He dipped his hands into an animal trough to rinse away the blood after they finished butchering the meat. Some would be salted and smoked to preserve it, while he expected Davin would want some of the fresh venison at his table this night.
“I think we’ve finished,” Orin said, setting his knife aside. “Dine with us this night,” he insisted. “My foster-father will want to hear the story of the hunt.”
Kieran shook his head. “I am a slave, not one of you. It isn’t my place.”
“Davin won’t mind,” Orin insisted. “He asked me to invite you.”
“Asked or commanded?” Kieran cleaned his blade and sheathed it.
Orin gave a feeble smile. “Is there a difference? Come. Davin will be expecting us.”
“I haven’t finished preserving the meat.” It was his last argument. They could not leave it out, else it would spoil.
“Bring it down into the storage cairns. The ground is still frozen in places, and it will keep until the morning. I’ll show you.” Orin picked up two of the baskets, while Kieran took the remaining two. The young man led him inside one of the small huts, and Kieran descended a ladder into the storage chamber. Orin passed him the baskets one by one, and then he descended the ladder to show him where to keep the meat.
The air temperature was brisk, and the stones lining the walls kept it even cooler. Kieran set down the baskets, and Orin brought a piece of leather to wrap up several pounds of venison. “We’ll bring this to my foster-mother.”
With no other choice, Kieran followed the young man. He hadn’t guessed the connection between Davin and Orin, and it meant that Orin was younger than he supposed. Most young men finished their fostering at the age of seventeen.
As they passed his tiny hut, Kieran wished he could avoid spending time in Davin’s home. He preferred his privacy and had no wish to speak with anyone. Nor did he want anyone prying into his past.
He followed behind Orin, pretending that he didn’t see the eyes of the villagers watching them with interest. Kieran’s defenses rose up, his hands curling into fists. It was as though an invisible chain jerked him by the neck, dragging him toward his unwanted master.
Soon enough, he and Orin stood at the entrance. The young lad opened the door, and gestured for him to go inside.
“I brought Kieran to share our meal, Neasa,” Orin explained, handing her the leather-wrapped venison. A tall woman with dark hair, Neasa Ó Falvey wore a costly cream-colored léine and a violet overdress. Distaste lined her eyes when she saw Kieran.
“Slaves do not share a meal with the flaiths,” Neasa corrected. “But he may serve our table this night.” She nodded to Kieran and pointed him toward the other slaves. “Prepare the meal with the others and see to the guests.”
Kieran let no trace of emotion show upon his face. He’d expected this. Why Orin had thought it would be any different, he didn’t know. Status meant everything to a chieftain’s wife.
He tensed, looking for a way to leave. All he needed was to follow another man who was working outside. His eyes scanned the interior for an opportunity.
“Kieran is my guest,” Orin argued. “Were it not for him, we would have no meat at all.”
Neasa cast him a sympathetic look. “The man knows his place, even if you do not. Now go and help your foster-brother.” Her firm tone offered him no chance to resist.
Orin’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Kieran.”
He shook his head, as if it were no matter. While he joined the other slaves, he watched the entrance, waiting for the right moment. Some of the men lifted furnishings into the room while the female slaves worked to prepare the food.
A maiden struggled to open a sealed clay container, muttering beneath her breath. “I ought to bash you open.”
Kieran slid into the shadows, hoping to escape her notice. His luck failed him, for her gaze snapped upon him.
“I know you. You’re Davin’s new slave.”
He gave a faint nod. He recognized her as the woman who had traveled with Iseult. With damp brown hair and a softly-rounded figure, she was fair enough in appearance. He took the container from her, loosening the wax that sealed it.
“She doesn’t like you.”
“I know it.” He handed back the container, prepared to continue his escape.
“Wait.” The woman blocked his way. “I saw her weeping after she left the carver’s hut the other night. What did you do to her?”
“I never—“ touched her, he almost said. But that was a lie. He stiffened, not wanting to defend himself to Iseult’s companion. He held his silence, giving her his most intimidating stare.
She tilted her chin up. “Mind yourself, slave. She is my friend, and I won’t have you bothering her.” The woman kept her eyes firmly upon him, completely disrupting his plans to get away. No doubt she would alert the entire household, were he to try it.
