Arne clenched his fists. He had looked for any sign it was likely while he had stood in the hall with Rhun and Marcant. Surely he wouldn’t murder a child, let alone his nephew? Eochaid was only a young man and had no heirs yet. Murdering Caelin before Eochaid’s line of succession was more established would be foolish, wouldn’t it? Was a nephew not better than the line passing to another family?
He slumped back in his seat and drank some mead. After a moment, he looked into the mug and swirled the last of the liquid before tipping that down his throat, too. Then he put the mug down and looked up. “I need to go back. To return to Perthawcand ensure she is indeed as safe as Rhun promised me she would be.”
“It is late.”
“I need to know she and Caelin are safe.”
Merfyn hesitated for a moment then nodded his agreement. “I’ll have a horse saddled for you.”
“Finish eating,” Eirlys said when Arne made to follow Merfyn. “Then we will send you on your way.” So he sat back down and finished his food, although he chewed quickly and barely tasted it. All he could think of was Gemma and what might go wrong as long as she was under her brother’s roof.
When Merfyn came back in as he finished the last few mouthfuls of the stew, Arne looked up at him.
“Riders approach,” Merfyn said, pulling at the ties on his shirt.
“Who?”
“I’ve never lied to any of you Norsemen,” Merfyn began. “I am an honest man, but—”
“Who?”
Merfyn held open the door and Arne crossed to it and looked out.
In the streets of the village, Arne saw armed men. Some soldiers, some mercenaries, others simply armed villagers. His heart began to beat faster and he looked at Merfyn. “Who are they?” Arne asked. The soldiers remained in position, watching him but making no threatening moves. Had he walked into a trap? He stopped himself from grabbing the village headman and forcing an answer from him. “Merfyn?”
“Lord Cenydd’s men.”
“Cenydd has built an army?” The thought was both a relief and a worry. The relief that these were not Rhun’s soldiers was great but until he knew what Cenydd’s plans were, he remained concerned about the presence of so many armed men.
“Yes, but not to fight you,” Merfyn assured him. Arne assumed he meant the Norsemen. He shouldn’t have been surprised Cenydd had chosen this tactic. Cenydd’s predecessor had been brutally murdered by a fellow Briton, but he was young, and Arne had believed he would aim for diplomacy before might. “Come.”
Arne followed Merfyn out of the house, past the waiting soldiers, towards the gates. Seeing soldiers who must surely number in the hundreds, he accepted his assumptions about Cenydd’s tactics had been entirely wrong. The young lord was ready for battle.
He caught the eye of one of the soldiers, who nodded at him. Arne recognised him as one of the Britons left behind at Car Cadell after Cadell’s murder. A man he and his brothers had trained. He noted the man’s shorter sword and the axe hanging on his belt and smiled. This Briton at least appreciated the skills the Norse had brought to these lands. The question now was, would they live to regret trusting and training them?
Merfyn stopped and signalled to a guard in a watchtower, and the gates swung slowly open. Moments later, several riders cantered through the gates and drew their mounts to a halt.
“Close the gates! We were followed from Perthawc. Be ready to deal with anyone who attempts to enter Dol Mawr.”
Arne recognised the voice as Anwyl’s and watched as soldiers ran to close and guard the gates while most of the riders dismounted.
“Arne!” Caelin’s shout drew his attention to where the boy was seated in front of Anwyl. Caelin was still carrying the basket with the cubs in it, and if Caelin was here then… He looked up at the other mounted rider, cloaked in a garment far too large for their frame, but as the rider pulled the hood back he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Gemma.
“Gemma!” Arne took a step towards her, but Lord Cenydd stepped in front of him and halted him with a hand on his chest.Arne stared down at it, knowing that to risk antagonising Cenydd and his men, outnumbered as he was, would be foolish. It might also endanger Gemma and Caelin. So he stopped but refused to step back, observing Gemma carefully to ensure she was unharmed. She stared at him, unsmiling.
“Lord Cenydd,” Merfyn said, bowing.
“Merfyn, are all our preparations in place?” Cenydd demanded.
“Yes, my lord.”
Then Cenydd turned to Gemma. “Well, Princess Maithgemm, it seems you were wrong.”
Unsure what exactly was going on, Arne tensed as the younger man helped Gemma to dismount, then set her down beside him. His relief at knowing she was safely out of Perthawc was tempered by his curiosity about why she was here with Cenydd. Cenydd’s attitude towards her seemed almost possessive.
Arne took a step towards them, but this time Merfyn stopped him.
“Wrong?” Arne asked, his gaze not leaving Gemma’s face. She kept her eyes on Cenydd. Why wouldn’t she look at him? Yes, they had parted badly, but surely whatever had happened—
