“I believe you.” Arne smiled at the boy, who instantly responded with a smile in return. Arne’s anger was clearly meant only for her, but… he wasn’t wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You are right. But I was only thinking of Aoife.”
“What if one of those men had been closer to shore? What if they had recognised you?” Arne leaned towards her and she took a step back.
“I kept my hood up and stayed at a distance. That was when you found me.”
She clenched her fists, her nails biting into the skin of her palms, and winced. If anyone knew she was here, they would surely tell Lord Fergus, the steward. And he would tell Rhun. And then… she swallowed. None of this was her fault, except by accident of birth. When she had married and moved to the lands of Ir Ysgyn, her role in the royal household had come to an end. King Rhun had a son and heir. She was not a necessary part of the royal succession any longer. She should be safe. Since the siege of Alt Clut, however, everything was different. Unsettled. She was not responsible for her circumstances, though, and it wasn’t fair of Arne to blame or accuse her. She glared at him.
“Your presence here risks the safety of Kirkjaster every day,” he said.
“Then your jarl should send me away,” she retorted.
His mouth twisted in contempt. “I agree. And until then, you must remain hidden. All our lives depend on it… Gemma.”
The way he said it reminded her that even her name was a lie. She blinked at him.
“I cannot help who I am,” she snapped. “Why are you waiting here? I thought you would go to help those poor fishermen. Or do the lives of Britons not matter to you?”
Gemma waited, the dim light in the room making it hard for her to read his expression, which she usually struggled with anyway. His expression rarely changed, and she wondered if it was because the scarring on his face meant the skin no longer moved the way it was supposed to—or because he was concealing his emotions from her.
“There are other dangers that need to be considered. Besides, who wishes to be rescued by a monster?”
She blinked, feeling a sudden rush of sympathy at the self-loathing in his voice. “You are not a monster. Scars gained in battle—”
“Sit.” He dragged a chair over and sat down facing her, so she did as he asked, watching him as he frowned and stretched out his scarred fingers towards her. “These were not gained in battle, Gemma.”
“Was it Britons who…?” she trailed off, gesturing to his face.
She waited, expecting him to tell her more, but he didn’t. She had been afraid to ask before, in case she found that her own people had visited such a terrible punishment on him. Maybe that would explain why he treated her as he did.
“No.” He laughed bitterly. “This is one thing you don’t have to feel guilty about.”
“Then why do you not trust me?”
He shook his head, crossed his arms in front of him, hiding his hands, and leaned back. “You are supposed to hide, and yet I found you down on the shore, waiting for those men to land. Even your son hid.”
“Waiting for…” She clenched her jaw, trying to calm herself before she said something she would regret. “I had only just arrived when you grabbed me. Hardly ‘waiting’ for them!”
“Being there at all risked them seeing you. Is that what you were hoping for? That they would return tomorrow or the day after with soldiers to take you home?”
“There is nothing to stop me leaving at any time. I am not a prisoner. And if I had not sought help for Aoife, you would be here accusing me of that. Go and help, Arne. We will not leave this room until you come back. I promise you that.”
He didn’t move. “And why should I believe you?”
Caelin’s posture returned to defiance. No matter how much he hero-worshipped the man, Gemma was impressed that her son chose to defend her first.
“My mama always tells the truth,” said Caelin. “Although she has told me that sometimes I don’t have to. Sometimes it is a matter of life and death. Like us pretending we are Norse while we are here. So long as in my heart I know I am doing the right thing.” The boy frowned up at him.
Arne must have been amused, but if he was, he didn’t show it. Instead, he placed a hand on Caelin’s shoulder and addressed him seriously. “Your mama is right, Caelin. Sometimes telling the truth or not is a matter of life and death. Very well, I will see if my help is needed.” He got to his feet. “Stay here.”
“I would like to see Aoife,” Gemma said, grabbing his hand. The contact startled her. The feel of his rough, warm skin reminding her that he was not the cold-hearted guardian he acted around her. They stared at one another until both drew their hands away simultaneously. He cleared his throat before he spoke and she wondered if the contact had affected him also.
“For all of our sakes I suggest you remain in this room.”
“I am not a fool, Arne, no matter what you think. I won’t let myself be seen.”
“I do not think you are a fool, Gemma. I think you are a danger. Bringing you here nearly cost my brother his life. I don’t want to sacrifice my family for yours.”
