“We’re about to be attacked.” Gently, he drew her hands away. “Can you shoot a bow?”
“Not very well.”
“Do the best you can. We’ll try to strike before they can reach our walls. With any hope, we’ll fend them off.” He searched the hunt for a length of linen and a small container of oil. When he found them, he tucked them away in a pouch at his waist.
“What about—“ She paled and tightened her lips. “What about Davin and the others? Are they dead?”
“I don’t know.”
The stricken, helpless look upon her face made him damn the consequences and pull her into his arms once more. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he stroked her hair. “I won’t let them harm you.”
“You’re leaving,” she said.
“After it’s over.” Because it was the right thing to do. Though he had sworn to endure the servitude until summer, no longer could he keep the vow. Not without endangering Iseult.
Perhaps it was a greater penance, having to let her go.
He memorized her face, her eyes that would haunt him after he’d gone. Then, at last, he released her. “Wait a few moments and then follow me.”
Without looking back, he returned outside to his position along the palisade. There was no sign of the Ó Falvey tribesmen, only the line of enemy forces waiting to attack.
Orin joined him, his boyish face heavy with worry. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”
“We might.” Kieran wrapped a scrap of linen around the tip of an arrow and soaked it in oil. A short time later, he saw Iseult emerge, before she went to retrieve her own bow and arrows.
Desire pierced him at the sight of her, mingled with regrets. He had no choice but to let her go, for he had no future to offer.
“What do you want me to do?” Iseult asked, when she joined him. In her palm, she clutched a bow.
“How bad is your aim?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “I rarely hit anything.”
Kieran took one of her arrows and wrapped the tip in linen, soaking it in oil. “If they come toward the hillside, light this with a torch. Even if you strike a man’s leg or arm, the fire will injure him.”
Her expression remained uncertain, but she nodded. Kieran turned to Orin. “Have the others take their positions around the palisade. Every side must remain guarded.”
“And we’ll survive?” Orin’s voice revealed his fear.
Kieran fitted his arrow to the bow. “It’s our best chance. If they break into the ringfort, abandon it. Take sanctuary among the trees, and don’t try to fight them. They are here for conquest and looting, not your death.”
Even so, the young man looked as though he might lose his midday meal. His hands shook upon the bow, and tension gripped every muscle. Kieran set his hand upon Orin’s shoulder. “Just concentrate on one man at a time. You’ll manage. There are enough of us to hold them off.”
A brutal battle cry pierced the air, and a moment later, the Norsemen charged toward the ringfort. Experienced fighters they were, men who gloried in battle.
Kieran waited until they were in range and dipped his first arrow into the torch. He aimed at one of the mounted soldiers, stretching the bowstring taut. With a hiss, the flaming arrow struck its mark, setting the horseman ablaze.
Iseult turned her head away, grimacing. Though Kieran kept sending arrow after arrow, her hands shook. She’d never killed a man, nor did she want to. The clawing memory of the raider’s attack sank deep into her mind.
“We need your bow, Iseult,” Kieran said. “Don’t let your fear control you.”
With shaking hands, she followed his instructions for lighting an arrow. She stretched the bowstring, trying not to think of what she was about to do. Then a warm palm settled on her spine. “Keep your thoughts steady. Aim and shoot.”
The touch of his hand upon her skin seemed to calm her, and she drew strength from him. Though she loathed what she was about to do, she understood that if she did not kill these men, they would kill her.
Despite the heavy losses, the raiders kept coming. With wooden shields raised in a full line, the arrows no longer penetrated flesh. The flames attacked the wood, but the Norsemen showed no sign of retreat.
“Orin.” Kieran signaled to the young man. “It’s time.”
