“And what of his birthright?”
She hesitated, but only for an instant. “The chance to live and grow up is all I want for him now. Anything else… His lands, his title—they are not worth dying for.”
“Does Caelin agree?”
She looked over at him. “Even as a child would you not rather have been alive, than be a dead landowner?”
“It was not something I considered.” He smiled at her and she was surprised. Why was he asking then? “Would you sacrifice yourself if it meant his birthright was restored?”
She blinked. She had worried her son would be left an orphan many times, but had never really considered what she was willing to do to ensure his future. “If it was the only way… then yes.” As soon as she said it, she knew it wasn’t so simple. “Maybe… I don’tknow. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else watching him grow but me. I’m his mother and I love him.”
“You are.” He lapsed into silence again and once more she was unsure whether their conversation was at an end and whether she had said the right thing or not. “I will foster him alongside Elisedd and Einar, should anything happen to you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. The sense of relief was more than she had imagined. It seemed somehow insubstantial, but there was little else she could say. “I know you will care for him no matter how you feel about me.”
“And why do you say that?” His voice was cold, despite her having made what she believed was a positive observation, and she was confused about why he was asking. Did he not realise she had witnessed the attention he paid to his foster sons, the way he stood up for them? Even the way he trained and disciplined them every day made it clear that he cared for them as a real father should.
“The… the fact that you care for Einar. Aoife told me Tormod is not Einar’s natural father, even though he and Ingrid were married when he was born. But at first I—”
“What?” Arne asked sharply.
“I just… when I first saw him… I did not realise he wasn’t your son.”
His expression was… she wasn’t sure what it was. She found him hard to read at the best of times, but now… His gaze was unrelenting. She sensed his anger in the way he sat up straighter, the blanket falling around his waist.
“Has someone said something?”
Was there more to the story of Einar’s father than she knew, than even Aoife knew? She pulled her own blanket tighter around her and stared into the flames.
“No. I… I’m sorry… It is nothing. Just the idle chatter of women.” She hated to say those words, didn’t think of herself as someone who engaged in idle chatter, but she didn’t want to anger him.
He said nothing for a while until finally she looked back at him in case he had fallen asleep. She expected him to look angry, but he appeared thoughtful instead.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “We were just…”
“Aoife is correct. Einar is not Tormod’s son. Ingrid was already pregnant when she married Tormod. But she was an ambitious woman, had her sights set on a future jarl and married Tormod knowing she already carried another man’s child. By the time Tormod discovered the truth it was too late. He has tried to do the right thing by Einar – to an extent. It will be a matter of compromises, though. He will not allow another man’s child to take his place as jarl in the future.”
Gemma swallowed, shocked to hear him admit that Einar was not Tormod’s son.
“So, who is Einar’s real father? Does Tormod know?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“This is all in the past and not worth discussing. Ingrid is dead.”
Her thoughts raced and she was unwilling to let it go. He said it was the past but… “It seems your opinion of Ingrid is very much what you are using to judge me, Arne. Surely it is only fair if I understand something about the woman whose actions taint your opinion of me?”
He lifted his head and glared straight ahead. She could not begin to work out what he was thinking. Why would he not tell her what had happened? Perhaps he just didn’t want her to have the opportunity to defend herself against whatever sins Ingrid had committed. Then he sighed and dropped his head into his hand.
“The situation was not straightforward,” Arne finally said so softly she barely heard him. He pushed himself to a sitting positionand watched the flames lick around the last of the logs on the fire. “Ingrid came from another village. Her father and Tormod’s hated each other, and her father was every bit as ambitious as she was.”
“In what way?”
“They had attacked our village before, but our defences were sound. She had argued with her family when she first met… Tormod, but after Einar was born everything changed.”
Gemma noted the hesitancy in his voice, the gaps in the explanations and was sure he was holding something back.
