Her Warrior Slave

by Michelle Willingham

  Inside the stables, he smoothed the flanks of his horse, murmuring in a low voice.

  ‘I brought you some ale,’ Niamh said, pouring him a cup.

  ‘In the stables?’ Davin frowned, sniffing the brew.

  ‘Why not?’ She set the ewer down and behaved as if people normally drank ale amidst the horses.

  He wasn’t at all fooled. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

  Only for you to look upon me in the same way as you do Iseult. The man was blind, never seeing what was right in front of him. But Niamh did not speak her innermost thoughts.

  She leaned up against a wooden stall, sipping her own mug of ale. It tasted as terrible as she remembered, but she managed to choke it down. ‘Why not tell me what’s troubling you?’ she suggested. ‘I’m a good listener.’

  Davin’s lips curved in a patronising smile. ‘I won’t burden you with our tribe’s needs, Niamh.’

  Liar. He wasn’t thinking of the tribe at all.

  ‘You’re thinking of Iseult,’ Niamh predicted, keeping her voice light, as if the answer didn’t matter. ‘She is very beautiful.’

  The way I’m not. But then, she’d come to terms with her plain face. She couldn’t do anything about what God had given her, so she’d have to make the most of her wits.

  Davin took a long drink of ale and looked around the stable, as if hoping to escape once again.

  ‘You still love her, don’t you?’ Niamh had no qualms about asking a direct question. When he nodded slowly, the pain was evident in his eyes. Fool that she was, she found him attractive. And she was drawn to his wounded, misguided heart.

  She took his cup from him and refilled it once more. ‘You’re a good man, Davin Ó Falvey, even if you’ve made some mistakes.’

  ‘And what mistakes would those be?’

  Niamh held out her hand, counting off her fingers. ‘Let me see. Not looking for Iseult’s son, bullying her when she tried to leave, threatening to kill Kieran…shall I go on?’

  Davin reached for the ewer and refilled his mug. In the shadows of the barn, his gold hair appeared darker. His cheeks were stony, his blue eyes haggard. ‘I did what I thought was right.’

  Niamh rolled her eyes. ‘You were stupid, that’s what. The choice has to be hers.’

  He drained the mug of ale. ‘Are you trying to make me feel better? Because if you are, it’s not working.’

  ‘I’m simply stating the truth.’ She refilled his mug again and found him staring at her. Those blue eyes, intelligent and honest, made her transform from a sensible young woman into the worst sort of halfwit. What she wouldn’t give to be kissed by a man such as him. Someone who knew what a woman dreamed of.

  Davin shook his head, gripping the mug as though it were a man’s throat. ‘Things didn’t end well between us. I almost went after her.’ He expelled a rough laugh. ‘That would have been pitiful, wouldn’t it? But I’m afraid I won’t be able to make things right. I said terrible things to her.’

  Oh, saints above. He was treating her as his confessor, wanting advice. This was going terribly wrong.

  ‘Well, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find another woman to wed.’ She drank her own mug of ale and found that the taste wasn’t so bad. Then again, her head was feeling a trifle muzzy.

  ‘Why are you so intent on me finding a wife?’ His voice had mellowed, and he filled both of their cups again. The ale sloshed over the sides, spattering onto the dirt floor.

  ‘You’re a fine-looking man. I think you deserve to be happy.’ She complimented him as if she were speaking of the weather. Thank heavens, she wasn’t flushing. But Davin looked as though he wanted to bolt from the stables.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she continued. ‘I’m not expecting you to say the same for me. I’m plain-faced, and well I know it.’

  He set down his mug and reached out to touch a strand of her hair. She didn’t breathe, couldn’t move when he fingered the brown curl. ‘You aren’t that plain.’

  Polite words, empty words they were. She knew it. ‘But not as beautiful as Iseult.’

  He didn’t deny it, as she’d expected. Brightly, she added, ‘I do hope you find happiness, though. With a woman who cares about you.’

  Like me. But she didn’t say it. Her quest was hopeless, and she might as well abandon it.

  ‘I think we’ve finished the ale,’ she said, holding her spinning head with a hand.

  ‘There isn’t enough ale in Éireann to make me forget about her,’ Davin grumbled, raising the empty ewer.

  He’d lost count of how much he’d drunk, but it hadn’t drowned the memory of Iseult and Kieran. She really did love the slave. He could see it in the wistful expression on her face, in the way she touched Kieran’s tools. She wanted to be with him.

  And the thought of the two of them together made him want to stab something.

  Niamh sank against the stable wall, tucking her feet beneath her léine. ‘I think I drank too much.’ She fumbled with her hair absently, then unbraided it. The long brown length spilled across her shoulders in soft waves. In the fading sunset, her hair had a golden halo.

  He couldn’t help but notice the way her gown moulded to generous curves. Though her face was not as fair as Iseult’s, Niamh had an interesting smile.

  ‘Why didn’t you go after them?’ she asked. ‘Kieran and Iseult, I mean.’

  The effects of the ale made the stable sway. He sat down beside her, leaning back for balance. ‘I don’t know. I should have.’ He propped his hand up on one knee. The ale hadn’t dulled his senses enough, and his restlessness continued. ‘Why did you really come here, Niamh?’

  Guilt flushed her face, followed by stubbornness. ‘Because I wanted to help you forget about her,’ she whispered.

  In her eyes, he saw a storm of troubled emotions. And something more…a longing. It startled him, to see a woman who desired him.

  He’d known Niamh for many years, but never had she stirred any feelings in him. She’d been a friend, someone who was always there.

  ‘What do you want from me, Niamh?’ he asked.

  ‘I want you to let her go.’ She rested her palms on his shoulders. The touch of her hands startled him, evoking sensations he’d locked away for so long.

  ‘And if I did?’ he asked.

  She lifted her knuckles to the growth of beard upon his cheeks, grazing it softly. ‘Then there might be a chance that you’d find love again. Somewhere unexpected.’

  Not once had she spoken her feelings, though they were as transparent as water. He took her palm in his, aware that the ale had relaxed him more than it should have. Never would he have touched her otherwise.

  But she had not pushed him. And he found her intriguing to look at. With a thumb, he brushed the edge of her mouth, watching her response. The flesh upon her skin rose up in goose bumps.

  He leaned in, angling his mouth to taste her lips. The sweetness of her innocence allured him, and when she welcomed his kiss, he deepened it.

  Her cheeks flamed scarlet when at last he drew back. ‘I’ve been kissed before. But never by the man I wanted.’ A chagrined smile tipped her mouth. ‘Thank you for taking pity upon me.’

  She rose and fled the stables before he could answer. It hadn’t been pity at all.

  And that, perhaps, was the greatest surprise of all.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kieran smelled the smoke for miles before he reached the settlement. Once it had been a catháir, a ringfort made of stone. Now all that remained were ashes. Sounds mingled, of children crying and mothers trying to hush them.

  Familiar sounds, of people dying. Like a living nightmare, it was like stepping back in time to the aftermath of his own tribe’s raid. Kieran suppressed a shudder as he dismounted and tethered his mount. Whether it was Norsemen or another clan didn’t matter. What mattered was the survivors.

  Small huts dotted the land, until he reached the centre point where they were clustered together. What he found appalled him.

&
nbsp; The bodies of slain men rested upon the ground, their bodies stiffened before anyone could bury them. Women, too, lay dead. The living folk were huddled together, soothing children and talking amongst themselves. Their stares pierced right through him, suspicious and fearful.

  It was like walking amidst his own people and being unable to help. There was a sense of chaos, a lack of leadership. No one was giving orders, nor making decisions on what was to be done. Women and children spoke in low voices, each waiting for someone else to take command.

  It was presumptuous to step into such a role, though Kieran knew what needed to happen first. But perhaps, once he acted, they would follow.

  Without speaking a word, he found a spade leaning against one of the huts near a garden. After choosing a spot, he began to dig a shallow grave. The dull wooden tool bit into the damp earth and as the dirt began to pile up, he found himself remembering the tribe members they had lost.

  Declan. Séan. Siobhan.

  Some had died from hunger, others from the raiders who had struck them down. The simple task of digging a grave released the grief he’d held back for so long. He hacked at the earth, giving rein to the anger and frustration. He had lived, while his closest friends had died. And Egan.

  The people watched him in silence, before another young woman joined him with her digging stick. Then an older woman and a child barely over the age of eight. Together they worked to bury the dead. Kieran kept his head lowered so they would not look upon his face. He poured himself into the gruelling work, letting it ease him in a way nothing else could.

  When the last spade of earth covered the last body, his palms were blistered and his mind blessedly empty. The sun had gone down hours earlier, and they had worked by torchlight.

  He leaned against the spade, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

  ‘You must be thirsty,’ an older woman said, offering a dripping skin of water. ‘I am Rosaleen Murphy. Who are you, lad, and who sent you?’

  ‘I am Kieran Ó Brannon.’ He took a long drink of water, never minding that it was stale, and handed it back to Rosaleen. For a moment, he almost called himself a slave. But he’d earned back his freedom. He thought of telling her he was a woodcarver. But in the end, the truth came out.

  ‘I am a chieftain’s son and a warrior,’ he said. Her head nodded with approval, and he continued. ‘I came in search of Aidan MacFergus. His mother Iseult has been looking for him over the past year, and I am here on her behalf. I believe he was fostered among you.’

  Though he had not seen the child, he had followed the family’s path here. Nearly two moons had passed since he’d left Iseult. Each day he thought of her, and he needed to see her again. But not before he found Aidan.

  Rosaleen crossed herself. ‘Bless the saints that you’ve come to us. Both of Aidan’s foster-parents are dead. They fled here when the raiders arrived, but did not survive the attack.’ She bowed her head in respect. ‘They were among those we buried just now.’

  Kieran kept his face expressionless, though inwardly his heart was pounding. ‘Is the boy all right?’

  ‘I’ll take you to him,’ Rosaleen offered. ‘Aidan and his foster-sister need someone to look after them.’

  He followed her to one of the stone huts. The thatch had burned away, and they had spread a canvas covering atop one segment to provide shelter. At least ten children were inside, ranging in age from babies to those nearing adolescence. The din of noise was mostly from whining younger children who wanted food.

  ‘Aidan,’ Rosaleen called out. ‘Come here, sweeting. And you, Shannon. This man has come to take care of both of you.’

  Both? Kieran nearly denied it, but a young girl around the age of eight came forward, holding the hand of a black-haired lad. Aidan. Iseult’s son.

  A hollow feeling invaded him, humbling him at the sight. She should be here to see the boy. It should be Iseult holding out her arms, weeping with gratitude.

  And then panic set in. He knew nothing about children. He’d paid no attention at all to the young ones and hadn’t the faintest idea of how to take care of them.

  ‘Rosaleen—’

  ‘I’ll find a place for the three of you to spend the night. You’ll want to talk before you take them to Aidan’s mother.’ Rosaleen embraced the two children, smoothing the girl’s fair hair. ‘Shannon has been fostered with Aidan for the past year. I promised her I wouldn’t part her from her brother. He’s all she has left, since her parents died last season.’

  The elderly woman sent him such a strong look that he could not deny this child his protection. He hadn’t planned on two children, but what else could he do?

  ‘I’m a stranger to them,’ he found himself saying. ‘Perhaps you’d want to send someone along as an escort.’ But as soon as the words left his mouth, he realised the futility. The children far outnumbered the living adults. Those who remained were elderly or nursing mothers.

  Rosaleen took a child in each hand. ‘You came to us as a stranger. And you helped us bury those who did not survive the raid. I don’t know whose prayers were responsible for bringing you here, but I’m a woman of faith. I know a good man when I see one. And I know that Aidan is a MacFergus, for his foster-mother told me.’ She gave a weary smile and placed Aidan’s hand in his right palm, Shannon’s in his left. ‘Now, I’ll get you settled for the night and you can begin your journey on the morrow.’

  Their fingers were incredibly small within his hands. Aidan’s mouth trembled with fear, and Shannon stared down at the ground.

  As he followed Rosaleen, Kieran found himself voicing a prayer of his own.

  Please, God, don’t let them cry.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

  Iseult’s hand moved down to her stomach. Her mind cried out with the unfairness of it all, but no longer could she deny the truth. She had not had her woman’s flow since she’d seen Kieran last.

  Another child grew within her womb.

  She wanted to cry out with frustration, knowing that Fate had cursed her again with a living reminder of a man’s rejection.

  The last time, Murtagh had known about the child and had abandoned her on their wedding day. Her family and friends had witnessed her shame, and she’d endured six more months of stares, gossip, and humiliation before she’d held Aidan in her arms.

  And once she had, the sight of her son had made her forget everything else.

  Would it be the same with this babe? Would a tiny fist clasp her thumb, her heart melting at the sight of the child’s solemn trust?

  No. It would be worse this time, because she’d see Kieran’s face in the babe’s features. Each day she would know that he hadn’t loved her enough to take her with him. And even if she wanted to tell him about the child, how could she find him? He could be anywhere in Éireann.

  Saint Brigid, what could she do? She had tried so hard to forget about him, making a new life for herself here. And just as before, she would bear a child given by a man who’d left her.

  ‘Iseult?’ Davin’s arrival interrupted her thoughts. Iseult snatched her hand away from her womb, as if he’d guess. ‘I came to ask if you wanted to join us. Niamh, Orin and myself are going to take the boat out.’ He smiled warmly. ‘Perhaps we’ll make another wager on who can catch the most fish.’

  Without warning, she burst into tears. There was no way to hold back the sobs at the mention of fishing. That was the day she’d begun falling in love with Kieran.

  Poor Davin had no idea what he’d walked into. He put an arm around her, and Iseult buried her face in his chest, needing the comfort of a friend. She wept for Kieran, for her unborn child, and, most of all, for the guilt at not wanting this babe.

  She didn’t know how she’d endure it again.

  Davin stroked her hair, holding her close until she managed to stop her tears. Iseult raised a weary face to his, afraid of the questions he’d ask.

  ‘I won’t make you clean the fish this time,’ he said softly.

  A
choked laugh came from throat. ‘That’s not why I was weeping.’ She took a breath, wiping away her tears. ‘Go on without me. I don’t really feel like fishing.’

  ‘All right.’ His hand pressed against her lower back, his palm a steady reminder that he was here for her. He didn’t ask a single question. And for that reason, she admitted the reason for her outburst.

  ‘Kieran’s child grows within me,’ she confessed.

  Davin held very still, his face grim with shock. She waited for him to shout at her, to recoil in disgust.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve been so stupid.’

  ‘You’ll marry me,’ he said. ‘And I’ll take care of you the way I always wanted to.’

  It was on her tongue to refuse him, for she didn’t love him. Her love belonged to Kieran, even if he was far from here. Even if she could never hold his heart.

  Instead, she heard herself say, ‘All right.’

  The choice became an act of rebellion. A way of proving to herself that she would not be alone this time. Kieran might not want her to be part of his life, but another man did.

  And though her conscience cried out that it was wrong to use Davin in this way, she told herself she didn’t care. This child would have a father.

  When Davin embraced her, she didn’t pull away. She would learn to fall in love with him.

  He deserved nothing less.

  The journey to Lismanagh was long enough on his own. With two children in tow, it took an eternity. Kieran stopped for the night, wishing it were possible to continue travelling in the dark. He wanted to reach Iseult as soon as possible. She’d waited so long to find her son, he didn’t want her to have to wait any longer.

  In his visions, he pictured her happiness, and in it, he found a sense of his own peace. The unsettling question was what he should say to her. How could he convince her to come away with him? He didn’t want to watch another man take care of her, or love her. And knowing that Davin was doing just that increased the need to travel faster.