He moved to the edge of the palisade, surveying the battle outside. The enemy forces were not as large as he’d thought. The Lochlannachs numbered about thirty, with three mounted horsemen. Kieran shielded his eyes, noting their weapons. Mostly spears and archers, but a few wielded the deadly double-bladed battle-axes. They wore iron-masked helms and carried large wooden shields with elaborate iron bosses in the centre.
Leading the men was the raider who had tried to seize Iseult. The same hostage who had let himself be captured, in order to better understand the ringfort’s defences. Dressed in the armour of the Lochlannachs, it was clear that he was one of them.
Mentally Kieran adjusted the plan he’d formed. He signalled to Orin and Hagen, meeting them both just before the gates. ‘We need archers. How many of your men and women can wield a bow?’
Hagen shrugged. ‘Perhaps a dozen. Some of the younger boys can shoot.’
‘You’re going to need them.’ Kieran nodded to the walls. ‘Your only hope of surviving this attack is to shoot as many arrows as possible. Pick them off before they can get to the ringfort. But don’t shoot our men.’
Hagen gave the orders, and Orin handed Kieran a bow and quiver. He returned to the woodcarver’s hut where Iseult waited. She had bound her hair back up in the long braid and straightened her gown. She looked perfectly composed, not at all flustered by the way he’d touched her. Only her swollen lips gave evidence to their stolen moment.
Before he could breathe, she threw herself into his arms, holding tight. Even knowing he could not have her, could never be with her, he savoured the feeling. His palm caressed her back, while he imagined her bare skin against his own. More than anything in the world, he wanted to join his body with hers, and feel the fierce tremors of her release.
His mind filled up with a thousand reasons why he had to leave her behind. And yet, all he wanted to do was drag her to the back of the hut and satisfy his craving.
Damn it all, she made him want to live.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to let her go. Iseult rested her palms upon his chest. ‘What’s happening?’
‘We’re about to be attacked.’ Gently, he drew her hands away. ‘Can you shoot a bow?’
‘Not very well.’
‘Do the best you can. We’ll try to strike before they can reach our walls. With any hope, we’ll fend them off.’ He searched the hut for a length of linen and a small container of oil. When he found them, he tucked them away in a pouch at his waist.
‘What about—?’ She paled and tightened her lips. ‘What about Davin and the others? Are they dead?’
‘I don’t know.’
The stricken, helpless look upon her face made him damn the consequences and pull her into his arms once more. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he stroked her hair. ‘I won’t let them harm you.’
‘You’re leaving,’ she said.
‘After it’s over.’ Because it was the right thing to do. Though he had sworn to endure the servitude until summer, no longer could he keep the vow. Not without endangering Iseult.
Perhaps it was a greater penance, having to let her go.
He memorised her face, her eyes that would haunt him after he’d gone. Then at last he released her. ‘Wait a few moments and then follow me.’
Without looking back, he returned outside to his position along the palisade. There was no sign of the Ó Falvey tribesmen, only the line of enemy forces waiting to attack.
Orin joined him, his boyish face heavy with worry. ‘We’re going to die, aren’t we?’
‘We might.’ Kieran wrapped a scrap of linen around the tip of an arrow and soaked it in oil. A short time later, he saw Iseult emerge, before she went to retrieve her own bow and arrows.
Desire pierced him at the sight of her, mingled with regrets. He had no choice but to let her go, for he had no future to offer.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Iseult asked, when she joined him. In her palm, she clutched a bow.
‘How bad is your aim?’
She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I rarely hit anything.’
Kieran took one of her arrows and wrapped the tip in linen, soaking it in oil. ‘If they come towards the hillside, light this with a torch. Even if you strike a man’s leg or arm, the fire will injure him.’
Her expression remained uncertain, but she nodded. Kieran turned to Orin. ‘Have the others take their positions around the palisade. Every side must remain guarded.’
‘And we’ll survive?’ Orin’s voice revealed his fear.
Kieran fitted his arrow to the bow. ‘It’s our best chance. If they break into the ringfort, abandon it. Take sanctuary among the trees, and don’t try to fight them. They are here for conquest and looting, not your death.’
Even so, the young man looked as though he might lose his mid-day meal. His hands shook upon the bow, and tension gripped every muscle. Kieran set his hand upon Orin’s shoulder. ‘Just concentrate on one man at a time. You’ll manage. There are enough of us to hold them off.’
A brutal battle cry pierced the air, and a moment later, the Norsemen charged towards the ringfort. They wore leather armour and iron helms with nose guards. Experienced fighters they were, men who gloried in battle.
Kieran waited until they were in range and dipped his first arrow into the torch. He aimed at one of the mounted soldiers, stretching the bowstring taut. With a hiss, the flaming arrow struck its mark, setting the horseman ablaze.
Iseult turned her head away, grimacing. Though Kieran kept sending arrow after arrow, her hands shook. She’d never killed a man, nor did she want to. The clawing memory of the raider’s attack sank deep into her mind.
‘We need your bow, Iseult,’ Kieran said. ‘Don’t let your fear control you.’
With shaking hands, she followed his instructions for lighting an arrow. She stretched the bowstring, trying not to think of what she was about to do. Then a warm palm settled on her spine. ‘Keep your thoughts steady. Aim and shoot.’
The touch of his hand upon her skin seemed to calm her, and she drew strength from him. Though she loathed what she was about to do, she understood that if she did not kill these men, they would kill her.
Despite the heavy losses, the raiders kept coming. With wooden shields raised in a full line, the arrows no longer penetrated flesh. The flames attacked the wood, but the Norsemen showed no sign of retreat.
‘Orin.’ Kieran signalled to the young man. ‘It’s time.’
Time for what? Iseult wondered. Both men wrapped their arrows with linen, soaking the tips in oil. Instead of lighting the arrows, they made several more. Both men went to each side of the ringfort, distributing the arrows to Hagen and another to Niamh. Iseult hadn’t realised her friend was also fighting among them.
With his hand raised, Kieran ordered them to light their arrows. Iseult stepped back and watched as he held everyone’s attention.
By Saint Brigid, this man had never been a slave. He was leading her tribesman as surely as if he were Alastar or Davin. They seemed to sense his knowledge, and no one argued. When he called out the command to shoot, they released flaming arrows into the grass.
Instantly, a ring of fire surrounded the ringfort. The oil. He’d built a fiery boundary around them, one that no raiders could penetrate. The invaders stopped short, and at that moment Davin’s men appeared on the opposite side.
Relief flooded through her at the sight of Davin and the others. With swords and spears, they attacked the enemy, while from the ringfort Kieran ordered a steady stream of arrows.
They were winning the battle. Iseult’s arms ached and her inner forearm stung from the bowstring. Beside her, Orin’s face gleamed with triumph.
And when she looked towards Kieran once again, he wasn’t there. Her heart bled, for she knew he’d taken the opportunity to leave. He hadn’t said a word to her, and it stung to realise he had truly gone.
It felt empty without him. Iseult forced herself to continue shooting arrows, and a mo
ment later, she saw Kieran outside the ringfort, armed with a knife and torch. He swung the torch at a Norseman, using the blade to take his enemy’s life. When the raider fell, Kieran seized the double-edged sword, hacking a path to freedom. In time, he disappeared over the opposite side of the hill.
Hagen joined alongside them, and it was then that Orin noticed Kieran’s absence. ‘Where is Kieran?’ he asked.
‘He…joined Davin and the other men in the battle,’ she lied.
Orin nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good. Davin could use him at his side.’
Iseult tried to smile, but couldn’t bring one to her lips. Hagen turned to the pair, his long greying hair hanging against his broad shoulders. He slung his bow over one arm, pointing at the remains of the battle. ‘That slave was a warrior. Mark my words. He’s seen fighting of this sort many times.’
‘I believe it.’ Orin lowered his own bow, and they stood watching the remains of the battle. Though the fiery ring still burned, Iseult saw that the men had dug a shallow trench to prevent the flames from spreading further.
She leaned up against the palisade, her knees beginning to shake. Kieran was truly gone. It froze her senses, just to think of it. Though he had been with their tribe only a few weeks, he had awakened a dormant part of her spirit. She wanted to weep, but knew she did not deserve to mourn what had never been. Sinking against the palisade wall, she closed her eyes to the remains of the battle, wanting to disappear.
Niamh approached, her face looking worried. ‘Are you all right, Iseult?’
No, she wanted to say. ‘Just shaky. I’ll be well enough in a few minutes.’
* * *
Deena and a few of the women waited near the gates for hours, before the first of the tribesmen arrived, both the wounded and the dead. Cearul had not survived the battle, along with half a dozen others. Davin walked with a limp, his face covered in blood and dirt. His eyes were weary, but he was alive.
Iseult broke into tears at the sight of him. Her weeping was not thankfulness for his well-being, but instead the worst guilt she could have felt. Anger at herself, anger at Kieran for leaving, and grief for those who had died. His arms were around her in moments, and his low voice murmured words of comfort and endearments.
When the last body was brought in, the sight nearly took her to her knees. Kieran was carried by two men, his face ashen. A makeshift bandage covered his side, stained with blood.
‘Is he—?’ Her voice would hardly form the words, such terror struck her.
‘No. But he took a sword that was meant for me. I’d be dead if he weren’t fighting at my side.’ The solemnity of Davin’s voice revealed his debt.
He was supposed to escape. Iseult’s legs trembled, and she clung to Davin to keep from screaming. Her mind and soul were torn apart, between the two men she cared for.
‘If it weren’t for him, we would have died here as well,’ Iseult managed. ‘The raiders broke past your men and attacked.’
‘We saw the fires. Thank God he started them.’ Davin led her away from the wounded, towards his family’s hut. ‘I am granting him his freedom in return for what he did here. If he lives.’
Another tear slid down her cheek, for if Kieran didn’t live, his freedom meant nothing at all.
When they reached his dwelling, Davin embraced her, stroking her hair. ‘We will say a Mass this evening, of thankfulness. And in memory of those who perished.’
Iseult couldn’t stop her tears. It wasn’t right to marry Davin, not any more. But how could she explain? It was not as though Kieran wanted her. He hadn’t even suggested taking her with him. Pain cut through her, for she no longer understood her own feelings.
‘I will see you later,’ she said quietly, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘I think I’ll go and help Deena. She’ll have her hands full with the wounded.’
When Davin had gone, it was all she could do to keep her steps even. She needed to know if Kieran was all right. The idea of him dying made her numb inside.
She opened the door to the sick hut and found chaos. Men were crying out in pain while Deena walked from one tribesman to the next. Niamh was helping her, and Iseult stood out of the way.
‘Do you want another pair of hands?’ she asked.
‘What I need is a larger space,’ Deena answered. ‘The men are too close together, and none can heal with these conditions.’
‘Should we move some of them?’
‘After I’ve treated those with minor wounds. They can return to their homes and we’ll see what we have left.’
‘How is Kieran?’ Iseult asked gravely.
Deena shook her head. ‘If he makes it through the night, it will be a miracle. The sword cut him across the ribs. I’ve stitched him up, but if the wound becomes poisoned, he’ll die.’
Iseult’s heartbeat quickened with fear. She stepped across the wounded and knelt beside Kieran. She took his hand, and as soon as she touched his cold flesh, she sensed the danger.
‘You saved us,’ she murmured beneath her breath, knowing he could not hear her. ‘I’ll always be grateful for it.’ Her thumb traced small circles over the back of his hand. ‘Davin granted you your freedom. You saved his life.’
She swallowed hard, bitter tears drowning her eyes. Leaning down, she saw his eyes flicker. And she whispered one last truth.
‘I’m not going to marry him.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The pain ripped through Kieran so badly, he wished the sword had ended his life. He wanted to let go, to sink into the nothingness that beckoned. But he felt a woman’s hand touching his, her fingers interlaced with his own. Sweet and fragrant, he recognised Iseult’s unique scent immediately. And somehow it gave him strength, having her near. He kept his eyes closed, fighting against the brutal agony that threatened to drag him under.
‘Davin is looking for you,’ he heard Deena say.
‘I know. I’ll come soon.’ A cool compress settled upon his forehead. He smelled pungent herbs, and a wooden cup touched his mouth.
‘Drink. It will help you sleep,’ Iseult urged. He choked down the bitter brew, forcing his eyes open. If he was going to die this night, he wanted to remember her face.
‘I’ll return later,’ she murmured. Deep blue eyes held worry, her mouth unsmiling. She had bound her hair, but a few sunny strands escaped, framing her face. God, she was beautiful.
And she wasn’t his. Never would be, despite what she’d said. She’d been speaking foolishness when she’d said earlier that she wasn’t going to marry Davin. The chieftain’s son would make a good husband for her. Davin would take care of her and protect her the way he couldn’t.
His head felt as heavy as stone. Although he had his freedom now, it meant less than he’d thought it would. Like a hollow shell, he had no one to share it with. The thought of returning home was an impossible vision.
A gnarled hand touched him, and he managed to raise his eyelids. Deena spread a cooling herbal mixture upon his wounds, and it made it easier to give in to the sleeping draught.
‘She cares for you,’ Deena said. ‘You’d best watch yourself, slave.’
‘She belongs with Davin.’ He winced when she touched the sword wound, wrapping a bandage around his ribs.
‘Aye, she is betrothed to him. But why did she come to tend you, instead of Davin?’ The healer’s knowing glance pierced him.
Kieran struggled to breathe, pain lancing his side. ‘I don’t know.’
The lie fell from his mouth, but he suspected that Iseult’s feelings were as tangled as his own.
Deena sat back to regard him. ‘Do you love her?’
He said nothing, closing his eyes as if he hadn’t heard the words. Though he wanted Iseult for himself, she was fully out of his reach.
‘Well?’ she prompted again.
‘Stop your prying, woman.’
Deena laughed and leaned forwards, lowering her voice. ‘If you want to win her heart, find her son. A man who loved her would seek the answers she cannot
find.’
Kieran turned his face away from the healer, sinking into sleep. And in his dreams, the face of his brother haunted him.
* * *
That night, Iseult stood at Davin’s side in the cool stone chapel while their priest, Father Aengus, said a special Mass for the dead. The Latin words washed over her, familiar and comforting. But when she knelt to pray among the tribesmen and women, she found herself praying for Kieran. She murmured the silent words, both for him and for her missing son. God keep them both.
Afterwards, Davin led her back to his dwelling. Iseult forced herself to go with him, though she wanted to return to the sick hut. Her thoughts roiled with guilt, for she was betraying Davin by keeping silent about her feelings for Kieran.
But if she admitted the truth, Davin would kill Kieran. The only way to protect him was to hold her tongue.
When they arrived, Neasa approached them from the far side of the chapel. The woman wore her hair bound up in a fine linen veil, and her grey eyes held solemn accusations.
‘Davin, your father wants to see you.’ She smiled warmly, embracing her son. ‘He wants your help in inspecting the damage. Iseult and I will direct the meal preparations while you’re gone.’
Davin lifted her palm to his lips. ‘I’m sorry, a stór. I’ll return soon.’ The heat and longing in his eyes drove an invisible knife into her heart. Somehow, she forced a smile.
Neasa waited until he’d joined Alastar at the opposite end of the fort before she spoke. ‘I saw you earlier,’ she accused. ‘You went to the slave’s hut alone during the battle.’
It was clear what Neasa was implying. Iseult could not deny it, but what could she say? She chose her words carefully. ‘I did, yes. And without Kieran’s help, all of us would have died in the battle. You know it as well as I. I went to gain his help.’
‘You were alone with him. And when Davin learns of it—’
Iseult cut her off. ‘He will not learn of it.’ Fear gripped her by the throat. She fully intended to break off the betrothal, but not until Kieran had recovered from his wounds. His life depended upon her silence. ‘Nor will he hear lies from you.’
The MacEgan Brothers Series Volume 1 Page 14