“But Caelin—”
“Pray that Anwyl has him.” Cenydd’s lips were set in a grim line. “Otherwise we will both have lost—” Cenydd swallowed.
She nodded and allowed herself to be hurried through the royal residence and out to the stables.
Two of Cenydd’s guards were waiting with horses already saddled and bridled.
“Ready?” Cenydd asked one of them.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Anwyl?”
“Already gone,” the guard said, and Gemma could see the relief on Cenydd’s face but dread pooled in her stomach. If Anwyl had left alone then she wouldn’t leave. She’d go back for Caelin, no matter what Cenydd said. No matter the risk to herself. There was no way she would leave him at the mercy of either her brother or Marcant.
“Alone?” she asked.
“No,” the guard frowned at Gemma. “With the boy.”
Gemma staggered, grasped onto the stable wall for balance. Caelin was out of Perthawc. Whether he was safe or not was another matter, but away from the king was enough for now.
“Follow us through the gates, and then stay behind us. Try to ambush anyone who follows us. Although if Rhun sends an army then don’t engage. Ride for Dol Mawr,” Cenydd ordered and the guards nodded in agreement.
Behind them, she heard shouting inside the residence. Had Rhun discovered Caelin was gone already?
“He will have sent someone to check on Caelin,” Cenydd said as he boosted her onto the back of one of the horses, and she gripped the reins tightly. “We must go now.”
She settled the fabric of her dress to allow her to ride and one of the guards handed her a large, dark cape to wear over it. It smelled of the stables but seemed clean otherwise. Cenydd mounted, and as soon as he was in the saddle, they headed out of the stables towards the gates, the two guards riding behind them.
Her heart pounded as they rode out of Perthawc into the darkness. Behind them, the gates thudded shut and she prayed Anwyl was ahead of them with her son. If he wasn’t… She swallowed, and blinked back tears as they galloped away from Perthawc. Was she right to trust Cenydd? Despite his surprise proposal and her feeling he may not be quite the ally the Norsemen believed him to be, she was sure of one thing—he was their best hope of escaping her brother alive.
They rode fast, no sound reaching Gemma’s ears over the thudding of the horses’ hooves and of her own worried heart. She didn’t risk looking behind them, but the guards had fallen back as ordered and she prayed that if they had been followed the guards would deal with it. Ahead of her Cenydd slowed and although her first instinct was to press on, Cenydd’s plans hadn’t failed her so far so she slowed and followed him to where he halted near the edge of some woods.
The air was tainted with the acrid smell of burning, but it wasn’t fresh. They had reached the site of the village of Isallawr, burned by Marcant’s mercenaries last winter. A horseman waited for them under cover of the trees, but as they approached she recognised Anwyl, and her heart leapt when she saw Caelin seated in front of him, clutching the basket with the cubs in it.
“Mama!”
“Caelin! I am so happy to see you!” She would have dismounted and gone to him but Cenydd stopped her.
“Later. We must reach the safety of Dol Mawr first. The guards behind us will slow down anyone who follows us.”
“I left blankets bundled in the bed hoping they would not look too closely until morning, but it may not have fooled them and they might already be following,” Anwyl said. “Have you heard anyone behind you?”
“Not since we started riding. But Rhun knows that Caelin is gone,” said Cenydd. “They’re coming. Count on it. Let’s go.”
They moved back onto the road for speed. Riding through the forest at night was as dangerous as risking Rhun’s soldiers catching up to them on the road. No one slowed or spoke as the horses pounded along the hard-packed dirt. Only when she saw the walls of Dol Mawr appear before them did Gemma allow tears of relief to fall.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Despite the odd atmospherein Dol Mawr, Merfyn had welcomed Arne into his home.
“When I was told there was a Norse ship on the shore, I had hoped it would be your brother. Is he well?” Merfyn said.
“He has recovered as well as can be expected. Thanks in no small part to you.”
Merfyn had fought alongside Björn a few months before, at the battle where his brother had almost been killed. Merfyn, alongside Qasim and Stigr, had stood over him and fought off Marcant’s mercenaries, then tended to Björn, saving his life. Arne would be forever grateful to the villagers here, but especially to Merfyn and his wife, Eirlys, who was currently beside the fire, fixing him a plateful of food.
“I am glad to hear it. And Ylva? Has she had her child yet?”
