She hadn’t come up with any solutions by the time there was another soft knock on the door. Ylva relaxed her stance and answered it. Arne stood framed in the doorway, his expression serious.
“You should return to Aoife,” Arne said to Ylva.
“Gemma—” Ylva began.
“Thank you, Ylva,” Gemma interrupted. She wanted Ylva as far away from her as possible to keep her safe. “Please send Aoife my good wishes. And my apologies.”
Ylva looked from Arne to Gemma and back, then nodded. “Very well,” she agreed, her mouth tight. “I’m sure Aoife will be pleased to see you as soon as you are allowed to visit. She knows it is not your fault. We all know this is not your fault.” She left the room.
Gemma smiled and closed the door softly behind her. Except it was her fault. And it was not only Arne who blamed her. The tension in the settlement was not due just to the arrival of a fewfishermen caught in a storm, but because of her presence. Another knock sounded at the door.
“What is it?” she called through the wood.
“Bar the door, Gemma. You will be safer,” came Arne’s voice.
“I will,” she promised. She frowned, noting the turn of phrase.“You will be safer,”Arne had said. Not the settlement. Her. She shook her head. That was not what he had meant. He cared only for his own people and the settlement. It was the one thing she was sure of. He didn’t care for her. No one cared for her. She slid the bar into place across the door and heard his footsteps return up the passageway as soon as it was done. She couldn’t tell whether he had gone back into the hall or not, so she would need to be as quiet as possible.
Gemma set to work quickly and quietly, preparing to leave. From under her bed, she retrieved the leather bag she had brought with her from Alt Clut and packed warm clothing for herself and Caelin, a blanket each, and her most valuable items to sell or barter. She picked out a brooch that Ragna had admired often and set it aside to leave in the storeroom in exchange for some food.
Once finished, she hid her bag under the bed. Finally, she settled down to sleep, praying she would wake early enough to be gone before the settlement awakened.
Chapter Five
Arne did not knowhow Björn put up with his wife. Ylva was currently standing in front of him, glaring. Her attitude made him want to apologise not only to her, but to Gemma as well. Except he had done nothing wrong. His only concern was the safety of Kirkjaster.
“Why do you distrust her so much? What has she done that you are so suspicious?” Ylva demanded, her voice low so Gemma would not hear.
“Do you trust her?” Arne asked.
Ylva folded her arms on top of her rounded belly and rolled her eyes. “Yes. She is a woman, alone with her son. You should be protecting her.”
“I am. But my priority is to protect Kirkjaster and all those within it. Including you.”
Ylva sighed and shook her head. “You are not seeing the woman who is in front of you now, Arne. Stop treating Gemma as if she were Ingrid. She is not trying to ingratiate herself with the jarl while having another lover.”
Arne tensed and glared back. How dare she? She had no idea. Or did she? He had always wondered if Ylva had known… no, if she had, she would have told Björn, if not Tormod. He was sure Ingrid had taken the knowledge of what had happened before her marriage to her grave. And given Tormod blamed Ingrid’s mysterylover for the attack on their village in the Norselands all those years ago, Arne had never been able to tell him the truth.
“Gemma has asked for nothing from us except to remain here in safety,” Ylva continued. “These actions are making you look like a fool.”
Before he figured out a response, Ylva swept back along the passageway to Aoife’s room. Following her to set her straight would leave Gemma unguarded, so he was stuck here. Ulf had gone to his bed long before, as confident as Ylva that Gemma would not endanger the settlement by speaking to the fishermen. Arne would take no such risk.
He remained where he was, not even fetching a chair to sit on so as not to fall asleep. That moment earlier, when one of the fishermen had stumbled drunkenly through the door, had put him on high alert. Until then, he had been merely suspicious. Now, he was convinced they knew something and were here looking for Gemma. After their earlier conversations, it was clear Tormod and Ulf disagreed. The fishermen had been in far too much danger out on the firth, Tormod had pointed out. No one would risk their own lives so foolishly just to find a missing woman and her child.
Gemma was not just any woman, however. She was the Britons’ princess, a possible queen or mother of kings, if the current circumstances changed. And Caelin was second in line to the throne.
He thought back to the conversations the men had had with Tormod. The fishermen had clearly been resentful of Fergus’s management of their lands. They wanted Caelin to return and at least give them hope for the future. For the first two years after her husband’s death, and under Lord Marcant’s stewardship, it had essentially been Gemma who had taken care of the Ir Ysgyn lands with only a little help from Lord Marcant. He was relieved her association with the man was minimal, but his opinion of Marcant had lowered further. Marcant had been content to expect crops and soldiers from Ir Ysgyn, along with the usual taxes, whileexpecting Gemma to be the one to oversee those lands. It didn’t surprise Arne that she was capable of doing so, though.
As the ale and mead had flowed more freely, a deeper resentment had become apparent. The Britons seemed to know that Björn and Ylva, disguised as traders, had spirited Gemma away from Alt Clut despite the lack of evidence. Rhun had been the one to send them away from Ir Ysgyn in the first place, forcing them to journey to Car Luel with Marcant’s disgraced wife and daughters, but the Britons seemed to be conveniently ignoring this. They were also ignoring the fact it was Marcant who had captured Gemma and Caelin and held them captive at Alt Clut over the summer. No, the Britons’ narrative blamed the foreign Norsemen for all their woes.
Arne had been unable to listen to any more of the snide comments from the men they had rescued only a few hours earlier. The Norsemen were again being blamed for internal struggles amongst the Britons, and Arne was coming to resent it more and more. Over the past year, Lord Marcant had left stolen Norse weapons at the scenes of atrocities and while many Britons knew Marcant had intended to falsely blame the Norse for these attacks, it was clear enough doubt existed that the stories weren’t fading. Strangely, Gemma did not seem to resent the Norsemen, despite having more cause to than any of these men. But then, as a princess, she had a different perspective on the events from those who lived their lives with day-to-day survival as their primary concern.
When all noise from the hall finally quieted, Arne opened the door. The fishermen were sound asleep in the centre of the hall near the fire, on makeshift beds, while their own unmarried warriors slept in their usual places around the sides of the hall. He grabbed some blankets and settled down to sleep in the passageway outside Gemma’s room, where he would be sure to awaken if anyone tried to go through. Rhiannon, Elisedd and Einar would besafe in their house tonight. It was more important that he remain here, where anyone trying to go either in or out of Gemma’s room would be sure to disturb him.
Arne’s sleep was broken, his dreams filled with nightmare visions of blood flowing and filling his eyes, draining slowly from his body to coat the floor all around him. He also dreamed of pain. Pain everywhere. Pain with every single, tiny movement. A scream woke him and he leapt to his feet, his breath coming in short, desperate pants — partly because of his dreams and partly because of the scream. He tried to push open Gemma’s door, but it was still barred.
“Gemma?” he called, knocking.
“What is it?” she answered, just as Tormod threw open the door to his room and stepped out, his face panicked.
