She wanted to touch Kieran’s skin, to feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. But she’d not disturb him.
“Iseult?” Deena held out a steaming clay mug.
She stepped across the bodies of the men, accepting the hot drink. The healer gestured for her to sit down upon one of the log stools. Iseult sipped at the sweet blend, tasting the chamomile.
“Why did you come back?” Deena prompted.
“To see about the men.” She kept her voice neutral, but the healer seemed to see through her façade.
“Iseult, you tread upon dangerous ground,” the healer warned.
She tore her gaze away from Kieran, for it was clear Deena had already guessed the truth. “What would you do, were you in my place?”
“I would tell Davin.”
“And so I shall. But not until Kieran has healed.” She gazed over at him once again. “Davin would kill him otherwise.”
“You cannot protect the slave,” Deena cautioned. “The longer you wait, the worse it will become.”
Iseult took another sip of the tea. “I won’t let his life be forfeit, if I say anything to Davin. Kieran might desire me, but he would never take me with him. There is nothing for us.” She looked back at Deena. “Will his wounds heal before Bealtaine?”
The woman shrugged. “If he does not die of a fever, he should be well enough to leave. It would be dangerous to travel, though, for the wound could become poisoned.”
Iseult finished her tea and stood. “I must return to Muirne’s. Let me know if anything changes. Else I will come back on the morrow.” She embraced the older woman.
“You should tell Kieran of your feelings for him, Iseult.”
“I can’t.” She raised herbratto cover her head. “For I don’t know what I feel.”
“You’re in love with him.” Deena squeezed her hand. “And he deserves to know it.”
A bright burning stung her eyes, and Iseult shook her head. “It would change nothing.”
“It might change everything.”
Chapter Fourteen
Deathhadnottakenhim, but instead had left Kieran with pain beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Even a fortnight later, he was not well enough to leave Lismanagh. Though Davin had granted him his freedom, the battle wounds imprisoned him here.
Deena had moved him back into the carver’s hut, and she visited him each day, inspecting him with the precision of a commander. She had spread foul-smelling concoctions upon his wound, and so far he had begun to heal.
But Iseult had not come. Not since that night. He was glad she’d listened to him, though he’d felt the loss of her presence. He needed to know that she would be safe, that someone would protect her. Especially since that man could never be himself.
A sennight ago, he’d finally been strong enough to sit up. Though Deena had encouraged him to rest, he disliked being idle. He sharpened his tools and renewed his work upon the dower chest. As each day passed, he carved an interlocking design that incorporated both Irish and ancient Norse patterns. Though he was still too weak to travel, he would finish as much of it as possible before he left.
And each time Iseult saw it, she would remember him.
At night, he’d spent hours working on another piece of yew. Though it was not as detailed as the carving of Iseult, the task occupied his hands. Seeing the face emerge pained him, for it brought forth memories he’d locked away for several moons.
A shadow blocked his light in the doorway. His heart quickened at the sight of Iseult. She wore a gown of almost pure white, with a cream overdress. Tiny stitches of rose thread formed embroidered flowers upon the overdress.
“Why did you come?” He set down the chisel, startled to see her.
“Because I couldn’t stay away any longer.” She moved to stand behind him. Gently, she laid her hands upon his shoulders. The touch, light as a kiss, brought a ripple of guilt into his conscience.
Gods, she was driving him to madness. If she were his, he’d pull her down to his lap, plundering the sweetness of her mouth. He would close the door, no matter that it was daylight outside. She would lie upon his pallet, and he’d savor the time alone with her.
Instead, he took her hands and removed them gently. “You’re betrothed to Davin.” The reminder was as much to himself as to her.
