Iseult bit her tongue, wishing she hadn’t spoken. “I went back to assist Deena. The slave awakened, but I didn’t like him.”
“Did he threaten you?” The iron cast to Davin’s voice made it clear that he was not at all pleased.
Iseult shrugged. “He asked me to leave, that’s all.” She waved her hand as though it were nothing. “Go on. I’ll join you this afternoon.”
When he hesitated again, she drew her horse alongside his and kissed Davin gently. “Go.”
Her action had the intended effect, and he softened. “Be careful. If I do not see you by the noon meal, I’m sending men after you.”
He leaned in and kissed her again, this time with more intensity. Iseult accepted the embrace, but her mind was still on the Sullivan tribe. Within a few more moments, she’d know if her search had been for nothing.
“I’ll see you later,” she promised.
Kieranstrainedagainsthisropes, hardly caring when the hemp bit into his flesh. They had bound him hand and foot, trussed like a fowl about to be roasted.
It was his own fault. He’d thought he could slip away without anyone noticing, forgetting that starvation had robbed him of his strength. When the men had sighted him, he’d fought them off as well as he could. Wounded a few of them, too, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. His strength was diminished almost to a boy’s. Blood matted his skin, his lips split from one of their punches. His back blazed with an unholy fire from the lash marks.
Would they kill him now? He steeled himself for it. Lowering his gaze, he stared at the damp earth. The scent of the smoke and straw were similar to his home in the south of Éireann. So far from here, almost a world apart. Away from those who would cast blame upon him.
He shouldered every pound of the guilt. It was his fault that Egan had died. If he could have put himself in his younger brother’s place, he’d have died a thousand deaths. Only three and ten, his brother had never had the chance to grow to manhood.
Kieran saw the flash of a blade but didn’t move. A tall bearded man stood before him. He wore a dark green tunic, trimmed with gold thread. Wielding the knife in one hand, he dismissed the others. Kieran recognized the authority in the man’s voice. Their chieftain perhaps, judging from his costly garments.
But the man crouched down before him. “I am Davin Ó Falvey.”
His owner. The possessive sound in the man’s voice made Kieran want to snarl. He’d never been slave to any man, and bitter resentment filled him at his fate. “You’re the man who bought me.”
“I am. And from the stories they’ve told, I suspect you’d like me to slice this blade across your throat.”
Kieran lifted his chin in an invitation. “Do it, then.”
Davin tilted the knife in the sunlight, the light flashing. “I could. But then you’d get what you want. And I’d have lost the silver I spent.” Davin reached down to help him rise to his feet, cutting the bonds around his ankles but leaving his hands tied. “What is your name?”
“Kieran, of the Ó Brannon tribe.”
“I’ve heard of your kin. They live a great distance from here, do they not?”
Kieran didn’t answer. Didn’t have to, for Ó Falvey already knew it. He studied his enemy. Theflaithexuded a calm confidence, showing not a trace of unease. Davin watched him as if trying to make a decision.
“You want your freedom. I can understand that, and perhaps I’ll grant it to you in return for your service.”
Kieran didn’t answer, for nothing would make him endure servitude willingly. He’d rather die than live as another man’s servant.
Davin reached into a fold of his cloak and held up a wooden figurine, the carved likeness of his brother Egan. “Or perhaps you’d like to earn this back.”
The carving. He cursed, trying to strike out despite his bound hands, but Davin stepped sideways, using his foot to send him sprawling on the ground. Kieran tasted blood and dirt, hardly caring as he tried to attack again.
Gods above, but the piece of wood was the only thing he had left of Egan. Only a piece of yew it was, but he’d given it to his brother years ago. Seeing it in his master’s hands ignited the same anger he’d felt toward the slavers.
Davin caught him with a punch, and the air went crashing from his lungs. Kieran crouched down, trying to catch a breath. Blood trickled from the wounds on his back, and he bit back the pain.
“Did you carve this?” Davin asked softly, fingering the piece.
Kieran only stared at the man, rage seething inside him. He’d made a mistake, showing Davin that the carving was important to him. He forced a neutral expression onto his face as he got up from his knees.
“You have skill,” Davin remarked. “I think I know a way you can earn your freedom. And this.” He tucked the figurine away in the fold of his cloak.
“Come.” Davin grasped the length of rope that held his wrists captive, and Kieran struggled to follow.
