The thought of food made her stomach churn. “I’m not hungry,” she admitted.
“Neither am I.” He leaned down and kissed the soft spot of her neck. “Not for food, anyway.” His warm hand moved over her spine in a silent invitation.
Iseult moved away from him, her face on fire. She didn’t want him to touch her, but neither could she admit the truth. Not until Kieran had healed and was gone.
“Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, not facing him. “I’d rather go outside.”
Davin followed her, but when they were away from his parents’ home, she realized her mistake. He thought she wanted to be alone with him. His arms wound around her waist, and she could feel his desire. Her throat closed up with fear and guilt.
“I am glad that you were all right after the battle,” she said, trying to keep him distanced. “I was afraid for you.”
“I would not have let them harm you.” Davin’s grasp tightened around her. “There is something else we learned. The hostages we took several days ago were Norse spies, not Sullivans.” His hand traced the spot on her cheek where the bruise was still fading. “You were fortunate Kieran was there to keep you safe.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“God blessed our battle and made us victorious,” Davin continued.
It hurt to think of those who had died protecting them. “I only wish we hadn’t lost so many men.”
His face sobered at her words. She didn’t want to think of the images he carried with him, watching his own men die. With a heavy heart, she broke away from his embrace. “It’s been a long night for both of us. I think it’s best if I return home.”
Regret shadowed his face, and his hand closed upon her nape. “I will see you on the morrow.”
After she left, she walked slowly back to Muirne’s hut. As the moon rose above the ringfort, she stopped to gaze over the wall at the charred grasses. The heavy scent of smoke and ashes coated the air. Her palm curled over the wood of the palisade, splinters cutting into her skin. Soon she would leave this place.
And then what?
Over the past year, she’d continued her search for Aidan but had done little else. She had followed in the path of other women, cooking and weaving. Mindlessly becoming more and more of a shadow.
If she returned home, would she lose herself entirely? Iseult raised her face to the sky, taking a deep breath. More than anything, she wished Kieran would take her with him.
She’d never met a man like him before, someone fierce and honorable. And he’d wanted her. The day of the battle, there was no denying it. She had reveled in his touch, the way she never could with Davin. Even now she craved being with him. Was it only desire? Or something more?
The old impulses sparked. She sensed that if Kieran ever let go of the nightmares that haunted him, there was a man of true worth beneath it all. Someone worth fighting for.
It was time to be honest with herself, and to stop hiding behind her grief for Aidan. Though she would never cease the search for her son, neither could she let Kieran go. Not without learning what he felt for her.
She halted in front of the sick hut, a tangle of thoughts running through her head. The door opened, and Deena stepped outside.
“He’s asleep,” she said. Her kindly face held understanding, and Iseult wished she could go into the older woman’s arms for comfort.
“How is the wound?”
“I’ve treated it as best I can. Pray for him, and he may be spared.” Her gaze turned troubled. “Did you see Davin?”
Iseult inclined her head. “I did. And I would like to see Kieran now.”
“Do you think it wise?”
From the knowing look in Deena’s eyes, Iseult wavered. “I need to know that he will live.”
“That is in God’s hands.” Nonetheless, Deena opened the door. “Would you like some chamomile tea?”
“I would, yes.” Iseult stepped inside, and the comforting scent of healing herbs surrounded her. Coals glowed upon the hearth, warming the interior. Three men slept upon pallets, Kieran’s being the furthest away. Iseult walked toward him, and knelt down. Deena had removed his tunic, leaving only the linen bandages upon his torso.
Though he had not the immense strength of some of the other tribesmen, rigid muscles molded his chest. Lean and sinewy, he was no less dangerous than brawny men such as Cearul. She closed her eyes, for Cearul was numbered among the dead.
