“I don’t believe you carved that figure.”
She was so close now. He could reach out and touch her, thread his hands through the silk of her hair. See if it looked as soft as he suspected.
“And I don’t care what you believe.” He didn’t temper his tone. “If you’re so eager to admire yourself, you’ll just have to wait a few days.”
She was trying to provoke him into revealing what he’d carved. He’d not fall into that snare. She could wait until it was finished.
Her lower lip dropped in disbelief. “You’re unbearable.”
He tossed the wood aside. It clattered against the side of the hut, startling her with the sudden movement. Unbearable, was he? She had no idea.
He captured her wrist, drawing her forward until she stood before him. “That’s right,a mhuirnín. And you’d do well to stay away from me.”
He gave into his desires, tilting her head back to face him. And learned that her hair truly was as soft as he thought it would be.
She stared at him with shock, her mouth drawing his full attention. A few inches further, and he’d have a taste of her forbidden fruit.
He held her there, waiting for her to strike out at him. Cry out for help to the guard she’d brought. But she didn’t say a word, just stood there watching him. Only the faint trembling in her hands revealed what she truly felt.
He released her, and Iseult stumbled away from him, shoving her way past the door.
Only after she’d gone, did he realize he was also trembling.
Chapter Five
Iseulthardlyspokeduringthe evening meal. She was still shaken by the slave’s sudden move. Her skin had blazed with unwanted heat when he’d cupped her cheek. It had been a warning, not an act of desire. So why had she found it difficult to breathe? Possibly it was just humiliation. She could have Kieran whipped for touching her, if she confessed it.
But she didn’t want to be the cause of another’s suffering. The slave hadn’t truly done any harm; he’d only embarrassed her.
She reached out to her cup but found it empty. She knew better than to ask Davin’s mother Neasa for more wine. Though Iseult was their guest at dinner, Neasa made no secret of her displeasure about the forthcoming marriage. A beautiful older woman, her shining black hair showed no signs of graying, and her figure was the size of a young girl’s, despite the three children she’d borne. She smiled up at her son, nodding for a slave to refill his cup.
Davin poured half of his drink into her empty one. Iseult sent him a grateful look. Leaning in, he whispered, “You look lovely this night.”
Her skin reddened, but she murmured, “Thank you.” With her eyes, she sent him a silent plea:Let me leave. I want to go home.
But he didn’t seem to see it.
“Will you hunt on the morrow, Davin?” Neasa inquired.
“I will, yes. I intend to take several of the men with me. I’m wanting a fine feast for my future wife.” He sent Iseult a proud smile, and she nodded in acknowledgement. The thought of her forthcoming wedding brought a wave of nerves. She supposed every bride felt that way.
“Much can happen before Bealtaine,” his mother argued. “There is no need to be married so soon.”
Iseult drained her cup, her hand tightening over the stem. If Neasa had her way, they’d not be married at all. It hurt to think that nothing she did was good enough to please the woman. Never did the woman cease reminding Iseult that she was the daughter of a blacksmith and therefore unworthy to wed Davin.
“It has been longer than I’d like,” Davin replied. “Perhaps I’ll wed her at sundown tomorrow.” He wrapped his hand around Iseult’s braid in a teasing gesture. Iseult answered his smile, but inwardly the thought of marrying any man made her wary. The last time she’d considered a marriage, it had ended in humiliation. It was hard to let herself trust a man again.
Her skin chilled at the memory of waiting alone with the priest for a lover who never arrived. She’d been pregnant with his child, and he’d known it. So had everyone else.
Shame filled her, remembering the way her friends and family had stared at her. Murtagh had joined a monastery, rather than wed her. And didn’t that offer plenty of gossip for long winter nights, along with his babe swelling at her waist?
Neasa hadn’t forgotten about it; that much was clear. She believed Iseult was unworthy of wedding a nobleman. Yet Davin had offered for her, treating her as though she were a princess instead of a commoner. The man loved her, though she did not understand why.
“Davin, you will be chieftain one day soon,” Neasa reminded him. “There are many responsibilities. Iseult has much to learn before she can be a proper wife.”
“I will be leader only if I am chosen by the people,” he corrected. Though he kept his tone even, Iseult saw the longing upon his face. He wanted to lead the tribe, and all knew there was no other choice but him.
Davin’s father Alastar interrupted at that moment. “Neasa, there’s no need to speak of me as if I’m dead. I am chieftain and will be for some time.” Alastar rose and stretched. “Come, Davin. I would hear your plans for Bealtaine.”
