“Never?” Arne was surprised. Ulf had been the one to carry Rhiannon out of Marcant’s dungeons, so Arne had assumed he knew what had happened there. Ulf had rarely shown such a constant interest in any woman.
“No. And if she does not wish to relive it, then I will not make her.”
“She needs someone like you to protect her. She is a good woman, a good mother. I fear the settlement grows more and more precarious every day. And I believe the longer we stay somewhere, the safer it should feel.”
“You are going soft, Arne. You sound like an old man, long resigned to die in his bed.”
“Well then, you don’t have to worry about me just now. I am unlikely to find a bed comfortable enough to sleep in on this ship, never mind die in my sleep.”
Ulf laughed, and Arne realised how rare the sound of his younger brother’s laughter had become in the time they had lived here in Strath Clut.
“I should have killed him. How can King Rhun accept a man such as that?”
“Rhun is barely clinging on to his own power. He must surround himself with powerful men, men he can control. And who is easier to control than a man whom you hold the power of life and death over?”
“Perhaps. But do men such as that really owe you any loyalty?”
“No. And that may be Marcant’s downfall. Do you think he will harm Caelin?”
Ulf looked downriver. “I hope not,” he said softly.
Arne took a deep breath, trying to control the worry. Should he be leaving them? His gut said no. But Gemma had wanted him to leave her, hadn’t she? She had done everything in her power to turn him against her, almost as if… Arne swore under his breath. None of it had been real. She was doing it all on purpose. But why? To protect him? But why would she… and then he realised. Gemma believed Caelin would be safe; she would do everything in her power to keep Caelin safe herself. But Arne… she wasn’t sure she could keep him safe, and so she had pushed him away so he did not end up dead because of her. And the only reason she would have done so was if she loved him. He swallowed.
Ulf was quiet, respecting his silence until they rounded a bend in the river and Perthawc was out of sight.
“I… I don’t think she has just gone back to claim Caelin’s birthright,” Ulf said as Alt Clut came into view far ahead of them.
“Why else would she have gone back?”
Ulf rubbed the back of his neck and sucked air through his teeth. “This time it might have been me who said—”
“What did you say?”
Ulf looked south to where they were passing the lands of Ir Ysgyn.
“Ulf?” Arne warned.
“I may have said that if she stayed it would put your life in danger.”
“What!”
“It’s true. If King Rhun discovers—”
Arne covered his brother’s mouth with his hand and hissed at him to be quiet.
“If the king finds out what happened in the shieling, he could demand that you are executed,” Ulf whispered. “And worse, he could insist Tormod carries out the sentence. I don’t want you dead because of a woman. And I don’t want Tormod to have to live with that either.”
Arne took a deep breath. If he told Ulf the truth now about Ingrid, he might not be so reluctant to see him dead. Ulf was not likely to understand why Arne had never admitted the truth. How could he, when Arne was not sure himself? Would the knowledge that he had been Ingrid’s lover before Tormod, that he was Einar’s father, destroy the bond the Brothers of Thunder shared forever?
Tormod had been so convinced he was to blame for the attack on their village in the Norselands, for Arne’s own injuries, but knowing that Tormod had already lost some of his status because of Ingrid’s actions, Arne had not wanted to make the situation worse by proving Tormod wrong. Or had he simply chosen to nothave to face his cousin’s wrath? No matter which was true, he could no longer hide from the truth and face a more uncertain future. A future starting with him getting Gemma back with him, where she belonged.
“Sail to shore at Dol Mawr,” Arne ordered the warrior holding the steering board. “I am going to go back.”
“Then we will come with you,” Ulf replied.
“No. Go to Kirkjaster and speak to Tormod. Tell him about Marcant. I will go to Merfyn and get a horse.” Merfyn was the headman of the village who had fought alongside Björn last winter when Gemma had first been rescued. The village lay at the eastern edge of Cenydd’s lands and within a short ride of Perthawc.
Ulf stared upriver, then slowly turned to look at Arne again. “Very well, but you should not go alone.”
