Barbarian Slave

by Castel, Jayne

  “Really?” Eithni led the way through the village, toward the wall rimming the squat stone fort. “Are your people’s ways very different to ours?”

  Lucrezia huffed out a breath, swallowing a bitter laugh. “Yes.”

  Eithni glanced over at her, eyes widening. “You must tell me more of where you’re from.”

  Lucrezia resisted the urge to grimace. It was painful to think of her home, even if she had left it years earlier. “Maybe later,” she murmured. “When we have more time.”

  She saw the look of eager curiosity upon Eithni’s face. Her interest was well and truly piqued now; yet Lucrezia looked away, focusing upon the massive round tower that loomed before them.

  “His fever is lower … I think he is winning the fight.”

  Eithni removed her hand from Donnel’s brow and straightened up, her attention shifting to the small group gathered in the alcove. Galan, Tea, and Tarl stood just inside the entrance, their faces taut, their gazes clouded as they watched Eithni check on Donnel.

  Seated behind Eithni, an earthen bowl of hot water in her hands, Lucrezia kept her own gaze downcast. She had avoided looking at Tarl since he entered the alcove.

  “And his wound?” Galan asked. The chief stepped forward and hunkered down at the foot of the furs, his eyes dark with worry as he watched his brother. “Does it continue to fester?”

  Eithni moved to the bandage covering Donnel’s right thigh, and wordlessly unwrapped it. Peering over her shoulder, Lucrezia saw at a glance that the wound looked better than it had the last time she had seen it.

  The healer gave a nod. “It’s healing.”

  The whoosh of a sharply exhaled breath made Lucrezia glance up—and she looked straight into Tarl’s eyes. They glistened with relief, and she glimpsed a rare moment of vulnerability on his face. He looked close to tears. However, seeing Lucrezia’s gaze upon him, Tarl’s face shuttered.

  A shield slammed down between them.

  Lucrezia looked away, focusing once more on the bowl of steaming water she held. Once again, she felt a pang when she remembered the humiliation she had caused him the day before—how the two brothers had nearly come to blows because of her. It had been necessary for her to stand up for herself—she had been terrified she would get no other chance to have her say—and yet she did not want to cause a family rift.

  I will speak with him later, she promised herself. I will make him understand.

  “When will he wake up?” Tea’s voice intruded upon her thoughts. “He sleeps as if dead.”

  “It’s a healing sleep,” Eithni replied, a smile in her voice. “It’s doing him good. His body needs all its energy to fight this. I’d say he’ll awake tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll dress his wound again.”

  Lucrezia emerged from the alcove, an empty bowl in hand, and walked over to the fire pit, where a young woman with brown hair was tending a stew. She remembered the woman’s name: Deri. Eithni had introduced them earlier.

  Deri favored her with a warm smile as she approached, her gaze going to the bowl. “Do you need more hot water?”

  Lucrezia nodded, suddenly shy. The folk of Dun Ringill had little reason to be warm to her, and truthfully she had expected a cool welcome from them. Yet all who had spoken to her thus far had been friendly.

  Perhaps the goings-on far to the south were too distant to impact upon their daily lives. The Roman Empire and the threat it posed would not seem real to most of them. She could understand why; this isle felt cut off from the rest of the world.

  She spied Tarl then. Like her, he had bathed since his arrival and wore fresh clothing. His brown hair curled damply at the base of his neck, and he wore a pair of plaid breeches with a form-fitting leather vest. Watching him, Lucrezia was forced to admit he was fair to look upon. Tarl was probably one of the most aggravating males she had ever met, but easily one of the most attractive. He held himself with an unconscious male arrogance that she found exciting, even if she fought the reaction.

  Tarl had been standing upon the platform at the far end of the hall, speaking with the chieftain. However, now he turned and made his way toward the doorway leading out of the fort. He stared straight ahead, giving no sign that he had seen her.

  Lucrezia knew he was deliberately ignoring her.

  Part of her wanted to let him be; life would certainly be easier here if Tarl left her alone. But another side of her needed to face him—needed to clear the air.

  She glanced back at Deri, before setting the bowl down near the hearth. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Lucrezia hurried across the hall, catching up with Tarl as he reached the top of the steps leading down to the yard below.

  “Tarl—wait!”

  She saw his shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice. Yet he halted, and turned to face her. The look on his face was not welcoming. “What?”

  Lucrezia approached him, and halted when they stood around two feet apart. Suddenly she regretted her impulse to follow him. She had not thought this through properly, and now had no idea what to say. “I just wanted to …” she began, stumbling over the words, “… to see how you were.” Lucrezia inwardly cringed as she finished the sentence—she sounded simple-minded.

  He scowled. “What? Concerned for my well-being now, are you?”

  Lucrezia flushed. “No … it’s just that I didn’t …” she paused, searching for the words. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you yesterday.”

  Tarl folded his arms across his broad chest and looked down his nose at her. “That didn’t appear to concern you then.” His gaze shifted from her face, tracking a lazy progress down the length of her body. Tarl’s expression changed, and his mouth curved. “Your new attire suits you.”

  Lucrezia swallowed, fighting a growing irritation. Why did he always have to make things so difficult? Suddenly her palm itched to slap him. Straightening her spine, she folded her arms across her breasts. She was aware that the leather vest pushed them up and exposed too much skin. She really had to speak to Tea about finding clothing that covered her up properly.

  “Surely you can see why I had to speak up?” she asked stiffly, ignoring his comment about her dress. “You’d have done the same.”

  His scowl returned. “You don’t know what I’d do.”

  “I know enough to realize you would never suffer being a slave,” she countered. “And neither will I.”

  His mouth thinned. “So you’re free—what now? Are you going to follow Eithni around and spend your days lancing boils and removing splinters?”

  His derision enraged her. He was so rude that she now bitterly regretted coming after him. This man did not deserve her empathy. He deserved a knee in the cods.

  “I don’t know yet,” she replied. “Who knows—perhaps I’ll train to be a warrior, like Alpia or Tea.”

  Tarl threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing out across the walls. His eyes were twinkling when their gazes met once more. “I suggest you choose a gentler pursuit, Lucrezia. Being a warrior isn’t a game. You’d likely cut off your own foot by accident.”

  Lucrezia glared at him, so enraged that she was momentarily robbed of the power of speech. “We’ll see about that,” she eventually replied through gritted teeth.

  Then she turned on her heel and stalked back inside the fort.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Right Moment

  lucrezia approached the warriors’ fighting enclosure warily. Clutching a basket of eggs she had just collected, she had been on her way back to the fort when she spotted Tea and Alpia sparring together.

  The enclosure sat behind the tower, next to the armory—a long windowless building where the warriors kept their swords, knifes, axes, and shields. Lucrezia had deliberately taken this route back after collecting the eggs, knowing that her path would take her past where the female warriors were currently training.

  However, now that she neared them, she doubted her decision. She had been brought up a lady; bred to keep house and bear c
hildren. Yet that life, that future, was gone. Even if they had stayed together, she and Marcus would never have had a family.

  It was time to leave the past behind and set about starting again. Here upon The Winged Isle, she could reinvent herself.

  Then she thought about Tarl’s reaction the day before when she had told him of her idea. Instead of putting her off, his derision had merely galvanized her resolve.

  Lucrezia clenched her jaw. I’ll show him.

  Tea and Alpia had not seen her yet. Although it was a chill morning, with a thin milky mist drifting in off the loch, both women were dressed lightly. Alpia wore little more than a leather breast-band, and a skirt that reached mid-thigh; while Tea wore a short sleeveless plaid tunic, belted at the waist, with splits in the sides to give her freedom of movement. They were both barefoot, and wore leather arm guards.

  Clack. Clack. Clack. Thud.

  The wooden swords they sparred with moved in a blur. The warriors circled each other, legs bent slightly—swords in their right hands, square shields in their left.

  Lucrezia watched them, entranced.

  They dressed like the gladiators she had seen fight in the Colosseum, on the rare times her family had journeyed into Rome. Their villa was situated in the rolling countryside north of the capital, and Lucrezia’s mother hated the city. Even so, she remembered watching gladiators—men and women alike—fight in the pit against each other, as well as wild animals such as tigers, wolves, and bears. That had been a brutal blood-thirsty spectacle, but watching these two women spar was entirely different.

  This was exciting.

  Alpia and Tea were both tall and strong. Although she was much smaller than them, Lucrezia knew she was not a physically weak woman. She was not like Eithni, who was slender and delicate as a reed.

  Alpia thrust her wooden sword down, in an attempt to get under Tea’s guard. However, her opponent slammed her shield earthward at the same moment—ripping Alpia’s blade from her grip. The weapon spun away and clattered against the edge of the wood perimeter where Lucrezia watched.

  Alpia cursed, nursing bruised knuckles. “You’re good,” she said.

  Breathing heavily, Tea grinned back. “I’ve been practicing with Galan over the winter.”

  Alpia snorted. “That man’s nearly impossible to beat.”

  The women noted Lucrezia then.

  “Good morning,” Alpia greeted her.

  Lucrezia gave a hesitant smile back. “Morning.”

  “Enjoyed the spectacle?” Tea asked, still grinning. Her skin flushed, her dark-blue eyes sparkling, the chieftain’s wife was stunning. Lucrezia had felt a little in awe of her upon her arrival here, but now she felt out of her depth.

  Would Tea and Alpia laugh at her as Tarl had?

  “I did,” Lucrezia replied, meeting Tea’s eye, “and I was wondering if you could teach me … I want to train to be a warrior.”

  A stunned silence followed. To her relief, neither woman looked amused by her request. Yet Alpia did look genuinely puzzled. “Really? You want to learn how to fight?”

  Lucrezia nodded, swallowing as nervousness assailed her once more. “I want to learn how to defend myself. That day when Wurgest broke into my house, I was defenseless against him … weak. I never want to feel like that again.”

  “Even the strongest woman is physically weaker than most men,” Tea replied, her smile fading. “It’s not strength that matters—it’s skill.”

  “I would like to learn that skill,” Lucrezia replied, undaunted.

  Tea glanced over at Alpia, who raised a dark eyebrow. “She might be small, but she’s no coward. She even tried to escape on the way north.”

  Tea smiled before focusing her attention on Lucrezia once more. “Tarl bit off more than he could chew with you … serves him right.”

  A smile curved Lucrezia’s mouth. She liked Tea; she had from the moment they first met. She was a woman who knew her own worth, who submitted to no man. It amazed Lucrezia that Galan did not seem to mind having such a feisty wife; but if anything, he appeared to delight in Tea’s outspoken and headstrong ways.

  After a moment Tea nodded. “Alright then, I can start training you.” Her smile then turned rueful. “Although Alpia will have to take over once my belly starts to grow.”

  Both Lucrezia and Alpia went still.

  “You’re with child?” Alpia asked, her eyes widening.

  “Aye.” Tea reached down and patted her flat abdomen. “I’ve missed two moon-flows, so I was beginning to suspect something had changed—Eithni confirmed it this morning. The babe is due in the autumn, just before Gateway.”

  Joy blossomed on Alpia’s face. She dropped her shield and stepped forward, hugging Tea. Her eyes were gleaming when she drew back. “There have been too few births in this fort of late … and too many warriors who never came back from battle. This is wonderful news.”

  “Does Galan know yet?” Lucrezia asked. Although she was happy for Tea, she suddenly felt as if she was intruding. She was a newcomer here and did not belong. Still, she surprised herself by wanting to be part of things, to be included.

  “I told him this morning.” A soft look settled upon Tea’s face as she spoke of her husband. “He is delighted.”

  Donnel awoke while Lucrezia was helping Eithni change his dressings.

  His long dark eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheeks, and he gave a soft groan.

  “Eithni,” Lucrezia murmured, having spotted him stir. “He’s coming to.”

  The healer wiped her hands on a cloth and swiveled, her gaze settling upon Donnel’s face. A moment later his eyes flickered open.

  Donnel and the healer stared at each other for a heartbeat.

  “Who are you?” he croaked.

  “My name is Eithni,” the young woman replied, still holding his gaze. “I’m Tea’s younger sister, and a healer.”

  Donnel’s gaze narrowed before recognition flared. “Aye … I remember now,” he rasped. “You were at the handfasting.”

  Eithni nodded, before she glanced over at Lucrezia. “Some water, please.”

  Lucrezia filled a cup from the ewer on the low table beside the furs, while Eithni propped Donnel up. Then Lucrezia lifted the cup to his lips so he could drink.

  After taking two gulps, Donnel let out a long sigh. “That’s better … I don’t remember much since we landed at Kyleakin. How long has it been since we got back?”

  “Two days,” Lucrezia replied. “You were delirious for most of the journey here. Tarl carried you on horseback. You don’t remember?”

  Donnel shook his head. “Everything is foggy.”

  “You’ve been very ill,” Eithni murmured.

  Donnel’s mouth thinned, and his gaze shifted to his right thigh. “Will I lose my leg?”

  Eithni shook her head. “I caught it in time. Worry not … you will live to see your son grow.”

  His gaze flicked up, meeting Eithni’s once more. Watching him, Lucrezia saw a shadow pass over his grey eyes. His handsome features hardened, and it was as if an iron gate slammed down between patient and healer.

  Donnel leaned back against the furs, his eyes closing. “Where are my brothers? I want to see them.”

  “Welcome home.” Galan stood over Donnel, a smile softening his hawkish features. “You had us all worried.”

  “Not me,” Tarl piped up from behind him. He stepped around his elder brother’s breadth, so that he could meet Donnel’s eye. “I knew the Battle Eagle would rally.”

  Donnel rolled his eyes. “I wish you would stop calling me that.”

  Tarl snorted. “Why not? It’s a name well earned.”

  “I heard of the battle at the wall,” Galan added. “You fought well … you did this tribe proud.”

  Donnel’s face tightened at this, although he did not reply.

  The three brothers were alone in the alcove. Eithni and Lucrezia had left them. Tarl saw the bleakness in Donnel’s eyes and felt misgiving stir within him. Even after hi
s brush with death, his brother had not cast aside his bitterness and rancor. He was not pleased to have been saved. Tarl had not missed the look of recrimination Donnel had given Eithni as she had packed up her herbs and bandages and left the alcove.

  Donnel’s lack of gratitude was embarrassing, although the healer seemed oblivious to it. She appeared not to expect anyone’s thanks.

  Alone with his brothers, Donnel did not bother to hide his ill-humor. “Can I be moved to another alcove?” he asked. “I’d rather not stay in here.”

  Galan watched him, his brow furrowing. “Aye—I’m sure Tarl won’t mind swapping.”

  “Of course not,” Tarl answered. “This alcove’s twice the size of mine.”

  As the only unwed brother, Tarl had the smallest lodgings. Still, he understood why Donnel did not wish to remain in here; the memories of the life he had shared with Luana must be painful.

  Donnel took a sip of water from the cup he cradled, his gaze sweeping over Tarl before it came to rest upon Galan. “So you’ve met Tarl’s slave then?”

  Tarl stiffened. Trust Donnel to bring this up. “Lucrezia’s not my slave anymore,” he muttered. “Galan freed her.”

  Donnel’s gaze widened. “Why would you do that?”

  “I did him a favor, although he hasn’t come to realize it yet,” Galan replied, an enigmatic smile tugging at his mouth. “This woman from the south doesn’t take kindly to being anyone’s property. Tea told me earlier that she’s agreed to train Lucrezia as a warrior.”

  Tarl snorted. “I can’t believe she’s agreed to it—Lucrezia’s no fighter.”

  Galan shrugged. “We shall see.”

  Tarl turned his attention back to Donnel, to see his brother watching him closely. “And what of Wurgest … have you decided what to do about him?”

  Silence fell in the alcove. Tarl shifted uncomfortably, cursing Donnel. He wished the bastard was still unconscious. He had done nothing but cause trouble since waking up.