“It’s a long story. And not connected to your situation.”
She nodded, worried about what he wasn’t telling her. Still, she was in no position to insist on anything. Arne was right. They needed to hide. Those other men knew he was here. They might come back for any reason. There was no point in her taking any risks. Not now. Not over this. They’d come so far. She turned and lifted the cauldron from its place by the fire. “Here.”
“Thank you.” He took it, and she was careful to make sure her hands did not touch his as she passed it to him. When he opened the door, snow billowed into the shieling, soaking the floor inside the door as it melted. The door closed behind him and she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Their entireconversation had made her tense. But then the door swung open again and Arne handed her the cauldron full of snow.
“It is a near white-out now. And the wind is getting up. It was too far to go all the way to the stream when the snow will melt, anyway. I think we will be here today, and perhaps tomorrow.”
She peered into the cauldron and then back up at him. “Even I can tell this will melt into nothing in no time.”
“Then pass me the bucket.”
She hung the cauldron on its hook over the fire and passed him the wooden bucket. For the next few minutes he went in and out, passing her the bucket to allow her to empty the snow into the cauldron.
“That’s enough, I think,” she said when it was nearly full. “You can wash properly in this.” He began to undress and she kept her eyes on the water as it heated. She heard his kirtle land on the floor.
“These will need to be washed as well,” he said, indicating the discarded kirtle and the shirt he still wore. He untied it and pulled it from his breeks and she froze, wondering whether he was going to take it off. He didn’t.
“I… I will do that once you are clean,” she stuttered. After he had chopped wood and hunted for the deer, it was the least she could do.
“Thank you. Is there a cloth?”
She hurried to the shelves where she had found all the necessities left neatly stocked for the following year. She found a washcloth and a larger one for drying, then turned to pass them to him. He dropped the washcloth into the basin and swirled it around in the warm water, before lifting it out and wringing most of the water from it. Then he took a sliver of soap from a small pouch hanging from his belt and moved it over the washcloth until it lathered.
His eyes met hers, then dropped back to the washcloth. Then, sighing, he began to wash himself under his shirt. For a moment, she watched him. He would never get fully clean like this, and if she was going to wash his shirt anyway, it would be easier for him to take it off now.
“You have missed a bit,” she pointed out, rubbing at her own neck in the spot where there was a small dribble of the deer’s blood that had also soaked into his collar. “Take off your shirt.”
“It will be better for you if I do not.”
“Then I’ll not look.” Purposefully she turned her back to him and after a pause she heard the sound of his shirt hitting the floor. She clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself not to look, no matter how curious she was. Was his whole body as scarred as his face and hands?
“Mama!” She whirled around at Caelin’s urgent shout, realising too late that she had gone back on her word and now knew the answer to her question. Arne was naked from the waist up, staring at her. Her eyes held his for a moment, then dropped slowly downwards. Like his face, his chest was covered in hundreds of tiny scars, covering virtually all of his skin. There were larger scars, too. From older battles, perhaps. She couldn’t stifle her gasp when she saw the extent of the damage.
He flinched. “You were better not looking. No one wants to see a man’s body when it’s like this.”
She swallowed and glanced away towards the fire. The state of his body made her want to weep for him.
Something twisted inside her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure him there was more to this life than pain. If only she could heal his scars, or at the very least let him forget the memory of the pain. But why? Arne was the one who kept reminding her she didn’t belong. Why should she feel this need to help him?
“Mama?” Caelin called again. She shifted her gaze reluctantly to her son. “I hear something.”
“What?” she asked after listening but hearing nothing.
“Outside. They’re calling to me. They are so cold and need my help.”
“Outside?” Arne opened the door and peered out into the falling snow. No one made a sound as they all strained to listen.
“I don’t hear anything except the wind,” said Gemma.
“But I can hear them.” Caelin frowned.
“Who?” Arne asked.
“I don’t know. Two voices in the darkness,” Caelin said firmly.
“Caelin, there is no one out there,” Gemma said. He sometimes said things like this and usually she just let him look. One time they’d found a baby bird at the place where he’d led, and another they had found a sheep and her lamb, separated by a slope too steep for the lamb to climb. But there would be few living creatures around them now.
“I can hear them,” he said, growing petulant.
