Instead, she forced herself to mount the mare and return to Lismanagh. It would take time to pack her belongings and prepare for the journey back to her family. They would not be pleased to see her. Her father would have to return the bride price Davin had paid.
It was strange to think of new beginnings. Though she did not intend to abandon her own search for Aidan, she believed Kieran’s vow to help her. The seeds of faith took root inside her, along with confidence in him.
Inside the ringfort, men and women bustled with the preparations for Bealtaine. Delicious scents rose from the homes, and she marveled at the greenery and flowers everywhere.
She returned Deena’s horse, leading the mare to a trough of water before walking back to Muirne’s hut. Amid the thatching of the roof, near the doorway, she saw branches of hawthorn and knew they were from Davin.
“There you are!” Muirne beamed when she saw her. “Come and see the gifts he’s sent!”
Iseult didn’t need to ask whohewas. And when she saw the dower chest, her heart sank.
Muirne’s foster sons rushed over, half bouncing with excitement. Glendon cried out, “Open it, Iseult! I want to see what he gave you.”
“And me!” Bartley chimed in. Both boys hovered over the chest, their eyes gleaming as though they expected it to be filled with honey cakes.
Muirne ushered the boys out of the way. “Now lads, let her open it.” She turned a discerning eye upon Iseult. “What’s happened?”
“It’s nothing.” Iseult touched the elaborate carving upon the lid, remembering the way Kieran had watched her before forming her image out of wood. She ran her fingers over one of the curves, the way she had touched his body only hours ago. She suppressed a shiver.
Taking a breath, she opened the lid. Inside, she smelled lilacs from a bundle of dried flowers wrapped in linen. Gowns of blue, crimson, rose, and cream lay inside. Muirne exclaimed over the exquisite fabric.
“He’s traded for these,” she said, lifting one of the gowns. “This is silk. Perhaps from Byzantium.” She held the piece almost reverently.
Iseult closed her eyes in dismay. He’d spent a fortune upon her. She’d never expected this, and her guilt trebled. With shaking hands, she packed the gowns away, closing the lid. No longer could she wait to end the betrothal. It had to be now.
“MayIspeakwithyou?”
Davin turned from the horses and saw Iseult standing before him. She had left her hair unbound, a reddish-gold curtain that fell down to her hips. The evening twilight air was cool, sending strands of auburn hair against Iseult’s face. Her cream overdress fell in graceful folds over the saffronléinebeneath it. She held herself like a queen instead of a blacksmith’s daughter. And yet her lips did not smile.
His instincts sharpened. She had been unhappy for several weeks now, ever since the battle against the Norse raiders. He suspected that whatever bothered her would not be welcome news.
“Of course.” He poured the bucket of oats into a trough for the horses, patting his gelding Lir. “Did you receive the chest I sent to Muirne’s?”
“Yes, thank you.” There was no smile, but a faint color rose upon her cheeks. Had he done something wrong? Her words were far too polite. Most women would have been overjoyed at the treasures he’d bought. He’d wanted to gift her with exotic fabrics, silks that were worthy of her beauty. But she was behaving in a manner he’d not seen before, as though she were hiding something from him.
Ugly suspicions darkened in his mind. Davin recalled a conversation he wasn’t supposed to overhear, one between his mother and father last night. Neasa had claimed she’d seen Iseult sneaking into Kieran’s hut.
Davin had dismissed it, for his mother’s animosity toward his bride was clear. It was only Neasa’s way of stirring up trouble. Iseult had hardly looked at Kieran. She seemed to avoid him at every moment. Not only that, he’d learned that the woodcarver had already left.
Perhaps she’d had some bad news regarding her son. “Is this about Aidan?”
“No. It’s something else.” She took his hand in hers and led him toward the gates of the ringfort. He accompanied her, noting how cold her fingers were. The moon rose above the ringfort, stark and white against the darkened sky. Torches flickered in the wind.
When they reached the hillside, she led him down until they were completely alone. She sat upon the grassy knoll, tucking her bare feet beneath her skirts.
“You’re unhappy,” he said, sitting beside her. “I can see it in your face.” He’d hoped she would relax and deny it. Instead, she lowered her gaze.
The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach worsened. Had she ever been happy here? Always leaving the ringfort in search of her son, never content. And even when he’d shown her affection, she’d seemed uneasy. His consternation increased while he wondered what he could say to make her feel better.
“It’s nothing you’ve done. You’ve been the kindest man to me.” She let go of his hand, drawing her knees up. In the moonlight, her profile was pale, uncertain. “But I can’t marry you.”
Like an axe, her words severed his intended response. It was the last thing he’d expected. “What do you mean?”
“You deserve a better wife than I can be to you. It would be wrong.”
Panic overrode him. He sensed their betrothal crumbling, and he struggled to hold the pieces together. “You’re the only wife I want.” He drew his hand around her shoulders, but Iseult did not respond. The wall of ice had returned, and he didn’t know what to do.
A heaviness seemed to encircle his heart as he pulled his hand away. “What has happened? Only yestereve, you were still planning to wed me at Bealtaine.”
