She tried to steady her breathing, but it was like trying to stop a rising tide. Kieran stepped back, his eyes fierce with hunger.
“I didn’t know it would be like this,” she managed, her hands shaking as she wrapped them around her waist.
“I did. And that is why I don’t want you to come here again. Stay away from me, Iseult. Or the next time, I won’t let you go.”
She nodded, her eyes burning. Right now she understood why he’d shunned her and knew that she must do the same. There could never be a future for them, not while she was betrothed.
Davin was the man meant to be her husband, not this slave. She had lost her head to desire once and had paid a terrible price. She wouldn’t do it again.
Aftershe’dgone,Kieransank down on the bench. Gods, how could he have been so witless? He’d meant to scare her, to send her fleeing back to her betrothed. Instead, he’d nearly seduced her.
He picked up one of his blades and stabbed it into a block of yew. Even now his mouth burned with the taste of her. Closing his eyes, he tried not to think of Davin touching her in that way. Jealousy seared him, and he gripped the knife, jerking it from the wood. For a moment, he stared at the blade. The sooner he finished the dower chest and left Lismanagh, the better.
Hours later, the sound of battle cries awakened him from sleep. Kieran jerked to his feet, his palm curving across a carving dagger. His heartbeat pulsed an erratic rhythm while his mind evoked vicious images from the past.
The roar of the invaders had mingled with his people begging for mercy. Torches had seared thatched roofs, decimating homes in a fiery blaze. His sister Aisling had screamed for help, while another raider seized Egan. Torn between them, he’d killed the raider who tried to take Aisling. And he’d lost Egan.
Kieran shoved the door open, his gaze raking in the sight of the tribesmen. Almost a dozen Ó Falvey men entered the gate, laughing while driving a small flock of sheep within. At the entrance, he saw three men bound as hostages.
A midnight raid upon another tribe. Nothing more. And yet his lungs closed up with the assault of vivid memories. Men like these had stolen his brother away.
Kieran stared at one of the hostages, whose physical strength looked tough enough to snap through the ropes in a single motion. The man surveyed the scene with a cool eye. Dark gold hair was pulled back with a leather thong, and his fierce features appeared more Norse than Irish. He wore the colors of a tribesman, however.
His expression remained calm—not the look of a helpless man taken prisoner. This was a man who’d let himself become a hostage—and Kieran didn’t trust him.
While the other two men struggled against their bonds and cursed, the third captive didn’t move. He let them chain him to a wooden post in front of a large mound.
Kieran stopped one of the Ó Falvey tribesmen. “Who is he?” He pointed toward the third captive.
The man stared at Kieran, as if wondering why a slave had dared to speak. At last, he shrugged. “One of the Sullivans. Our men captured more sheep, and some hostages.”
Though raids were common between tribes, Kieran couldn’t dismiss his instincts. He studied the prisoner and the way the man’s eyes moved over each of them. Almost as if he were memorizing faces.
Kieran stepped forward into the light, his hand still clenched around the knife. He strode forward until he caught the captive’s glance. More than ever, he was convinced these men were not Irish, though they were dressed as tribesmen.
“Who are you?” he asked softly, using a few words of the Norse tongue.
The captive’s gaze snapped to his. Then he gave a slow smile, though he did not answer.
In the man’s eyes, Kieran sensed a threat.
Chapter Nine
Iseultawokethenextmorning to a hand stroking her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw Davin smiling down at her. Her cheeks burned when he leaned down to kiss her lips. Anyone could see them, and she didn’t want the prying eyes of Muirne’s boys upon them.
“Good morn,a stór.”
Iseult hid her embarrassment in Davin’s shoulder, embracing him. It was hard to meet his eyes, for she feared if she looked at him, he might see her guilt from kissing Kieran. She’d never expected or wanted it to happen.
Why had she done it? She should have shoved him away as soon as it had happened. Instead, she’d kissed him back. Fool. Idiot. Remorse smothered her, and she inwardly vowed that she’d not betray Davin. She would never sink to that form of dishonor. She wasn’t that sort of woman.
“I came to show you something.” He helped her rise, while Muirne’s foster sons giggled from their own pallets. Iseult ignored the boys and donned an overdress atop her léine. She wasted no time in going outside with Davin. Streaks of fuchsia cut the dawn sky, a portent of afternoon rain.
She stifled a yawn. Late last night, she’d heard the men returning from their raid. She’d glimpsed hostages but paid them no heed. Likely it had been Cearul’s doing. The hot-headed tribesman loved nothing better than to lead an attack.
Davin directed her to a small clearing near the edge of the ringfort. At first Iseult didn’t understand what she was meant to see. Nothing stood before them, save grass and dirt.
“What is it?”
