Time for what? Iseult wondered. Both men wrapped their arrows with linen, soaking the tips in oil. Instead of lighting the arrows, they made several more. Both men went to each side of the ringfort, distributing the arrows to Hagen and another to Niamh. Iseult hadn’t realized her friend was also fighting among them.
With his hand raised, Kieran ordered them to light their arrows. Iseult stepped back and watched as he held everyone’s attention.
By Saint Brigid, this man had never been a slave. He was leading her tribesman as surely as if he were Alastar or Davin. They seemed to sense his knowledge, and no one argued. When he called out the command to shoot, they released flaming arrows into the grass.
Instantly, a ring of fire surrounded the ringfort. The oil. He’d built a fiery boundary around them, one that no raiders could penetrate. The invaders stopped short, and at that moment Davin’s men appeared on the opposite side.
Relief flooded through her at the sight of Davin and the others. With swords and spears, they attacked the enemy, while from the ringfort Kieran ordered a steady stream of arrows.
They were winning the battle. Iseult’s arms ached and her inner forearm stung from the bowstring. Beside her, Orin’s face gleamed with triumph.
And when she looked toward Kieran once again, he wasn’t there. Her heart bled, for she knew he’d taken the opportunity to leave. He hadn’t said a word to her, and it stung to realize he had truly gone.
It felt empty without him. Iseult forced herself to continue shooting arrows, and a moment later, she saw Kieran outside the ringfort, armed with a knife and torch. He swung the torch at a Norseman, using the blade to take his enemy’s life. When the raider fell, Kieran seized the double-edged sword, hacking a path to freedom. In time, he disappeared over the opposite side of the hill.
Hagen joined alongside them, and it was then that Orin noticed Kieran’s absence. “Where is Kieran?” he asked.
“He . . . joined Davin and the other men in the battle,” she lied.
Orin nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Davin could use him at his side.”
Iseult tried to smile but couldn’t bring one to her lips. Hagen approached the pair, his long graying hair hanging against his broad shoulders. He slung his bow over one arm, pointing at the remains of the battle. “That slave was a warrior. Mark my words. He’s seen fighting of this sort many times.”
“I believe it.” Orin lowered his own bow, and they stood watching the remains of the battle. Though the fiery ring still burned, Iseult saw that the men had dug a shallow trench to prevent the flames from spreading further.
She leaned up against the palisade, her knees beginning to shake. Kieran was truly gone. It froze her senses, just to think of it. Though he had been with their tribe only a few weeks, he had awakened a dormant part of her spirit. She wanted to weep but knew she did not deserve to mourn what had never been. Sinking against the palisade wall, she closed her eyes to the remains of the battle, wanting to disappear.
Niamh approached, her face looking worried. “Are you all right, Iseult?”
No, she wanted to say. “Just shaky. I’ll be well enough in a few minutes.”
Deena and a few of the women were waiting near the gates for the wounded to be brought in. Hours later, the first of the tribesmen arrived, both the bodies of the wounded and the dead. Cearul had not survived the battle, along with half a dozen others. Davin walked with a limp, his face covered in blood and dirt. His eyes were weary, but he was alive.
Iseult broke into tears at the sight of him. Her weeping was not thankfulness for his well-being, but instead the worst guilt she could have felt. Anger at herself, anger at Kieran for leaving, and grief for those who had died. His arms were around her in moments, and his low voice murmured words of comfort and endearments.
When the last body was brought in, the sight nearly took her to her knees. Kieran was carried by two men, his face ashen. A makeshift bandage covered his side, stained with blood.
“Is he—“ Her voice would hardly form the words, such terror struck her.
“No. But he took a sword that was meant for me. I’d be dead if he weren’t fighting at my side.” The solemnity of Davin’s voice revealed his debt.
He was supposed to escape. Iseult’s legs trembled, and she clung to Davin to keep from screaming. Her mind and soul were torn apart between the two men she cared for.
“If it weren’t for him, we would have died here as well,” Iseult managed. “The raiders broke past your men and attacked.”
“We saw the fires. Thank God he started them.” Davin led her away from the wounded, toward his family’s hut. “I am granting him his freedom in return for what he did here. If he lives.”
Another tear slid down her cheek, for if Kieran didn’t live, his freedom meant nothing at all.
When they reached his dwelling, Davin embraced her, stroking her hair. “We will say a Mass this evening, of thankfulness. And in memory of those who perished.”
Iseult couldn’t stop her tears. It wasn’t right to marry Davin, not anymore. But how could she explain? It was not as though Kieran wanted her. He hadn’t even suggested taking her with him. Pain cut through her, for she no longer understood her own feelings.
“I will see you later,” she said quietly, giving his hand a squeeze. “I think I’ll go and help Deena. She’ll have her hands full with the wounded.”
When Davin had gone, it was all she could do to keep her steps even. She needed to know if Kieran was all right. The idea of him dying made her feel numb inside.
She opened the door to the sick hut and found chaos. Men were crying out in pain while Deena walked from one tribesman to the next. Niamh was helping her, and Iseult stood out of the way.
