* * *
When they reached the gates, Iseult’s hands began shaking. Dread welled up inside her as she steeled herself for more disappointment. Two fierce-looking men stood at the entrance, spears in their hands. They regarded her with suspicion.
‘We wish to speak with your chieftain,’ she began, her voice revealing her fear. ‘I am Iseult MacFergus, and this is my friend Niamh.’
‘Brian Flannigan is our king, not a chieftain,’ the shorter guard corrected. ‘Is he expecting you?’
Iseult shook her head. ‘No. But I’ve some questions to ask him about my son.’
The man shrugged. ‘I’ll see if he will grant you an audience.’ Iseult waited beside Niamh, her nerves growing more ragged with each moment.
This was not a wise decision. She was grasping at sand, the granules of hope slipping from her fingertips. There was no means of visiting every tribe in Ireland, and even then she might not find Aidan. After today, she would have to alter her strategy. Never would she find her son this way, with desperate searches.
After endlessly long minutes, the guard returned. ‘Come.’ He beckoned, and they followed the guard to a large dwelling at the opposite end of the ringfort. Built of wood, and twice the size of Davin’s home, she understood what Niamh had meant about the tribe’s power.
Inside, several groups of men gathered. Iseult hung back beside Niamh, fully aware of the men watching them. Her skin rose up with goose flesh, and she wished she had not endangered her friend. Now she understood why Davin had not wanted her to travel alone. These men could harm her, and there was nothing she could do.
Too late to let her fears strangle her now. Iseult lifted her face, trying to look braver than she felt.
She waited for a time until at last the king ordered them to come forward. Iseult knelt before him and explained about Aidan’s disappearance.
‘I have been searching for him over the past year. I would know if anyone from your tribe has seen a young boy, about two years of age, who was not born to your people.’
The king considered her story. ‘Why did your husband not come with you?’
‘I have no husband. But I did not come alone,’ she added. When the king’s gaze turned shrewd, she drew closer to Niamh as if to gain support.
King Brian conferred with some of his advisers, then shook his head. ‘We have many foster-children, but their families are known to us. If your son was stolen, it is likely he was taken into slavery. If he is still alive, that is. You might wish to ask the traders.’
With a nod, he dismissed them.
Though Niamh took her hand, Iseult barely felt the contact as they walked out. She knew of many children sold into slavery, but most were born of the fudir.
Not once had she visited a slave auction. The idea of hearing the children separated from their mothers, people’s lives given over into servitude, bothered her intensely. Though Davin had never treated his slaves with anything but kindness, she’d rather have no servants at all.
‘Let’s go home,’ Niamh urged, leading her to their horses. Iseult mounted, though she was hardly aware of them leaving. Another failed chance. And now, the possibility of her son being a slave. He might be a world apart from her now, for she’d heard that the trade ships, particularly Norse longboats, often sold Irish slaves across the sea.
A light rain fell over them, but Iseult hardly noticed. Kieran had been to the slave markets. He’d travelled across Éireann. Would he have any answers for her?
Her mind flashed to the moment when his hand had touched her hair. Kieran had warned her to stay away from him, and not once had he spoken about his past.
Why would she ever think he would help her? He was a stranger, and she didn’t want to confide in him or expose herself in that way. He was the sort of man to take advantage of weakness.
But there was nothing else to be done. He was the only man with possible answers.
She had no choice but to ask for Kieran’s help.
CHAPTER SIX
‘You wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t ordered it, would you?’ Davin asked.
Kieran strode behind Davin’s gelding. ‘I wouldn’t, no.’ He resented the time away from his work. In another two days he’d have the carving completed. He planned to smooth out the wood with sand until it was polished like the softness of a woman’s cheek. Then he would rub the surface with butter until the natural beauty of the yew emerged, along with Iseult’s face.
Remembrance tightened inside him like a curled fist. He should never have touched her. He’d meant to frighten Iseult away, but instead the encounter had shaken him. Something unexpected had flashed between them, and he didn’t want to know what it was. She was hauntingly beautiful, a woman etched into his mind like a blade into yew.
Forbidden.
He forced his mind back onto the hunting party. Without a mount of his own, he had to run lightly to keep up with their horses. Miles passed, and his muscles burned from weakness. Nonetheless, he’d not give up, not even if he collapsed to the ground. There was a sense of rightness, pushing his body to the limit. Regaining his strength and endurance, past all boundaries.
He ran alongside the horses, pain rippling through him. The lash wounds burned upon his back, but he kept on until his mind overpowered the weakness of his body.
When he inhaled the crisp air, he felt it renewing him. Life. Rebirth. The wind rushed against his ears like the whisper of his brother’s voice. As though Egan were with him still.
The loss inside numbed him. His younger brother had embraced each moment of every day. And he wouldn’t have wanted Kieran to surrender to death. It was too easy—a coward’s path.
No. He would live after enduring this penance. Thirteen weeks, he decided. One for each year of his brother’s life. He cared naught about Davin’s promises of freedom. When the time came, he would seize his own fate.
Kieran studied the landscape, noting the location of water and familiarising himself with the territory. By Lughnasa, he would have his strength back and could make an escape without being found. He would learn where the tribesmen kept their weapons and supplies.
They travelled through the valley towards another forest. The flat meadows stretched into a wooded glen. After a time, Davin slowed his horse’s pace. ‘Did the traders starve you before they brought you here?’
‘I had little desire to eat.’ He’d tried to refuse, but as punishment, they had threatened to beat a small girl in front of him. ‘If you do not eat, she will pay the price,’ his master had claimed. Though his stubborn body rebelled against the food, Kieran had choked down stale bread and water. He’d understood, then, that he held value for these men. And he cursed himself, for he had no power to set the girl free.
‘I’ve sent provisions to you,’ Davin said. ‘I expect you to use them. I’ve no use for a weakened slave.’
Kieran’s knuckles clenched in response to the accusation of weakness. Words of denial formed, but he held them back. Davin spoke the truth. He was nothing but a weakened slave. Nothing but a broken-down shadow of the warrior he’d once been.
But that would all change. He let his anger wash over him, accepting the punishment.
‘Have you nothing to say?’ Davin prompted.
‘I received the food.’ He lifted his face to meet his master’s discerning gaze. No promises did he make, nor words of gratitude.
Davin’s hand moved to the sword hanging at his side. A silent threat, but one Kieran recognised.
‘You were a fighter once,’ his master predicted. ‘No fudir would behave with such pride.’
When Kieran made no denial, Davin grunted. ‘I suspected as much.’ With a hand, he gestured for Kieran to join the others. ‘You’ll be with us for some time,’ he said. ‘You should get acquainted with the other men in our ringfort.’
‘There is no need for them to know me, nor I them.’ Kieran kept his gaze upon the forest ahead. ‘I am a slave. Nothing more.’
And in thirteen weeks, he wo
uld be gone from this place.
Davin stopped his horse and dismounted. ‘You may earn back your freedom, if you complete the dower chest to my satisfaction. We have need of a woodcarver.’
Kieran kept his face veiled of any reaction. He wanted no part of it. These men were not his tribesmen. He crossed his arms. ‘What are your orders?’
Davin’s hands moved to a knife at his waist. He unsheathed it, and offered it to Kieran hilt first. A gesture of trust, granting a weapon to a slave.
‘You’re going to clean all of the game we hunt and bring it back to the ringfort,’ he said.
Kieran tucked the knife away at his waist. He led Davin’s gelding away, welcoming the chance to be alone while his master joined the others. The men continued onwards into the forest while he waited along the perimeter.
* * *
After an hour, he wandered a short way into the woods and set up snares near a small stream. Then he returned to the horses and took a moment to inspect his surroundings.
The land on the peninsula was magnificent, with forests covering the hills. Mountains, yellow with wild gorse, cast a craggy backdrop to a fierce blue sea.
He wondered if Davin had brought Iseult to a place such as this. The wild beauty of the land brought him a sense of peace.
And she’d been seeking that last night, hadn’t she? Wandering into the darkness, away from everyone else. The anguish on her face had startled him. What troubled her so?
He’d followed her, intending to keep his distance. He’d wanted to guard her, to protect her from whatever was bothering her.
She didn’t like him, and he hadn’t been kind to her. And the truth was, being around Iseult discomfited him. She was the sort of woman every man dreamed of being with. Exquisitely beautiful, in a natural way that took no effort.
He’d learned not to trust women like her. They never meant what they said. With a few words, they could twist a man’s will-power into dust.
Tonight she would come to him again, while he carved her image into wood. He swore on Egan’s life that he wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t let his body or mind dwell upon illicit desire. He still possessed honour, though he might have lost everything else.
* * *
When the sun rose higher, Kieran entered the forest to check his snares and found two trapped rabbits. With Davin’s knife he cleaned them, leaving the skin on and tying up the carcasses. Kieran tucked them into a pouch at his waist before returning to the horses. He ran his hands across the gelding’s back, speaking softly to the animal.
When the men came back empty-handed, although Davin remarked upon the rabbits Kieran had caught, he did not ask him to surrender them for the noon meal. Instead, the hunters partook of dried meat and bread, before moving further west.
* * *
In the late afternoon, they reached another dense forest, several miles from the ringfort. They kept the horses on the outskirts, tethering the reins to keep the animals safe. This time, Davin beckoned for Kieran to accompany them. Oak and pine trees grew closely together, while dark green moss and ferns carpeted the forest ground. Faded sunlight streamed through the canopy, and the earth smelled of the rain that afternoon. Kieran noted the different woods, birch and hazel, ash and poplar. There might come a time when he would need them.
‘Mind yourself, slave.’ Cearul moved in front of him, directly behind Davin, keeping his knife drawn. Sunlight gleamed upon his shaved head, and his eyes remained alert. Kieran didn’t fool himself into thinking the weapon was meant for hunting. The red-bearded man intended to exert his dominance.
The others spoke to one another as if Kieran weren’t there, looking to Davin for leadership. It was a strange feeling, though not entirely unwelcome. So many times within his own tribe, he had shouldered the responsibility for making the decisions. And there were so many choices he wished he could take back.
One of the men was younger than the others, a lad barely past eight and ten, if he’d guessed accurately. Kieran waited until the others had passed, then fell behind the young man. Orin, the others had called him. His dark gold hair was ragged against his neck, as if he’d cut it with a dagger instead of letting it grow. A thin beard covered his cheeks, and the lad had an eager stride, as though he’d only just been allowed to come with the men.
Orin’s mannerisms reminded him of what his brother Egan might have done, if he’d lived to be a man. He lowered his head, offering a silent prayer for his brother’s soul before forcing his mind back on the hunt.
Kieran knelt, studying the ground for signs of animal tracks. He sniffed the air and froze his movement.
There. A few yards away, he spied what they’d been looking for. He crept forward and tapped Orin on the back, gesturing for silence. He pointed through the clearing and a young buck raised its head. The reddish coat stood out against the greenery, and small knobby points rested upon a new growth of antlers.
Orin lifted his bow, and Kieran held his breath, waiting for him to make the shot. The bowstring grew taut, then a smooth twang sang out from the weapon. The arrow pierced the buck in the stomach, but it was not a fatal kill. Kieran cursed as the animal took off in the opposite direction. He ran after the deer, his legs burning as he tried to overtake the animal. Almost there…
He closed in, while the deer’s wounds slowed it down. Dimly, he heard a shout behind him. As Kieran unsheathed his knife, preparing to strike, a low growl sounded from the brush. He ignored it and dove at the deer. He pulled the animal down and ended its life.
The snarling increased, and Kieran kept the blade ready. A lone female wolf hung back, her ribs visible through her grey fur. Seeing the animal’s hunger, he stilled, understanding that she had been tracking the deer as well. He paused, not wanting to surrender venison to the predator. Instead, he tossed one of the rabbits to her. The wolf dove upon the rabbit, tearing at the meat.
Kieran stared at her wild hunger, recognising a part of himself in her desperation. He’d known that savagery before, of the instincts that barely separated man and beast. And, gods above, he knew what it was to be that hungry.
A hunter raised his bow to kill the wolf, but Davin stopped him. ‘Let her eat.’ To Kieran, he ordered, ‘Take the deer and bring it back to the horses. We have what we came for.’ He said nothing about the meat Kieran had fed the wolf, but each man kept his eye upon the beast. The female wolf backed away, until she disappeared in the thicket.
The men seemed to breathe easier when she’d gone. ‘You should have killed her,’ Cearul insisted.
‘She’s no threat to us.’ Davin mounted his horse and added, ‘She’s alone, abandoned by her pack. I’d be surprised if she survives the spring.’
‘If she’s nursing pups, they could threaten our livestock.’ Cearul glared at Kieran, as though he blamed him for Davin’s mercy. ‘And that was a waste of good meat.’
‘It was his kill,’ Orin argued. The young man’s face coloured, as though he’d startled himself by speaking. ‘And his right to give it as he pleased.’
‘The meat belongs to his master. Slaves own nothing.’ Cearul looked to Davin for confirmation.
At that, Kieran lifted the deer over his shoulders, the weight bearing into his wounds. He didn’t care about their petty arguments, especially not from men trying to gain status. He held no regrets for what he’d done.
Gritting his teeth, he carried the deer back to the horses. A light rain began to fall, spattering his tunic and skin. When he reached the edge of the clearing, he finished gutting the animal. Though he had slaughtered his share of game over the years, the sight of blood sobered him. Dark memories of his brother invaded with each slice of the blade. He swallowed hard, steeling himself for the task. Afterwards, he tied the hind legs to the animal’s neck to prevent dirt from filling up the inner cavity.
Orin offered to help, but he refused. This was his duty and he’d not let weakness overcome him. Twilight had begun to overtake the day, and he felt the weariness creeping in.
&nbs
p; Blood covered his hands, and he returned to a stream he’d seen earlier inside the forest. He dipped his hands in the icy water, washing the red stains off his face and hands. Then he returned to hoist the deer carcass over his shoulders.
‘I’m sorry I missed the shot,’ a voice spoke from behind him. Kieran saw Orin standing, his bow slung over his shoulder.
‘It happens. But you slowed him down for me.’ Kieran tried to offer a note of encouragement.
Orin nodded, raking a hand through his gold hair. ‘You—you did well today. We’d have had nothing if you hadn’t come.’
Kieran realised that the young man was trying to extend friendship towards him. It wouldn’t be wise, for his status would only bring Orin down. He didn’t want the lad shunned for interacting with him. Instead of continuing the conversation, he gave a nod and turned away.
The other men rode beyond him, their spirits merry. Orin continued to lag behind on his own mount, as if hoping Kieran would speak to him. In time, the young man sensed his desire not to talk and let him be.
Kieran trudged across the meadow, letting his mind imagine the wood carving of Iseult. The drawings gave the accurate shape, but not the emotion. That was the true challenge to him, bringing a face alive by revealing personality instead of mere appearance. He’d captured her eyes, but not her mouth.
It might be that Davin would want her smiling, but Iseult looked as though she hadn’t been happy in a long time.
Had Branna been like Iseult, promised to him but unhappy? He’d never know why she had turned against him, opening her arms to another man.
Bitterness filled him, for he knew just what it was to love someone who didn’t love you back.
* * *
When they reached the ringfort, his feet ached along with his back. Kieran didn’t relish the idea of skinning the game, nor cutting the deer and rabbit into strips of meat. The life of a slave, he reminded himself. He would have to perform the tasks that others did not wish to do.
He lifted the deer over his shoulders again and took it to the slaughtering pit. A wooden table was set out over a low stone trench, allowing any remaining blood to pass away from the work area.
The MacEgan Brothers Series Volume 1 Page 6