Her Warrior Slave

She didn’t answer him, and he sighed, releasing her. ‘One of the ringforts was attacked, near the coast. We need to ensure that the raiders don’t come near us.’

‘As you say,’ she murmured, her voice unable to conceal her frustration.

He touched her cheek. ‘Just a few more weeks, Iseult. If you’re not ready to give up, we’ll continue your search.’

Behind his promise, she sensed his reluctance. Though he would never say it, this was another man’s child.

‘Until later,then.’The liefelleasilyfrom hermouth, but inwardly she intended to keep searching. She’d wait until Davin left and travel east, closer to Trá Li. Though she didn’t like the idea of going alone, no one else would help her. They, like Davin, believed she should give up.

‘Come and dine with my family tonight,’Davin urged.

Iseult dreaded the idea of sharing a meal at the chieftain’s table. She avoided it whenever possible, but she could not insult them by refusing.

‘You should go and see Kieran now,’ Davin said, kissing her. ‘Make sure he’s begun the carving of you.’

‘How do you know he has any skill at all? I’ve yet to see him lift a blade to wood.’ She disliked being the subject of such scrutiny, especially from the slave. He was unpredictable, fierce, and not at all humble.

‘You should see this.’ Davin reached into a fold of his cloak and withdrew a carved wooden figure of a boy. Iseult held it in her palm, struck by the intricate facial expression. The carved boy held the innocent wonder of early adolescence, coupled with a trace of mischief. When she ran her thumb over the piece, she understood what Davin had seen in it. This was a carving created by a master. ‘Was this his brother?’ she asked.

‘I suspect it might be. He wants it back, and I have promised it to him, in exchange for your likeness. If he completes the dower chest to my satisfaction, I will grant him his freedom.’

She handed the carving back to him. How could a man with such hatred in him create a work of beauty like this? Lost in thought, she was barely aware of Davin’s departure.

An hour later, she stood before the woodcarver’s hut.

Kieran sensed Iseult’s presence before he looked up from his work. The light floral fragrance surrounded her, like a breath of spring. It made him edgy, being around this woman.

At least she was betrothed to his master and was completely beyond reach. He could ignore the unwelcome awareness because of it.

‘Davin asked me to come and see that you’ve begun the carving,’ she began, stepping across the threshold without waiting for an invitation.

Of course, she had that right. He was a slave, and she would become his mistress soon enough after she wed Davin. His skin prickled at the invasion of his privacy. He preferred working alone.

He set down the gouge and flicked a glance at her. By the Almighty, she was an exquisite creature. Her light golden hair held the faintest touch of fire. It hung down to her waist, pulled back from her face with a single comb. A smudge of clay clung to her cheek, while upon her wrists he saw the faint traces of mud that she’d tried to scrub away.

In his mind, he envisaged her slender fingers twining the clay into coiled ropes. The vision conjured up an unexpected flush of heat, as he imagined her fingers moving over a man’s skin. He didn’t know where the thought had come from, but his body reacted to her nearness.

‘I’ve begun the work, yes.’ He covered the carving with a cloth, stretching his hands. The initial outline was good, but he hadn’t captured her spirit yet. ‘Was that all you wanted?’

Maybe she would leave. But no. She sat down upon one of the tree stumps. Crossing her wrists over one knee, she added, ‘I don’t like being here. But I suppose you’ll need to finish your drawings.’

The honesty did not bother him. He preferred a forthright conversation and a woman who spoke her mind. ‘I can’t say as I like being here either.’

She stared at him, as if questioning whether he was trying to be funny. Then she dismissed it, asking, ‘Did you remember to eat? Or was that too much of an inconvenience?’

‘I have the supplies Davin sent.’ They were of the lowest quality, the bread heavy and coarse. Nevertheless, he’d eaten the food in solitude.

Picking up the board he’d used the other day, he began sketching her eyes. A deep sea blue, they held such sadness. Haunted, they were. ‘I saw you weeping this morn.’

‘It’s none of your affair.’

True enough. Though women cried often, it wasn’t something he liked to see. His sisters often used it to their advantage, weeping whenever they wanted something. They’d known he would relent to their demands.

Seeing Iseult weep was another matter. He sensed that her grief went beyond anything Davin could fix. Or perhaps it was because of Davin.

‘We all have our secrets,’he answered in turn. ‘Keep yours, if you will.’

Changing to another piece of the board, he drew her mouth. It was symmetric, rather ordinary. Never had he seen it smile, not even around her betrothed.

She straightened, looking even more uncomfortable. ‘Will this take very long?’

He set down the charcoal. ‘You are free to leave, any time you wish.’

‘Unlike you. I know.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Don’t think I haven’t considered leaving. But the sooner I get this over with, the less time I have to spend here.’

He kept his attention focused on her mouth, though he gripped the piece of charcoal harder. As he drew and time passed, her lips began to soften.

He’d been wrong. This was not an ordinary mouth. Full and sensual, when she let herself relax, this was a woman any man would want to kiss. Would she taste as good as she smelled?

The piece of charcoal slipped from his fingers. Stop thinking about her.

Iseult rested her chin in her palm, her attention upon the glowing hearth, pensive and quiet. He liked the way she felt no need to fill up the silence with chatter.

He sketched more angles of her face and eyes, continually switching the angle of the charcoal to gain a sharper corner. At last, she spoke again.

‘Did you truly carve the figure of that boy? Or was that a lie?’ Without waiting for a response, she continued, ‘I suppose you’d say anything to Davin to get your freedom.’

‘I don’t lie.’ He tossed the charcoal aside, reaching for a different piece. There was no need to argue his skill. The wood itself would offer the evidence.

He heard the sound of liquid pouring, and Iseult brought him a cup of mead, crossing the room to stand beside him. He didn’t have time to hide the drawing.

She drank from her own wooden cup, tilting her head to look at it. ‘You haven’t drawn my face at all.’

He’d sketched four different expressions for her eyes. On another part of the board, he’d drawn her mouth. He wasn’t satisfied with the drawing yet, for it had not captured her.

‘No. It isn’t necessary to draw a complete face.’ He accepted the cup and set it down beside him.

‘Why not?’

Because he had already memorised it. Because a woman with her beauty would not be easily forgotten.

He drank of the mead, savouring its sweetness. ‘Because I’m good at what I do.’ Setting the cup aside, he picked up the charcoal again. This time he focused on the curve of her cheek, the softness of her ear.

She leaned in, watching him, and her scent tantalised him again. Sweet with a hint of wildness.

‘Show me what you’ve carved so far.’ Her quiet request slid over him like a caress. He knew she meant nothing by it, but the nearness of her made him react.

Críost, he wasn’t dead. She would make any man desire her. Her eyes looked upon him with doubts.