Her Warrior Slave

by Michelle Willingham

  He wanted to say something to Iseult, anything to break the awkward silence. The cool distance in her eyes bothered him more, for it made her unreachable.

  ‘Your bruises are fading,’ he remarked, then wished he hadn’t mentioned them. It would only conjure up memories of the night she’d been attacked.

  ‘Yes.’ She sipped the ale, her attentions elsewhere. He looked to see if there was something distracting her, but it seemed a deliberate move, not to meet his eyes.

  He laid a hand across her shoulders, hoping she would turn and look at him. But though she did not pull away, it reminded him that she rarely initiated an embrace or a kiss. He’d thought it was because of what had happened with Murtagh. Now he wondered if the fault lay with him. Did she genuinely not want him? He’d never press his attentions on her, if it caused her discomfort.

  He didn’t want to lose her. He’d rather have a celibate marriage than live without Iseult at his side.

  ‘I’ll be leaving at dawn with the men,’ he said. ‘And I don’t like what’s happening between us. You’re still angry with me.’ His hand moved over to her nape, and at last she faced him.

  ‘I’m afraid, Davin,’ she admitted. ‘Why must you fight them?’

  ‘Because I believe in defending my tribe instead of letting the enemy come and take what he wants. Including you.’

  Her shoulders lowered, her face troubled. ‘Who will stay behind to defend us, if you and your men fall in battle?’

  ‘We won’t fail you,’ he vowed. But in her eyes he saw the disbelief. It made him wonder what had changed. She was strangely quiet, almost suspicious of him. ‘Why would you think I’d let anything happen to you?’

  ‘If I had been taken,’ she asked, ‘would you have come to look for me?’

  ‘Of course.’ How could she think otherwise? ‘I would not rest until I brought you home again. Never doubt that.’ He drew her into his embrace, but she did not return it. ‘You mean everything to me, Iseult. I would never stop looking for you.’

  ‘And yet, you want me to stop looking for my son.’ Accusation lined her tone, cool as ice.

  So that was it. He wanted to exhale with relief, for at least he could do something about her anger. ‘After this is over, I’ll look with you for as long as you want,’ he assured her.

  Though he had hoped she would relinquish the search, it would take more time. He doubted if they would ever find the boy, as vast a land as Éireann was. Not a trace of Aidan had they seen. And he wasn’t altogether disappointed about it.

  The babe was not his, and he cringed at the idea of seeing a son that was not of his blood. It only reminded him that Iseult had shared her body with another man, and not himself. The jealous thoughts were wrong, he knew, but he could not deny them.

  ‘When this is over, will you visit the slave markets for me?’ she asked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to know if anyone sold Aidan into slavery. If they did, there might be a record.’

  ‘It’s been nearly a year,’ he reminded her. ‘I don’t know if they would still have any news.’ When her eyes would not meet his, he saw his chance dying. Quickly, he amended, ‘But I’ll try.’

  ‘Swear to me.’

  ‘I swear it.’ He would do whatever it took to keep her. Davin took her palm in his, stroking her cold fingers. ‘If there are answers to be had, I’ll find them.’

  Iseult squeezed his hand. ‘I hope so.’

  Niamh wondered why men felt the need to ride out in search of danger. They hadn’t been attacked by anyone, had they? And she knew in her heart that many of the tribesmen would not return alive.

  She watched each of them riding forth, and her gaze fell upon Davin Ó Falvey. Handsome as the sun, he was. A golden god of a man who had never noticed her, though she’d been fostered here for the past six years. She was like his little sister, always around.

  He rode past her, his gaze upon the others. Quietly, he ensured that each man had his weapons and provisions. And her heart sank at the thought of him dying.

  ‘Davin!’ she called out, picking up her skirts as she ran forwards.

  He offered her a kindly smile, one that a man would give to a child. ‘What is it, Niamh?’

  Don’t go, she wanted to say. Don’t leave us. But he had to, didn’t he? As their future chieftain, it was his responsibility.

  When she couldn’t seem to gather her words together, he leaned down. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

  Yes. Many things. You especially.

  But she couldn’t say that, now, could she? ‘I—I just wanted to wish you a safe journey,’ she managed. ‘Try not to get yourself killed.’

  He was laughing at her, though he tried to hide it. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Iseult would be devastated if she lost you.’

  I would be devastated.

  Davin reached out and touched the underside of her chin. ‘It will be all right, Niamh. I intend to come back, after we’ve driven the raiders out.’

  ‘Be sure that you do.’ She nodded briskly and walked away. Good heavens, why did she always make such a fool of herself around Davin? She wanted to bash her head against the wall.

  When she looked up, the slave was watching her. His black eyes saw what no one else did, her unspoken feelings. Colour flooded her cheeks.

  A moment later, she caught his gaze elsewhere. Upon Iseult. And, dear God, the look that passed between them was enough to set the ringfort ablaze. Though Iseult waved to the men, seemingly wishing Davin farewell, it was clear that she was fully aware of Kieran’s attentions.

  And her friend wasn’t immune to them.

  Well, now. That was something to think about, wasn’t it?

  When the men had gone, there was a palpable tension in the ringfort. Iseult had tried to go about her usual activities, but she had difficulty concentrating. The women milled about outside, most watching their surroundings as if expecting the Norsemen to come riding over the hillside with spears and battle cries.

  As she passed the open door of the carver’s hut, she saw Kieran inside. He was working steadily upon the dower chest, as if unconcerned by the possible raid. How could any man work at a time like this? She knew he’d been ordered to remain behind, along with the other slaves. But even they seemed preoccupied.

  She strode a few steps further, then stopped. If Davin and his men could not defeat the Norsemen, the ringfort would not be spared. She and the others would die.

  But she’d seen Kieran fight. Slave or not, he would know how to defend the fort. Slowly, she returned to his hut and stood at the entrance.

  ‘You’re blocking my light.’ His voice remained clipped, while he gouged an intricate border along the edge of the chest. With steady hands, he appeared unconcerned that they would face a possible siege this day. He’d pulled his black hair into a leather thong, and his tunic was rumpled. Despite the carelessness of his appearance, she found it hard to tear her gaze away from him.

  ‘Why work indoors? You’d have better light outside.’

  ‘It’s going to rain, and I’ve no wish to ruin the work I’ve begun.’

  Her lips drew in a line. ‘How can you sit and carve wood when we’re going to be attacked?’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do about it, is there?’ He cut another line from the oak, matching it to the first. Then he rubbed the section with butter, smoothing the finish. It seemed like a mindless task, continuing the carving around the rim.

  ‘That isn’t true at all. You know a great deal about defending a ringfort.’

  He set the cloth down and regarded her. His brown eyes held impatience, the look of a man who expected her to leave. Well, she wouldn’t. Not until she had his help.

  ‘What do you want from me, Iseult?’

  ‘I want you to help us, if Davin and his men should fail.’ He had the knowledge, she was sure of it. If he would just leave the hut and join the other men, she would feel safer.

  ‘If their forces cannot keep the invaders
out, there’s nothing I can do.’

  When he picked up another piece of wood, she curled her fists. ‘I don’t believe you. I think you’re being a coward.’ She wanted to provoke him, to see a flash of anger. Anything but the calm acceptance.

  Her words did just that. Kieran stood abruptly, his motion like a prowling animal. ‘Practical, yes. Coward, no.’

  ‘We aren’t prepared for them,’ Iseult argued. ‘We need to organise ourselves. Davin put Orin and a few of the others in charge of the defences, but Orin is only a boy.’

  ‘I am sure the older men will advise them.’

  Why was he avoiding this fight? She laid her hand upon his, pleading. ‘Help us.’

  His warm skin stirred her consciousness. He took another step closer, and his palm reached to her cheek, threading through her hair. She almost swayed on her feet, from the sensations overtaking her. She wanted to wind her arms around his neck and taste his kiss again.

  It was so wrong to think of him in that way. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  Kieran lowered his hand to her shoulder, before pulling away. ‘Let Davin and his men do their duty. When it’s over, you’ll forget your fears.’

  She wasn’t so certain. In the past few weeks, she’d lost so much faith in her betrothed. Last night, she had sat with Davin for hours while the others partook in the feasting. All she’d felt was emptiness and disappointment in herself.

  Davin had offered her everything, and yet, no matter what he did, she couldn’t bring herself to want him. She was beginning to question whether she should go through with the marriage. He deserved a woman who could love him, not a woman who didn’t know how to love.

  She knew the desire she felt for Kieran was just that—a forbidden temptation that she would never act upon. But his very presence reminded her of what was missing with Davin.

  She’d come here, hoping that Kieran would take the leadership and tell her what needed to be done. He had the instincts and the knowledge. If anything went astray, she wanted to rely upon him.

  ‘Don’t hide away, Kieran. We need you.’

  He leaned up against the doorframe. ‘I’m no hero, Iseult. Don’t try to make me into one.’

  Kieran was beginning to realise that staying at Lismanagh was impossible. Though it had only been a month, he could not remain any longer. If he stayed, he would take Iseult to his bed. She got beneath his skin in a way no woman ever had, and his very presence endangered her.

  She wanted him to defend her, to be her champion. Gods above, didn’t she know what she was asking?

  He couldn’t save his own tribe. Why would it be any different with the Ó Falvey people? It was better if he left them alone.

  A vision captured him, of the raiders taking Iseult. He pictured the men holding her down, and the thought made him want to sheathe his blade in their blood. A stinging sensation caught his attention. He’d been squeezing his knife so hard, the blade had cut into his thumb.

  He didn’t need to get involved in this. He knew the way these men fought, and it would not be a fair battle. Those who were foolish enough to cling to tribal methods of fighting were going to die. And so would the innocents.

  His gaze fell upon the wooden figure of his brother. Egan had been a victim, just as these folk would be. He closed his eyes.

  Just leave. Don’t concern yourself with them.

  The raid would provide the perfect opportunity to escape. No one would notice his absence, and by the time they discovered it, they would be unable to track him.

  He threw together a bundle of provisions—a few packets of dried food, water, flint and a knife. Just enough to survive.

  We need you, Iseult had said. The pleading look upon her face took apart all of his reasons for leaving. Could he turn his back, letting harm befall her?

  Damn her for bringing him into this. Cursing, he threw the provisions across the room. If he allowed the tribe to be slaughtered without raising a hand, it made him no better than the raiders.

  He armed himself with the few knives he had, mentally steeling himself for what was to come. The ringfort was unguarded, unprepared for an attack. It was up to him to change that.

  Outside, it was unnaturally quiet. The overcast sky had transformed, and a bright sun hung over the ringfort. Kieran crossed the distance to the gates. Orin and Muirne’s husband Hagen stood with spears gripped in their hands. The lad’s face was smeared with dirt, his eyes glassy as though he hadn’t slept. He was frozen with fear.

  ‘Any word?’ Kieran asked.

  Orin shook his head. ‘Nothing. I don’t like it. Shouldn’t they be back by now?’

  ‘It’s only been a few hours.’ Kieran nodded to the small crowd staring outside the wall. ‘I’ve an idea to improve our defences, Orin. If you wouldn’t mind, you could be a help to me.’

  The lad brightened and then tried to mask his enthusiasm with maturity. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘I’ll need oil. A barrel, if you can spare it.’ Kieran met Hagen’s gaze. ‘And a few men to dig a trench.’ The older man’s eyes gleamed, and a look of understanding passed between them.

  ‘What do we need oil for?’ Orin’s face wrinkled in confusion.

  ‘Just get it, lad,’ Hagen ordered. ‘I’ll keep watch while both of you do what needs to be done.’

  Iseult stayed beside Niamh, her hand palming a dagger. Every sense within her body was on alert. ‘I can’t stand this waiting,’ she admitted.

  ‘Me neither.’ Niamh held a spear, awkwardly lifting it into the air. ‘I don’t even know how to use this. I’d sooner stab a man in his knee instead of his heart. And that’s if I’m fortunate enough to hit him.’

  Iseult still fumed over Kieran’s refusal to help. What had she been expecting? That a slave could lead their defences? She was stupid to even think it. Everything about him had made her believe he was a warrior, or had been at one time. But she hadn’t expected him to give up so easily.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Niamh asked, interrupting her thoughts. She pointed towards the gates where Kieran and Orin were standing.

  The two men had lifted a barrel between them and were walking outside the ringfort without a single protest from Hagen. The older man let them pass, then resumed his position guarding the gate.

  ‘Are they planning to send a barrel of ale to the enemy?’ Iseult wondered aloud. She wasn’t sure what to think.

  The men disappeared beyond the rise of a hill and were gone for nearly two hours.

  When they returned, Kieran had balanced the barrel upon one shoulder.

  ‘I don’t think that was ale,’ Niamh replied. ‘But Orin certainly looks pleased with himself.’

  Iseult lowered her dagger. Kieran was watching her, his expression penetrating. He didn’t take his eyes off her, and she shivered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Niamh asked. ‘You’re flushed.’ Then she stared back at Kieran, her voice growing suspicious. ‘Iseult?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she insisted. But her cheeks were burning.

  Had he changed his mind? She wanted to believe it, but Kieran was unpredictable. ‘I’m going to find out what they’ve done.’

  Niamh cast a wary look and took her hand. ‘I don’t think you should talk with him. If Davin knew—’

  ‘He’s a slave, Niamh. Nothing more.’ If she said it enough, perhaps she would start to believe it.

  She crossed the ringfort and stopped in front of Kieran. Despite the bright day, a darkness seemed to shadow him. His black hair hung against his shoulders, the stubble of black beard outlining his cheeks. His skin had grown darker over the past few weeks as the sun transformed the landscape into spring. The lean, hollow look had gone, replaced by iron determination.

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to help us,’ she said at last. Her voice came out more sharply than she’d intended. She took a breath and amended, ‘If that’s what you were doing, I mean.’ She felt like kicking herself. There was no reason to be discomfited by Kieran.

>   He set the barrel down, not saying a word. Iseult gripped her fingers, feeling more and more foolish. Seconds later, Kieran turned his back on her and entered the woodcarver’s hut. She had the choice of letting him go or following.

  Curiosity overcame good sense. With a quick glance, she saw that no one was watching. It was easy enough to slip away from notice.

  Once she was inside the hut, Kieran closed the door behind her. The intense darkness felt stifling. Only the coals from the fire remained to light the space.

  ‘What did you do with the barrel?’ she asked.

  ‘Only what was necessary. There may be no need for it.’

  He wasn’t going to admit anything. Her exasperation rose even higher. ‘I’m glad you decided to grow a conscience.’

  ‘I haven’t. I don’t care about any of them,’ he said suddenly. His low voice filled the space, sensual and deep.

  Was he doing this for her? Her heartbeat quickened, and she took a step back towards the door, suddenly afraid to be alone with him.

  ‘Who do you care about?’ she whispered. ‘Yourself?’

  He reached out and unfastened the ribbon that held her braid. Letting it fall to the ground, her hair began to unravel around her shoulders.

  His silent gesture was not the answer she’d expected. Dark brown eyes gazed upon her as if he wanted to devour her. Her skin blazed with awareness, and more than ever she knew she needed to open the door and get out.

  ‘I’ll stay long enough to keep you safe. And then I’m leaving.’ His rough palm reached out to trace the outline of her jaw. She closed her eyes, entranced by his touch.

  ‘Run away, Iseult,’ he said. ‘If you’ve the courage.’

  ‘W-why?’ she stammered.

  ‘Because if you stay here, I’m going to kiss you goodbye.’

  Chapter Twelve

  So many thoughts passed through her mind, reasons why it was wrong to stay. Kieran was a slave, and she was betrothed to another man. Her hand closed upon the door, but she didn’t open it.

  Was it right to marry Davin? She didn’t love him, but he would be a good husband. In the past few weeks, her doubts had grown stronger. Davin didn’t want to find Aidan, not the way she did.