Her Warrior Slave

In the past, no man would have dared to command him. But these tribesmen expected him to jump to their orders, like a dog. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the men and sent them a warning look.

He wasn’t in the habit of obedience.

This is your penance, his mind insisted. Do as they command.

No. These men weren’t his master. They wanted to exert their power over him, demeaning him. Although he would accept whatever tasks Davin gave, he wouldn’t let these men gain the upper hand.

Against his better judgement, Kieran turned his back and returned to his hut. No doubt they would run off to Davin and complain. There would be repercussions, but he didn’t care. He might choose to endure the slavery for a time, but it didn’t mean he would bow down before every man.

He sat down with the door open, allowing the natural light inside. The carving tools rested on the table wrapped in leather, just where he’d laid them. His sketches of Iseult, along with the yew, awaited his attention.

He uncovered the carving tools from the protective leather. His thumb brushed the edge of a knife, judging its sharpness.

The red-bearded man shadowed his doorway, fists clenched. ‘I ordered you to bring me water, slave.’

‘Did you?’ Kieran anticipated the rush of a fight and his hand curved over the hilt of a blade. His own height rivalled the other man’s, making him an equal opponent. ‘I’m not your slave, am I?’

‘Davin will hear of your disobedience,’ the man asserted. ‘And I’ve a mind to punish you for it.’

Just try it.

Kieran lifted his knife, his body poised in a defensive position. He might have lost his former strength, but he knew how to wield a blade. ‘Will you, now?’ Slicing the weapon through the air, he invited, ‘Well, then, let’s see it.’

A growl emitted from the man’s throat, and he charged Kieran, aiming for his wrist. Kieran turned sideways, cutting a thin slash across the man’s forearm. Nothing serious, but an insult nevertheless.

Energy pumped through him, and he revelled in the chance to use his former skills. Long ago, he’d been one of the best fighters in their tribe. His muscles remembered how to move, though his body cried out with the pain of it. His opponent picked up the iron cauldron, sloshing its contents at him.

Kieran dodged the splash of vegetables and meat, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Hungry, are you?’He kicked the slab of overcooked mutton towards the man. ‘Take what you’d like and get out.’

‘I’ll make you eat the dirt, first.’Before Kieran could move, the bearded man seized his wrist and struck the raw wounds on Kieran’s back. Pain shot through him, and Kieran was forced to drop the knife. He aimed a kick at the man’s groin, twisting to avoid a punch.

‘Enough of this,’ a man’s voice interrupted. Davin strode into the hut, stepping between them. To the redbearded man, he ordered, ‘Cearul, release him.’

Sullen and grim, the man obeyed. Kieran rubbed his wrist, angry that Davin had interfered. He could have finished the fight.

‘He refused our orders, Davin,’ Cearul claimed. ‘He was supposed to bring us water.’

‘I have set Kieran a more important task,’ Davin said. ‘When he has finished with that, then perhaps he can attend to other needs. For now, I would suggest you return to your own duties. The planting is not yet finished, I believe.’

Cearul reddened, and though he glared at Kieran, he nodded. A moment later, he departed.

‘I want to see the work you completed last night,’ Davin said. All traces of amicability were gone.

‘You didn’t have to stop the fight.’

‘I didn’t want you killing any of my men. It might have been a fight to you, but not to them.’Davin crossed his arms, pinning him with a dark glance.

Kieran forced himself to let it go. ‘My drawings are there.’He pointed to the board he’d left on the table. ‘I’ll begin working on the carving this evening.’

Davin lifted the board, revealing nothing of what he thought. ‘I’ll send her to you again tonight. And I want to see the completed carving within a sennight.’

Kieran supposed it could be done, if he worked every spare minute upon it. But the level of detail he wanted would require painstaking work. He needed more subtle tools than these, gouges with narrow ridges and steeper angles.

‘A fortnight would be more reasonable,’ he bargained. ‘And these tools are not of the best quality.’

‘A sennight,’ Davin repeated. ‘If you are a competent woodcarver, you’ll manage even without the tools.’ He returned to the doorway. ‘I’ll order the others to leave you alone, but I’d advise you not to leave the hut without an escort. And if I find that you insult or endanger Iseult in any way, you’ll answer to me for it.’ He departed, leaving the door open.

Davin’s warning was not an idle threat. Kieran suspected the man would have no qualms about killing him, were Iseult threatened. He could respect a man for protecting his betrothed. He’d have done the same once, had anyone bothered Branna.

At the thought of her name, his gut soured. With auburn hair and laughing dark eyes, he well remembered the feel of holding her in his arms. And now Branna embraced her new husband, the way she had once welcomed him.

He forced the vision away and stared down at the drawing he’d done last night. He’d caught Iseult thinking of someone, her face wistful and filled with longing. He’d also drawn her with flashing anger, her eyes sparking hatred. She intrigued him, with her beauty and spirit.

He cleaned up the fallen meat and vegetables, wondering why Iseult had troubled to make a meal for him. No one had done anything like that in a long while. She didn’t like him; he could see it in her eyes.

Kieran picked up the yew and began tracing the outline of her face upon the wood. Within moments, he lost himself in the work, cutting out the background with an iron gouge. The scent of freshly cut wood mingled with the morning air, and he took comfort from it. The tools cut into the creamy sapwood, etching out details.

When at last he looked up, it was mid-morning. He saw that someone had left a bag of supplies just outside the door. He found bread inside and tore off a piece, enjoying the taste of the fresh grain.

Near the ringfort entrance, he saw Iseult leading a mare inside. Her face was pale, and her cheeks were wet as though she’d been weeping. Unbidden came the urge to find out what had happened.

It’s none of your affair, his conscience warned. But for a woman about to marry, he’d never seen anyone look so unhappy.

Iseult pounded a mass of clay, water spattering all over the brown léine she wore. She didn’t care. She released tears, digging her fingers into the clay as though she could strangle the unknown men who had taken her son.

‘I must speak with you.’

She lifted her gaze and saw Davin standing before her. His sober expression promised nothing but grim news. ‘What is it?’

‘More raids. Father sent men to scout out what was happening. It may be the Norsemen again.’

Iseult left the fallen mass of clay and reached for a cloth to dry her hands. She supposed she should be frightened, but the stories of the Lochlannachs she’d heard seemed more like exaggerated myths, stretched to make a good tale. ‘How do you know it’s them?’

‘We know their ships,’he reminded her. ‘And for that reason, I don’t want you leaving the ringfort again. Not until we know what’s happening.’

Stay here? Iseult dismissed the idea. After her failed search today, she would have to journey further. ‘I’m going to start searching inland,’ she said. ‘No one has seen Aidan on the peninsula, and it’s time to try elsewhere.’

She saw no danger in travelling away from the coast. It might take a few days, but she could bring supplies and speak to the different tribes.

Davin shook his head. ‘Only after we’ve determined it’s safe. Wait a few weeks longer, and I’ll go with you. After our wedding,’ he promised.

Iseult shook her head in denial. ‘It’s been almost a year, Davin. If I wait too long, I won’t know Aidan any more. Even now, I can hardly remember his face.’ The familiar pain of loss was a constant ache, mingled with her own guilt for not protecting him well enough.

‘I know you’ll never forget him,’Davin said, stroking her hair. ‘But perhaps it’s time to let this go.’

‘You’re asking me to abandon my son.’The thought was like a blade to her wrists. How could he even think of it?

‘It’s hurting you, and I don’t want to see your pain any more.’ His arms moved around her waist, his hands caressing her spine.