“I intend to,” Kieran said. From the icy tone of his voice, Davin believed it. Still, he didn’t want the slave near his bride. The thought of any man alone with her drove his jealousy beyond measure.
“Finish the chest,” he ordered. “You have one fortnight.”
Kierandidn’ttouchthechest for three days. He’d used the axe, then an adze to shape the oak log into the size and shape he needed. With careful measurements, he fitted the plank to the chest and took apart the older joints, discarding the cracked wood. He cut another box joint with an iron chisel, carefully adjusting the fit until he could hammer in the new piece to the existing chest.
The precision required a steady hand and pressure upon the wood. His arms ached, but he welcomed the pain. Once, work such as this would have required little endurance. He’d been able to work for hours with no effort at all.
It would take time to rebuild his lost abilities, he admitted. The lack of food and training during his captivity had taken their toll. If he had possessed his full strength when Iseult was attacked, all three men would be dead. Now, he lacked the means to protect even one woman. It shamed him to think of it.
When he’d arrived here, Kieran had planned to let himself fade into the background; a faceless, nameless slave. He was beginning to realize that it wasn’t possible. He had led men into battle for so long, it was an extension of himself. His tribesmen had looked to him for guidance, to make the decisions no one else wanted to make.
His father had trained him to follow in his footsteps as chieftain. It had been an unwanted burden. He’d never wanted to be a leader of men.
When he’d been a captive, he’d held fast to the hope that his father and their tribesmen would come after them. He’d consoled Egan, telling him not to fear. But no one had come for them.
He stiffened at the memory. It no longer mattered. His family members were as dead to him, as he was to them.
He’d spent time thinking about where he would go next. The answer had come to him last night. He would live out his days as a mercenary, traveling across Éireann. Defending those who lacked the means, killing those who harmed innocents.
He opened his palm, gathering his hand into a fist. With each remaining week of his penance, he would spend time rebuilding what was lost.
Yestereve, he’d heard the men talking about the Norse raiders. Though Davin might wish to defend his tribe, he doubted if the ringfort was prepared for such an attack. Many segments of the palisade wall were vulnerable to an enemy breach. He’d studied every angle of the ringfort in preparation for his own escape. There was no part of Lismanagh he didn’t know.
He didn’t care if the raiders destroyed it. The Ó Falvey people meant nothing to him. Cearul and his tribesmen acted with their tempers, not their heads. They would be slaughtered within moments, the women taken prisoner.
He closed his eyes, thinking of Iseult. If he hadn’t been with her, she’d have been taken. He had no doubt they would have hurt her, defiled her. It was like reliving Egan’s capture. Only this time, he had saved her.
She’d wanted him to hold her, to reassure her that everything would be all right. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. With every moment he stayed here, invisible bonds tied him to her.
Damn it all, she was Davin’s responsibility, not his. Davin should be the man to protect her, as her betrothed husband. Not him.
Her future could never be a part of his. And when he regained his freedom, he wouldn’t look back.
He stepped outside the hut, breathing in the morning air. His gaze stopped short when he saw Iseult standing a few paces outside Muirne’s hut. Her hair was unbound, flowing about her shoulders, and her legs were bare. A rose-colored léine and overdress clung to her slender body. She lowered a bucket and met his gaze. Concern creased her face, as though she’d worried about him. She didn’t turn away like she should have. And neither did he.
As she filled her bucket with water from a rain barrel, he forced himself to go back inside the woodcarver’s hut. He sat down upon the bench, his palm curving over one of the gouges. With a whetstone, he sharpened the blade, letting the mindless task push away his thoughts of her.
His slavery would end, soon enough. And when he regained his freedom, he would leave Lismanagh and travel east, to make a new start.
Chapter Eleven
Afewdayslaterat sunset, the chieftain Alastar Ó Falvey called all the men to gather outside his dwelling. The council had convened, and they had come to a decision. They would ride out to meet the Norse raiders, attacking them if necessary. They’d not wait for the enemy to strike first.
Davin stood at his father’s side, his spirits heavy about what was to come. He’d grown up with these men and knew them all by name. On the morrow, some would die...and he could be among them. The knowledge was sobering, and he could only pray silently to the gods that they would be spared.
“We ride to meet the Norsemen at dawn,” Alastar declared. “The raiders are passing too close to our boundaries, and I need men willing to defend our ringfort. Who among you will fight to keep your women and children safe?”
A roar of approval sounded from the men. Davin surveyed the crowd and saw Iseult standing next to her friend Niamh. Neither looked pleased. Niamh, in particular, glared at him as though he were responsible for the danger.
He didn’t particularly want to go into battle, either, but it was his duty. Only the young men like Orin, and the elderly would stay behind. He and his tribesmen would form an impenetrable shield around their home, so that none of the invaders could cross it.
His father gathered groups of men together, assigning some as foot soldiers, others as archers. Each was given his choice of a weapon, and the men’s spirits were high as they selected battle-axes and spears. As for himself, Davin preferred a sword.
His mother summoned the slaves, ordering a large feast for the men. Barrels of ale were brought up from storage, and all were given as much as they wanted. Davin poured a cup for himself, carrying another to Iseult.
Though he wanted to be alone with her, to take her into his arms, he could see the hesitancy upon her face. She hadn’t forgiven him for chaining Kieran; he could see it. What else could he do to heal the breach between them? Though he did not believe his tribe would lose the fight, he didn’t want ill feelings between them tonight.
“Would you like ale?” he asked, offering her the cup. She forced a smile, closing her hands around the goblet.
