“Perhaps it should be.”
“I will sleep with my sword beside me, and worry about it if it happens,” said Ulf. “Are you sure it is not because so many of the younger warriors are eager to help her with any task that you are annoyed?”
Arne glared at Ulf, picked up his ale, and drank it down, doing his best to ignore the amused expression on his brother’s face. It would have been less annoying if it wasn’t virtually identical to the expression on Tormod’s face the last time Arne had tried to speak to Tormod about Gemma.
“Do not forget who she is or who her brother is. One day she might hold the power of life or death over each and every one of us.”
“Tormod will never agree to the Britons’ justice applying in Kirkjaster.”
Arne knew he was right, however, the longer they remained here, the higher the chance things might change. Kings died, were killed or could be overthrown, and King Rhun was more at risk than most. Currently, Rhun’s son, Eochaid, who had Dal Riatan and Pictish blood in his veins, stood to inherit the kingdom from his father, but there were currently no further heirs in his line. Gemma’s son Caelin was not a prince, although if Rhun died whileEochaid had no heir, then, as his cousin, Caelin would be next in line to the throne. As a wholly native-born Briton, the child appealed to many more than Eochaid. It was the reason Marcant had kidnapped Gemma the previous summer. His plans to usurp Rhun had been quashed when he had lost the battle of Isallawr last winter.
Complicating matters was the fact Eochaid stood to inherit the kingdoms of Pictland and Dal Riata also through his mother’s line, as his uncle, King Causantin, had no heir. Many people did not want to see that union occur, and Arne supposed he was one of them. Strath Clut, Pictland and Dal Riata united under the rule of a single king—it would be a kingdom of considerable power and size. Perhaps even strong enough to push the Norse from all their lands. And there were many more Norse communities all down the western coast, so the impact of that would be significant.
When their food was served, Arne ordered the thrall to take a meal to Gemma and Caelin in their room. He ignored Ulf’s sly grin. He would make sure none of the Britons spoke to her, hope none of them knew they were there, and then he would speak to Tormod and try to settle once and for all the problem of the woman hiding in their midst. He only hoped that by then he had thought of a solution.
Chapter Four
Aknock sounded ather door. “Gemma?”
Gemma hugged Caelin, then stood and went to open the door. Rhiannon entered, carrying two trenchers of food, and placed them on the table.
“I brought your food. It seemed the easiest way to be allowed in to see you. Eat before it gets cold,” Rhiannon said. “Lady Aoife is much improved. She is asking for you.” But Rhiannon’s voice lacked its usual warmth. Gemma looked at the woman who kept her gaze fixed on the food.
“Arne has asked us not to leave this room for as long as the fishermen are still here,” Gemma said.
Rhiannon looked at her sharply, and Gemma thought she detected guilt in her expression. “But Lady Aoife is asking for you. Surely Arne cannot order you—”
Gemma held up a hand to stop her. “Arne is justified in his concern. He only wants to keep Kirkjaster safe. Besides, I am not in charge here. I am nobody,” she murmured. “Here, I am an inconvenience at best and a danger at worst. Please, tell Aoife I will come as soon as the fishermen have gone. I don’t want to place you all in danger if I am seen.”
Rhiannon nodded curtly and went to the door. She stopped just short of it and turned back, wringing her hands. Her face was pale and her hands were trembling.
“What is wrong?”
“I overheard them talking,” Rhiannon whispered.
They were alone in the room, so why was Rhiannon whispering? “The fishermen?”
“Life is not easy in Ir Ysgyn.”
“Is that why they were fishing in such poor weather?”
“The steward, Lord Fergus, is asking them for too much. The crops were good last year, but the taxes are too high, and the villagers were not able to put enough into storage. Many of the people are now starving.”
There was always a balance to be maintained between tenants and lords. Her husband had already been very demanding, so if Lord Fergus was asking the tenants for even more, it was troubling and risked the people turning on them. Many of the villagers had also left their homes over the previous summer to join Marcant’s group of dissenters, and it was rumoured many had not yet returned home after his defeat at Isallawr. “There is nothing I can do.”
“Is there not?” Rhiannon turned away, and Gemma could only see her face in profile.
“Caelin is still too young to control his lands.”
“Can you not—”
Gemma shook her head, remembering the day she had discovered her brother had placed a steward in charge of the lands she had assumed she would look after on her son’s behalf. Rhun would never accept a woman being in charge of any of the lands under his rule. A fact he had made clear when he had berated her about all the decisions she had made that he disagreed with. “I did so at first, then Rhun installed Lord Marcant as steward and ordered me to bring Caelin to him in Perthawc. Then he sent us away to Car Luel. He will not hear of me controlling the lands for Caelin.”
“Why? You’re his sister. Surely he trusts you?” Rhiannon frowned.
“My brother doesn’t trust anyone.” Gemma moved over beside Rhiannon, not wanting Caelin to overhear. “He is greedy and I think… I think Rhun may be responsible for our father’s death.”
“King Causantin—”
