“I think I’ve always known it was wrong,” she whispered. “I tried to convince myself that I could love you. You were everything a husband should be, everything I thought I wanted.” Even as she spoke the words, she would not look at him.
His skin drew taut, his nerves growing more suspicious. “But something made you change your mind. Or someone.” He ventured a guess. “It’s Kieran, isn’t it?”
He’d expected her to laugh or deny it. Instead, her face transformed into guilt. Though she tried to veil it, Davin could see the fear in her eyes. And frightened she should be, for his rage boiled with the need for violence against the slave. His mother had been right.
His knuckles curled into fists, his throat tight with anger. How could she betray him like this? He’d given her his full trust, never believing she would behave dishonorably. “You’re in love with him.”
“He’s gone, Davin.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Whatever he chooses to do with his life has nothing to do with us.”
Disgust filled him at the sight of her tears. “He seduced you, didn’t he? All the time when he was carving your likeness.” They had planned this together. She’d waited until the slave had gone before telling him.
Iseult turned scarlet and rose to her feet. “You’re wrong. Never did I share his bed, and you needn’t treat me like a woman who would lie with any man.”
But she had. This wasn’t the first time she’d shared her body. “You lay with Murtagh and bore his child,” he accused.
Her face turned stricken. “That was years ago. It has nothing to do with right now.”
“Never once have you shared my bed,” he pointed out. “Though we were betrothed.”
“Did you think it was your right?” She crossed her arms, her eyes sparking with fury.
“It was my right more than his.” Davin stood, grasping her firmly by the waist. She struggled, but he held her fast. He wanted her to fear him, wanted her to feel as helpless as she made him feel right now. “You were promised to me, long before you met him.”
“Kieran is no longer a threat to you. I don’t know where he’s gone, and it doesn’t matter. I will return home to my family.”
“If he dares show his face to me again, I will kill him.” He meant it. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to drive his blade into Kieran’s heart. It didn’t matter whether the slave and Iseult had been lovers. He could see that she had given Kieran her heart, whereas she felt nothing for him.
“I’ll send the chest back,” she said, her voice dull. “You can give it to the woman you marry.”
He released her. “That woman was supposed to be you.”
“I won’t marry you,” she said quietly. “It was wrong of me to think I could.”
“You never gave us a chance.” Her words carved invisible wounds into his stomach, stabbing like a knife. “You gave more of yourself to Murtagh and that . . . slave than you ever did to me.”
“Don’t lower yourself, Davin.” She stepped away from him. “Find another woman and forget about me.”
“I’m still in love with you. And I won’t let you go.” Wild thoughts of forcing her into marriage brewed in his thoughts, even as part of him knew he could never hurt her.
She looked away. “One day you’ll know I’m letting you go because I care for you. Marrying you would be a mistake for both of us.”
“And what of Kieran?” He didn’t for a moment believe that she was going home. Icy jealousy made him want to tear the man apart.
She raised a tearstained face to him, fully meeting his eyes. “There is no future for me with Kieran. We both know it.”
The loss of her cut into him so deeply, he felt the desperate need to ask her again. Though he loathed the thought of begging, he couldn’t stand by and watch her go. He still loved her. Still needed her. “I would wait for you, Iseult.”
She shook her head sadly and reached out to touch his cheek. “Don’t.”
Thecrackofawhip struck through the morning stillness. Kieran remained hidden in the crowd, trying to keep his mind detached from the brutality of the slave market. Only this past winter, he had stood naked before a crowd such as this one. He’d fought to free himself, only to receive the lash upon his spine.
When he looked upon the faces of the slaves, he thought of his earlier vow. Thirteen weeks, he’d sworn to endure as penance. But he’d been unable to keep the promise. With each day he’d remained at Lismanagh, his desire for Iseult increased. Giving her up was worse than enduring any form of slavery. No doubt Iseult would have told Davin by now of her decision. Several weeks had passed since Bealtaine.
He wouldn’t let himself dwell upon the vision of her face, nor her soft sighs of pleasure when he’d touched her. He had the memory of her. It would have to be enough.
Kieran dragged his attention back to the remainder of the slave auction, never taking his hand off the dagger. Women and men were sold off one by one, fear and uncertainty in their faces. Children wept when they were pulled away from their mothers. His gut twisted at the sight of a young adolescent boy, a dark-haired lad the same age as Egan. All were too old to be Iseult’s son.
His hands shook, curling over the cold metal of his weapon. The scars on his back, though long-healed, seemed to ache with memory. No one should have to suffer this way, nor lose their freedom. Though he offered a prayer for the slaves, he hadn’t a coin to his name, nothing to save any of them from their fate.
