“If he knows she is here, he may have decided it suits him for her to be here, in which case we are in no danger from him. If he knows and wants her back, he would have asked… or come and taken her. Tormod can’t easily refuse a request from Rhun.”
“And what of Marcant?” Arne said. “He must surely know by now that it was Björn and Ylva who spirited her away from Alt Clut at the start of winter.”
Ulf ran a hand down his beard, and his expression turned serious. “Marcant may come here, although I doubt it will be at her bidding. She has already run from him once, although he had not revealed himself to her then for some reason. Perhaps he knew she would never agree to his terms. If he comes, it will be because he wishes us gone. And when he does, I will be ready for him. To dispense the justice he avoided.”
“Lord Cenydd was supposed to carry out the sentence for his murder of Lord Cadell,” Arne pointed out.
“That is not the crime for which I will make him suffer.” Ulf lifted his horn and downed it. “I will make sure he pays. That I promise you.” Arne watched as his gaze roved around the hall, but the woman he suspected his brother was looking for was nowhere to be seen.
Arne knew his brother was correct, although his reasons for hating Lord Marcant were personal in more than one way. After all, the man had murdered Aoife’s father and had never been punished for that, then he had almost killed their brother Björn at the start of winter. “Because of Rhiannon?”
Ulf looked past him, not meeting his eye. “Yes.”
Arne had not expected Ulf to answer. For months now, his brother had refused to be drawn into saying anything about the Briton he had rescued from Lord Marcant’s fort the previous summer.
“These men are mere fishermen from Ir Ysgyn. If they came from Marcant’s fort at Ardd Gowan, then they would not leavehere alive unless I had her word they were not the ones who harmed her.”
“The way no one except Ingrid survived what they did to me?”
Ulf’s head jerked towards him, and he frowned, then nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Just like that. And now will you stop wondering about my intentions towards her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I avenged you and didn’t want to marry you.”
Arne grimaced, then they both laughed. “True enough. Fine, I will stop.”
He was tired of being constantly surrounded by enemies. Not knowing who to trust. He had a sudden urge to go home, and wished he knew where home was.
“Is it because of Ingrid that you watch her so carefully?” Ulf asked.
Arne didn’t move. He didn’t want to answer. A knot of tension formed in the pit of his stomach. He rarely consciously thought about the events of that day. His brothers did not fully understand his reasons for hating Ingrid. It was not only the fact she had had him nearly killed, it was the fact it was not only hatred he had felt towards her. “They have much in common.”
“Do they?” Ulf stared at him.
“You have seen the way she is, how people do her bidding, listen to her, help her.”
“And you think that makes her like Ingrid?”
“Everyone around Ingrid rushed to do her bidding.”
Ulf raised his eyebrows. “Not for the same reasons. People feared Ingrid.”
“Gemma has expectations.”
“She does. She is… what she is, after all. But it is far from the same, brother. Perhaps your judgment this time is just as clouded.”
“She expects to be treated like a…” Arne didn’t say the word, well aware the Britons sat only a short distance away. Why didthinking about her make him lose his usually tight control over his emotions?
“People like her,” Ulf shrugged and Arne realised his brother included himself in that number. “She asks for little, considering who she is, is always polite and is the closest friend of the jarl’s wife. How would you expect them to treat her?”
“Like she might tell her brother the best way to kill them all in their beds.”
“She is not Ingrid.”
“No.” Arne could accept that as the truth at least.
“I don’t think your fear is shared by many,” Ulf added.
