“Don’t.” She set her board and knife down. Did he think her incapable of doing the work? “Just go back to your woodcarving. Or go and serve Davin. I don’t care which.”
His presence made it even more difficult to concentrate. She waited for him to leave, but he continued until he’d cleaned three of the fish.
He stood and brought the fillets over to her. “Where do you want these?”
She took the fish and put them in a clean wooden container near her feet. “That will do. Go on, now, and leave me to my task.”
He was making her uncomfortable, watching her the way he did. “Wager or not, it’s a lot of fish. And I’d like to eat my evening meal within a reasonable hour.”
She huffed a strand of hair out of her face. “Then take your twelve and leave.”
“Who’s leaving?” Muirne stepped outside the hut, wiping her hands upon a cloth. When she saw Kieran, her eyes gleamed. “Oh, you’re the new slave, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Though he lowered his head, Iseult saw not a trace of humility.
“It’s good that Davin sent you to help with the fish. Our Iseult would have been here all night, otherwise.”
Iseult noticed that Kieran did not correct the assumption. She doubted if Davin had even thought of it, so concerned he was with the Norse raiders.
Muirne nodded to Iseult. “Stop for a moment and dine with us. You can share a meal with us as well, slave. Bring a few more of those fillets, some of the smaller ones. It won’t take long to add more food.”
“His name is Kieran,” Iseult said. “And he was just leaving.”
“I wouldn’t mind sharing a meal,” he said. “It has been a while since I’ve had company.”
When Iseult glared at him, his expression held nothing but innocence.
“Come in, then.” Muirne opened the door and winked. “Pity you’re a slave. A handsome one you are, Kieran.”
He blinked at that, and Iseult nearly laughed. It served him right. With a flushed face, he entered Muirne’s hut. The boys, Glendon and Bartley, were chasing one another around the small space. Muirne’s husband Hagen calmly picked them up by their tunics and dropped them onto the ground beside the low table.
Muirne poured cold water into a basin and handed it to Kieran, along with a small cake of soap. “Both of you wash yourselves. You’ve made my home smell enough like fish.”
Kieran gestured for Iseult to use the basin first. She washed her hands and face, emptying the soiled water outside before refilling the basin for Kieran. He stared at the water a moment before dipping his hands in, soaping them heavily.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I was just thinking that it’s been a long time since I’ve had soap.”
“How did you bathe before?” He didn’t smell bad, but she hadn’t thought of it before now.
“Mostly in cold streams with sand. Sometimes the ocean.”
Iseult winced, thinking of his wounds. The salt must have been excruciating. “Seamus has a basin somewhere among his belongings. I’ll bring you some soap, if you wish.”
“Thank you,” he said softly before taking the basin out to empty it.
Though Kieran said little throughout the meal, he ate well enough. Muirne kept his plate full, asking constant questions and chatting without stopping for air. Hagen held an amused air throughout the meal, though upon occasion, he sent warning glances to the boys for interrupting.
“What happened that you became a slave?” Muirne asked finally. “It’s obvious to me from your bearing that you were a free man once before. Were you taken captive?”
He’d never answer that question. Iseult was certain of it.
“I wasn’t a captive, no.” Kieran spoke quietly, giving his attention to the remains of his meal.
Muirne’s face fell. “Oh, lad. I suspected as much, given as strong as you seem to be. No one should have to lose their freedom in that way. I’m sorry to hear of your family’s decision.”
Iseult frowned. “What decision?”
