He stood and brought the fillets over to her. ‘Where do you want these?’
She took the fish and put them in a clean wooden container near her feet. ‘That will do. Go on, now, and leave me to my task.’
He was making her uncomfortable, watching her the way he did. ‘Wager or not, it’s a lot of fish. And I’d like to eat my evening meal within a reasonable hour.’
She huffed a strand of hair out of her face. ‘Then take your twelve and leave.’
‘Who’s leaving?’ Muirne stepped outside the hut, wiping her hands upon a cloth. When she saw Kieran, her eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, you’re the new slave, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’ Though he lowered his head, Iseult saw not a trace of humility.
‘It’s good that Davin sent you to help with the fish. Our Iseult would have been here all night, otherwise.’
Iseult noticed that Kieran did not correct the assumption. She doubted if Davin had even thought of it, so concerned was he with the Norse raiders.
Muirne nodded to Iseult. ‘Stop for a moment and dine with us. You can share a meal with us as well, slave. Bring a few more of those fillets, some of the smaller ones. It won’t take long to add more food.’
‘His name is Kieran,’ Iseult said. ‘And he was just leaving.’
‘I wouldn’t mind sharing a meal,’ he said. ‘It has been a while since I’ve had company.’
When Iseult glared at him, his expression held nothing but innocence.
‘Come in, then.’ Muirne opened the door and winked. ‘Pity you’re a slave. A handsome one you are, Kieran.’
He blinked at that, and Iseult nearly laughed. It served him right. With a flushed face, he entered Muirne’s hut. The boys, Glendon and Bartley, were chasing one another around the small space. Muirne’s husband Hagen calmly picked them up by their tunics and dropped them onto the ground beside the low table.
Muirne poured cold water into a basin and handed it to Kieran, along with a small cake of soap. ‘Both of you wash yourselves. You’ve made my home smell enough like fish.’
Kieran gestured for Iseult to use the basin first. She washed her hands and face, emptying the soiled water outside before refilling the basin for Kieran. He stared at the water a moment before dipping his hands in, soaping them heavily.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I was just thinking that it’s been a long time since I’ve had soap.’
‘How did you bathe before?’ He didn’t smell bad, but she hadn’t thought of it before now.
‘Mostly in cold streams with sand. Sometimes the ocean.’
Iseult winced, thinking of his wounds. The salt must have been excruciating. ‘Seamus has a basin somewhere among his belongings. I’ll bring you some soap, if you’d wish it.’
‘Thank you,’ he said softly before taking the basin out to empty it.
* * *
Though Kieran said little throughout the meal, he ate well enough. Muirne kept his plate full, asking constant questions and chatting without stopping for air. Hagen held an amused air throughout the meal, though upon occasion he sent warning glances to the boys for interrupting.
‘What happened that you became a slave?’ Muirne asked finally. ‘It’s obvious to me from your bearing that you were a free man once before. Were you taken captive?’
He’d never answer that question. Iseult was certain of it.
‘I wasn’t a captive, no.’ Kieran spoke quietly, giving his attention to the remains of his meal.
Muirne’s face fell. ‘Oh, lad. I suspected as much, given how strong you seem to be. No one should have to lose their freedom in that way. I’m sorry to hear of your family’s decision.’
Iseult frowned. ‘What decision?’
Muirne sighed and ladled another spoonful of stewed cherries onto Kieran’s plate. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? His family sold him into slavery.’
Kieran’s face became strained. ‘No. They didn’t sell me. I sold myself.’ He stood, thanking Muirne for the meal. ‘Forgive me, but I have work I must do.’
Seconds later, he’d gone. Iseult stared over at Muirne, who looked as shocked as she felt.
‘Sweet Mary.’ Muirne reached over for Kieran’s plate. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Neither could Iseult. Why would any man willingly surrender his freedom? What gain could there possibly be?
‘Now there is a true nobleman.’ Muirne sighed again like a lovelorn maid. ‘He probably gave the profits to his family.’
Iseult helped her clear the table off, not entirely believing it. There was far more to Kieran’s story than this.
Outside, she finished cleaning the remainder of the fish until her eyes drooped and her fingers were sore. She’d nicked her fingers on the blade more than a few times. But it didn’t take as long as she’d thought, since Kieran and Muirne had both helped.
Iseult set aside three watertight baskets and divided up each man’s share, deducting the fish Kieran had eaten at the meal. Last, she filled each basket with a brine solution to preserve the fish until they could be smoked tomorrow morning.
Wearily, she crossed to a trough of water and rinsed her hands.
Muirne’s foster-sons were more than happy to bring Davin and Orin their baskets, and she planned to bring Kieran his own share.
The ringfort was quiet and dark, save for the torches flickering around its diameter. Even with only nine fish, the basket was heavy. Iseult strained under the weight, reminding herself that it wasn’t much further. She’d give him the fish, and then the man could do whatever he liked.
Iseult set the basket down in front of his door and knocked sharply upon the door. After a few moments of silence, she decided he must have gone to speak with Davin. Opening the door, she hefted the basket of fish and staggered inside with it.
To her surprise, Kieran sat at the bench, two oil lamps providing the light while he sketched a design with charcoal.
‘Why didn’t you open the door?’ she asked, dropping the basket in front of him.
‘I didn’t want visitors.’ He continued working upon a pattern of intricate lines.
‘I’ve brought your fish. They’re in the basket.’ She added, ‘I packed them in brine, so they’ll keep until tomorrow.’
Kieran nodded, still not looking up from his work. Once again, she felt as though she’d done something wrong.
‘Why are you behaving this way?’ she demanded. ‘You won’t even look at me, will you? I cleaned your fish, and you haven’t the courtesy to offer thanks.’
He set the charcoal down and stared at her. ‘You know exactly why I’m staying away from you, Iseult.’ He stood, his body shadowed by the lamps. In the tiny space, she grew aware of him. The gruff tone of his voice and the way he moved, like a hunter, froze her in place.
‘I don’t, no.’
Liar.
She forced herself not to move as he closed the distance. Kieran stood only a palm’s distance away, intimidating her with his nearness. His hands smelled of fresh wood, and his hair was damp.
‘I think you do know. And that is why you should leave right now.’ His voice was barely above a whisper, and his hand caught her chin.
Though her instincts warned her to flee, she remained where she was. Dark eyes mesmerised her, along with the lean planes of his face. Kieran was unlike any man she’d known, and her heartbeat raced beneath her skin.
Don’t do this, her mind warned. Her impulses didn’t listen.
She reached out and touched the warm skin of his neck. Her own flesh seemed to answer, and the interior of the hut blazed with heat. He made her feel everything she didn’t feel with Davin. And the thought alarmed her.
‘I’m not your enemy,’ Iseult whispered.
‘Yes, you are.’ And then his mouth descended upon hers, hot and wicked. His hand threaded through her hair, dragging her face to meet his kiss.
He offered no mercy, no tenderness. Only wild, forbidden desire. Her body flooded with h
eat, her breasts tightening at the feel of his skin pressed against hers. This was what she’d been missing with Davin. Even the one lover she’d had, the father of her child, could not compare to this.
His kiss bruised her lips, but she didn’t care. She lost herself in him, grasping his shoulders for balance. All the frustration she felt towards him, the anger and need, came crashing down.
His tongue slipped inside her mouth, carnal and sensuous. Between her legs, she ached to feel him, to know his touch. Her reasoning cried out to stop, but she didn’t have the strength to push him away. Shame filled her, and, at last, she lowered her head to break the kiss.
She tried to steady her breathing, but it was like trying to stop a rising tide. Kieran stepped back, his eyes fierce with hunger.
‘I didn’t know it would be like this,’ she managed, her hands shaking as she wrapped them around her waist.
‘I did. And that is why I don’t want you to come here again. Stay away from me, Iseult. Or the next time, I won’t let you go.’
She nodded, her eyes burning. Right now she understood why he’d shunned her and knew that she must do the same. There could never be a future for them, not while she was betrothed.
Davin was the man meant to be her husband, not a slave. She had lost her head to desire once, and paid a terrible price. She wouldn’t do it again.
After she’d gone, Kieran sank down on the bench. Gods, how could he have been so witless? He’d meant to scare her, to send her fleeing back to her betrothed. Instead, he’d nearly seduced her.
He picked up one of his blades and stabbed it into a block of yew. Even now his mouth burned with the taste of her. Closing his eyes, he tried not to think of Davin touching her in that way. Jealousy seared him, and he gripped the knife, jerking it from the wood. For a moment, he stared at the blade. The sooner he finished the dower chest and left Lismanagh, the better.
* * *
Later that night, Kieran awoke to hear battle cries. He jerked to his feet, and reached for a carving dagger. His heartbeat pulsed an erratic rhythm, while his mind evoked vicious images from the past.
The roar of the invaders mingled with his people begging for mercy. Torches seared thatched roofs, decimating homes in a fiery blaze. His sister Aisling screamed for help, while another raider seized Egan. Torn between them, he’d killed the raider who had tried to take Aisling. And he’d lost Egan.
Kieran shoved the door open, his gaze raking in the sight of the tribesmen. Almost a dozen Ó Falvey men entered the gate, laughing while driving a small flock of sheep within. At the entrance, he saw three men bound as hostages.
A midnight raid upon another tribe. Nothing more. And yet his lungs closed up with the assault of vivid memories. Men like these had stolen his brother away.
Kieran stared at one of the hostages, whose physical strength looked tough enough to snap through the ropes in a single motion. The man surveyed the scene with a cool eye. Dark gold hair was pulled back with a leather thong, and his fierce features appeared more Norse than Irish. He wore the colours of a tribesman, however.
His expression remained calm—not the look of a helpless man taken prisoner. This was a man who’d let himself become a hostage—and Kieran didn’t trust him.
While the other two men struggled against their bonds and cursed, the third captive didn’t move. He let them chain him to a wooden post in front of a large mound.
Kieran stopped one of the Ó Falvey tribesmen. ‘Who is he?’ He pointed towards the third captive.
The man stared at Kieran, as if wondering why a slave dared to speak. At last, he shrugged. ‘One of the Sullivans. Our men captured more sheep, and some hostages.’
Though raids were common between tribes, Kieran couldn’t dismiss his instincts. He studied the prisoner, and the way the man’s eyes moved over each of them. Almost as if he were memorising faces.
Kieran stepped into the light, his hand still clenched around the knife. He strode forwards until he caught the captive’s glance. More than ever, he was convinced the men were not Irish, though they dressed as tribesmen.
‘Who are you?’ he asked softly, using a few words of the Norse tongue.
The captive’s gaze snapped to his. Then he gave a slow smile, though he did not answer.
In the man’s eyes, he sensed a threat.
CHAPTER NINE
Iseult awoke the next morning to a hand stroking her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw Davin smiling down at her. Her cheeks burned when he leaned down to kiss her lips. Anyone could see them, and she didn’t want the prying eyes of Muirne’s boys upon them.
‘Good morn, a stór.’
Iseult hid her embarrassment in Davin’s shoulder, embracing him. It was hard to meet his eyes, for she feared if she looked at him, he might see her guilt at kissing Kieran. She’d never expected nor wanted it to happen.
Why had she done it? She should have pushed him away as soon as it happened. Instead, she’d kissed him back. Fool. Idiot. Remorse smothered her, and she inwardly vowed that she’d not betray Davin. She would never sink to that form of dishonour. She wasn’t that sort of woman.
‘I came to show you something.’ Davin helped her rise, while Muirne’s foster-sons giggled from their own pallets. Iseult ignored the boys and donned an overdress atop her léine. She wasted no time in going outside with Davin. Streaks of fuchsia cut the dawn sky, a portent of afternoon rain.
She stifled a yawn. Late last night she’d heard the men returning from their raid. She’d glimpsed hostages, but paid them no mind. Likely it had been Cearul’s doing. The hot-headed tribesman loved nothing better than to lead an attack.
Davin directed her to a small clearing near the edge of the ringfort. At first Iseult didn’t understand what she was meant to see. Nothing stood before them, save grass and dirt.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s where I’ll be building our new home.’ He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. ‘What do you think?’
Her throat tightened, for he’d guessed what she wanted most. A place of their own. A place where she could begin her life over again and forget the mistakes she’d made in the past. Her fingers clenched in her skirts. ‘It’s wonderful, Davin.’
‘I won’t be able to start it until we’ve built up our defences against the Norsemen. But after they’re gone…’ His voice trailed off, and he turned to kiss her.
Iseult tried to pour herself into his embrace, wanting to prove to herself that she could feel the same longing for Davin. From the way he pulled her tightly against him, she knew she’d kindled his desire.
And still she felt nothing.
‘Lie with me, Iseult,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘I want you.’
Her face revealed the misery she felt. When he saw it, his visage tensed. ‘I don’t know what Murtagh did to you, but by God, if he ever crosses my borders, I’ll murder him where he stands.’
She said nothing, fighting back tears. It was easier to pretend that Murtagh had harmed her than to admit that the failing lay with her. She had surrendered her body, but Murtagh hadn’t wanted her as a wife. Not even when he knew about their unborn child.
Davin pulled her into his arms again, pressing a kiss against her hair. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can wait for you.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘But I’ll never force you. You know that I love you, a chroí. I’ll wait as long as I have to.’
Iseult nodded, her throat closing up with unshed tears. He isn’t the same man as Murtagh, her mind urged. He would never humiliate you. She had to believe that.
Davin took her hand, and they walked through the centre of the ringfort towards the opposite side. Iseult paused in front of the hostages, asking, ‘What will happen to them?’
‘When the ransom arrives, I’ll release them.’ Davin shrugged, as though he hadn’t given it much thought.
One of the men was watching her, and Iseult shivered. His fierce gaze studied her with interest. Something about these men did not bode w
ell.
‘There was no need for prisoners,’ she told him. ‘Not from a simple raid.’
‘There’s no real harm done. The Sullivans steal sheep from us all the time. We’re just taking them back.’
‘Men aren’t sheep.’ She couldn’t help but think of Kieran. He’d been a prisoner, just like these hostages. It didn’t feel right, though she knew the men would not be treated as slaves.
‘Perhaps they’ll think twice before they attack us again.’ Davin walked onwards, not sparing the men another glance.
Iseult took no comfort from his words. The hostage who’d been staring at her gave a malicious smile. At his taunting expression, she moved closer to Davin. Her instincts warned her that this man was far more dangerous than they suspected.
* * *
Kieran spent the next few weeks isolated in the hut. He immersed himself with carving, barely stopping to eat or drink. The evocative images seemed to flow from his hands, and he struggled to finish the design upon the chest. His tools were barely sharp enough to penetrate the seasoned wood. Normally he worked the oak while it was still green and soft, adding butter or animal fats to keep it from cracking afterwards. But this wood challenged him, for it had been worked over the course of several years.
He’d wanted to carve an image of the Virgin Mary into the chest, holding a child. And yet each stroke of the blade was a trial of strength and control.
He planned to give the Madonna Iseult’s face. Sacrilege, perhaps. But he could easily envision her holding a babe in her arms, smiling down in wonder at her son.
Every day, he was conscious of her. Though he hadn’t spoken to her, he couldn’t stop himself from catching glimpses. Now that the weather had turned warmer, he sometimes brought the heavy chest outside, using the natural sunlight as he worked beneath a triangular thatched shelter.
The right panel of the chest had split down the centre and would need to be replaced. If he could cut a fresh piece of oak and create a simple joint, he could fix the broken piece. Although he’d found a small underground storage chamber where Seamus kept the dry timber, none of the pieces were suitable, nor the right size. The supply of walnut was very low, as well as the yew. And the oak was gone.
The MacEgan Brothers Series Volume 1 Page 10