Against the backlight of the torches, his silhouette merged with the darkness. Though his skin still held the sharp lines of hunger, she could not deny the strength in him. And beyond his unreadable expression lay such emptiness, it almost mirrored her own.
‘Perhaps not.’ His gaze lingered upon her face, as though he were trying to forge it into his memory.
The need to move away from him was so strong, she circled around, walking back to the ringfort. The hair on the back of her neck rose up in full awareness of Kieran. Though she didn’t turn to see him, she sensed his presence.
Once they were back inside the safety of the palisade, she glanced around. Before him, she felt exposed, as though he could look into her soul and see the vulnerability there.
‘Goodnight.’ Kieran turned abruptly to leave, and yet Iseult couldn’t bring herself to open the door. Her heartbeat hammered within her chest, and her skin warmed. Though there was no reason to be afraid of him, she couldn’t help but feel something. Slave or not, he intimidated her.
And Davin expected her to spend time alone with this man each day? She couldn’t do it.
Only a few days more, logic reminded her. It would not take that long to finish the carving. And when it was done, she would not see him again.
Davin Ó Falvey woke at dawn, staring at the empty space beside him in the bed. His chamber within his father’s house boasted of wealth. Only the softest fabrics covered his bed, and polished tortoiseshell shields decorated the walls. He had everything a man could want: gold, fine clothing, and the promise of becoming chieftain. And yet it was nothing without Iseult to share it.
He loved her deeply and could think of no greater joy than waking beside her. Never had he seen a more beautiful or perfect woman. Though his mother argued about her lack of social status, none of that mattered. In a few more weeks, Iseult would belong to him.
He pulled on clothes suitable for hunting and chose a bow and arrows. He wanted to provide for her, to show her how very much he cared. And perhaps one day she would return his love.
Oh, he knew she didn’t feel the same way for him. Not yet. God help him, every time he thought of the man she’d lain with, he wanted to gut Murtagh Ó Neill for touching her. And for breaking her heart.
Outside, he ordered a horse brought to him. When a servant returned with his gelding Lir, Davin stopped to study the slave’s face. Unlike Kieran, this slave kept to himself, his head lowered in subservience. He couldn’t even remember the slave’s name.
Not so with Kieran Ó Brannon. Fierce and selfconfident, Kieran bore his wounds with the carelessness of a warrior.
What sort of man was he? Davin had lived among servants and slaves for so long, he hardly noticed them. But Kieran Ó Brannon brought attention to himself in a manner that made him hardly fit to be a slave. It made Davin even more curious about the man’s past.
Kieran’s carving skills were startling, a master’s work. He far surpassed Seamus’s creations. How had a man with such talent come to be a slave? He couldn’t understand it.
He stopped in front of Seamus’s hut and peered inside. Kieran sat upon a bench, tapping a chisel with a wooden mallet. He remained fully focused upon the task, and it wasn’t until Davin blocked the sunlight that he looked up.
‘I haven’t finished yet.’
‘I realise that. I’d like to see what you’ve done.’
Kieran set aside his chisel with reluctance. Davin stepped closer and set his bow down, taking the carving in his hands. The face of his beloved had started to emerge from the wood. Iseult’s haunted eyes, the long hair that caressed the curve of her cheek…all of it was there. Except her smile.
Davin handed the wood back. ‘It’s a fine piece of work.’ Stepping to the side, he let the light back into the hut. ‘My men are hunting this morning. I want you to join us.’
‘I must finish this,’ Kieran argued. He picked up a bowl of melted animal fat and a leather cloth. With experienced motions, he rubbed the fat into the wood, bringing out the natural grains. It would prevent the carving from cracking.
‘It wasn’t a request.’ Davin picked up his bow. ‘I’ll supply you with weapons. Meet us at the gate in an hour.’
Davin didn’t care whether his slave wanted to go or not. He had his suspicions about the man’s origins, and he hoped to get those answers this day.
Iseult rode hard to the east, leaning into the wind. After a bit of coaxing, her friend Niamh had agreed to accompany her. The two had known each other only since the past winter, and Niamh had become a close confidant. Though Niamh bemoaned her brown hair and grey eyes, claiming that no man would ever find her beautiful, Iseult secretly thought her friend had a nice smile. She also had a sense of adventure and a tendency to get into trouble, rather like herself.
‘Are we nearly there?’ Niamh asked, slowing the pace to let her horse drink from the river. The silvery ribbon cut a path eastwards, glittering against the meadows. ‘We’ve been gone for hours. If I have to sit on this horse for another hour, my bottom will fall off.’
Mine, too, Iseult thought, but she didn’t say so. ‘If Hagen was right, it should be at the end of the river’s curve.’
‘Or if he’s wrong, we’ve come all this way for nothing.’
Iseult shrugged. ‘One more hour. And if we don’t find the rath, we’ll try again another day.’
Niamh gritted her teeth. ‘Give me a moment, won’t you? I haven’t any feeling left in my backside.’ She winced and patted her posterior. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t bring Davin with you instead of me.’ The young woman grimaced at the mention of his name. It didn’t surprise Iseult, since she knew her friend couldn’t stand Davin. Niamh made every effort to avoid him, claiming that he was far too arrogant for her tastes.
‘He had other responsibilities,’ Iseult responded.
‘More important than your child?’ Niamh scowled at the idea. ‘I’d like to know how hunting deer would be more important.’
Iseult shielded her eyes against the sun, straining to see the ringfort. ‘I didn’t tell him where we went.’
Niamh looked appalled at her confession. ‘Why not?’
Because Davin had already given up. He no longer believed in her quest. ‘Because he didn’t want me leaving Lismanagh. He is worried about the Lochlannachs,’ she added. That sounded convincing enough, didn’t it?
‘And so am I.’ Niamh shivered, eyeing the horizon. With a grudging shrug, she offered, ‘I think Davin was right. The Norsemen are fearsome, so I’ve heard.’
‘I’ve never seen one, so I wouldn’t know.’ But the memory of Kieran flashed through her mind. Raw and wild, he unnerved her, stripping away her sense of security. She wanted nothing to do with him, particularly a man so unpredictable.
‘Iseult?’ Niamh eyed her as though she’d been speaking and had received no answer.
She shook off the disorientation. ‘I’m
