“Don’t draw any more attention to us. Don’t let anyone know you are here. I will find him. I promise.”
Her shoulders sagged before she nodded, and he let her go. They stepped inside. He closed the door and reached for his still filthy clothes. He wrinkled his nose at them before pulling them back on. She watched him, frustrated it took him so long to dress in his boots and leathers and cloak.
“Please find him,” she said, putting her hand on his arm as he went out the door.
He covered her hand with his own and squeezed it. “He can’t have gone far. Try not to worry.”
“What if those men…?”
“Shh. I will find him.”
The door closed and the sound of the bar falling into place gave her a momentary sense of panic at being trapped. But it was the best thing in the circumstances. His knife lay on the table and she picked it up, its weight comforting in her hands, and she calmed a little. All she could do was wait and pray Arne would bring her son back safely.
Chapter Eleven
The snow was fallingthick and fast, and Caelin’s footprints had already begun to fill as Arne set out after him. He must find the boy. He couldn’t bear the thought of returning to Gemma without him. As he walked, he stepped in Caelin’s footprints as much as he was able, obliterating them.
What had the boy been thinking of? Arne stopped around halfway to the woods and looked back. Already the shieling was merely a shadow in the billowing snow. When Caelin had said he had heard someone, maybe he had.
Or was he being set up? Much as he didn’t want to doubt her, it was so ingrained in him that it was impossible not to. When Gemma had told the boy to set up the game board, had that been some kind of code telling him to leave? Did she know there were others waiting for him out here? Was she letting him follow the boy, knowing there was an ambush waiting for him?
Had her tenderness towards him been simply a distraction? His stomach knotted. The warmth of her hand on his skin had made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years. He had not known his body could respond to a woman’s touch like it had done with Gemma. The more time he spent with her, the more confused he was becoming. Her concern over his scars had seemed genuine. And she had only had her hands on his back and his chest. Imagine if she had… He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focusedon the situation. Surely no one would still be outdoors in the worsening weather, let alone be planning an ambush?
Pressing his lips together, he hurried on, trying to be aware of any signs of an ambush. The world around him was a mass of revolving white eddies, more like being caught in a maelstrom underwater than travelling on land. Still, the edge of the woods was not far now, and it would be easier to walk under the shelter of the trees.
His thoughts, however, kept returning to the image of her face when she had seen his body. Or was he simply a gullible fool? He had thought Ingrid loved him all those years ago, after all. Then, when she had the chance, she had seduced and married Tormod, the man with better prospects of becoming a jarl.
Not that anyone else knew the reason he had known where she was going to in the woods was because she had met him there first. It had made the sound of her laughter when he was being tortured hurt so much worse, although by then no emotion could have been worse than the physical pain he had been in.
Gemma did not seem capable of such deception, but then he had never suspected Ingrid of it either — at least not at first. Although he had to admit to himself that all Gemma’s responses today suggested nothing more sinister than a woman desperately afraid for her child. He’d been watching them both for months now. Caelin had an adventurous spirit, and part of her constant watching was because of that. He understood her fear, and the helplessness of feeling your own child’s future was out of your hands.
That had eased since last summer, when he had fostered Elisedd and Einar. It had been a coward’s way of raising his own son, but it was the only way to do so without having to tell Tormod what had really happened before he had married Ingrid. His cousin was concerned enough about what the people of Kirkjaster thought of him. This might be enough for Tormod to turn his backon him for good. And Ulf and Björn… they would despise him for keeping such a thing secret.
If he had been able to move on, marry and have a child of his own, things might have been different, but that was unlikely to ever happen. It had been years since he had been with a woman. He didn’t even know for sure if he could still perform with someone else, so he preferred to take care of his needs himself without risking the expressions of horror and disgust when women realised his scars covered every part of him except for the one smooth patch on his back. The patch Gemma had touched earlier.
He shivered in remembrance. For a moment, he had thought she would turn away, but she hadn’t. He shouldn’t have taunted her as he had, but the result — her hands on the skin of his chest — meant he didn’t regret it. She had felt the worst of the scarring and she hadn’t flinched.
He sighed. She was a princess. He was scarred, a monster and only the cousin of an invading jarl. But if he closed his eyes there was a warmth on his chest as if her hand were still there. He shook his head. These thoughts were foolish. He was sure Gemma would never have risked Caelin. There was no way she would have sent him out alone into a winter storm. The fear on her face had seemed so real. No woman who looked like her, however, could be interested in a man who looked like him.
A sudden gust blew his cloak open, chilling him. His priority was to find Caelin, and soon. The boy had been outside longer than he had, and with fewer layers of warm clothing.
He reached the tree line after what seemed like an eternity and relaxed a little as he was granted some protection from the wind. Caelin’s footsteps were clearer here, but not by much, and they would not be there for long. Even under the tree canopy flakes were falling fast. The ground was soft and spongy from its layer of pine needles, absorbing the sound of his footsteps.
He stopped and listened, but there was no sound other than the wind. No animals moved, no birds flew up anywhere around him. Caelin had made no attempt to cover his footprints, making it easy to track him. If he was truly running away from Arne, then surely his mother would have told him to at least try to make his trail harder to follow. Although if he was leading him towards an ambush… He continued on with his hand on his sword.
Arne reached a break in the trees, ducked his head against the wind, and moved forward as fast as he was able. The boy’s footsteps had not been deep to begin with and were now almost covered. Suddenly there were no more footsteps in front of him and no sign of the boy anywhere.
“Caelin! Where are you?” Had the boy been whisked away by some malevolent woodland spirit? Or was he hiding in the trees? No, above him were nothing but snow-covered branches. He bent down and examined the last of the footprints, dusting the snow from the surrounding ground. To his left were some thick holly bushes, growing alongside a protruding rock face. The leaves just in front of them looked as if they had been disturbed recently.
“Caelin!”
The holly bushes moved and Caelin crawled out, shallow cuts from the sharp leaves on his face.
“Thank the gods,” he said, pulling the boy close.
Caelin returned the gesture, but then pushed away from him. “Arne, quick! We need to help them.”
“It’s not safe, Caelin. You must come back with me now.”
