose the agreement you made with my father. I cannot believe that my father would do this — not when it might endanger me.”
Tormod shrugged. “Perhaps we should pay him a visit and ensure he informs all of his people that if they do not feel bound by it, then neither do I.”
“I do not think that will help.” Aoife panicked at the thought. What would happen to her if, in doing so, Tormod discovered that there was more to her story? That she was truly cursed and had no value to her family. What if he sent her back there?
She wanted more time to prove herself. To make herself part of this community and indispensable to Tormod despite him having made it clear that love was not what he was looking for. Love she could live without—she just wanted a place she could call home. Was that too much to ask?
If the Norsemen knew how much her family feared her, would they accept her more easily, or would it mean she had no value to them? It was hard to know.
