He swore a silent vow, never to keep a slave of his own. Not so long as he breathed.
Almost an hour passed until the remaining slaves were sold. The Norse slave trader Bodvar handled the auction, calling out the merits of each man, woman, and child. Kieran waited until the crowd dispersed, and Bodvar finished counting his silver. The trader had long reddish hair that hung to his waist, tied back with a thong. A thick curling beard rested upon his chest, and his narrow eyes focused upon the coins.
Finally, Kieran stepped forward. When his shadow darkened Bodvar’s line of sight, the Norseman looked up. A thin smile spread over his face.
“I always thought you’d escape, Kieran Ó Brannon. None of the others had your strength.”
“I am a free man now,” he replied, resting his hand upon his weapon.
Bodvar shrugged and crossed his arms. “You’re too late to purchase a slave of your own. But if you’ve silver, I might be persuaded to find a woman for you among my own slaves.”
Kieran ignored the remark. “I’m looking for a young boy, two years of age. Stolen from his mother last summer. He has black hair, and his mother named him Aidan.”
The Norseman finished tying off his purse of silver and bound it to his waist. “Haven’t seen him.”
“You see hundreds of boys like him everywhere you travel. This one came not far from here. From the MacFergus clan.”
Bodvar stood. “If he was taken from his own clan, it was either raiders or one of their own kin. Someone who needed silver, who wanted to be rid of the boy.”
Kieran considered the possibility, along with the difficulties it posed. “I intend to find him.”
Bodvar laughed. “You’ll never find him, and well you know it.”
Kieran did not respond. To Bodvar, a child was nothing more than a nuisance and hardly worth a profit. There was nothing more to gain by speaking to him. But Iseult’s family was another matter. There might be answers within her own clan.
He quelled the rising hope of seeing her again. Iseult had made her choices, and they had nothing to do with him. For all he knew, she might have wed Davin after all. He’d told Iseult to keep her betrothal, for at least she would be safe. But the thought of Davin caressing her bare skin made him clench his dagger as though it were a man’s throat.
He continued walking east, though his feet ached from the journey. When it grew too dark to go any further, he built a fire on the lee side of a hill and warmed himself. As he leaned back to sleep, Iseult’s face haunted him once more. He wanted to see her. He itched to touch her skin, to thread his hands through the silk of her hair.
Would that he could suppress the memories. Iseult MacFergus could never belong to him, not with a life such as this.
She had urged him to return home, to seek his family once more. Never. They would not forgive him for what had happened to Egan. How could they, when he couldn’t forgive himself?
No, he had no place where he belonged. He would keep his promise to Iseult and find her son.
And after that, it didn’t matter where he went.
Chapter Sixteen
Afuriousrainpoundeddown from the skies. Iseult clung to her mare, praying that she was on the right path home. Dark clouds shrouded the countryside, making it difficult to see past the mist. She kept her mount along the path of the river, both for the water source and to keep herself from becoming lost.
Her life was packed away in two bundles. She’d left behind the dower chest and everything Davin had given her. For the past three days she’d traveled alone. Beneath herbrat, she shivered.
She’d slipped away in the early morning, telling only Deena of her intent to leave. She was afraid Davin wouldn’t let her go, otherwise.
Her body ached from the effort of holding onto the mare. Though it was nearing sunset, she was almost home. She clung to the thought, craving the familiarity of her family’s dwelling. The land shifted to the meadows she knew, the thatched wattle and daub huts of her friends. And in the distance stood the gates of their ringfort.
Iseult leaned her head down upon the horse’s mane and wept. Exhaustion permeated her body, tempting her with the promise of sleep. She reached inside her cloak to touch the wooden figure of her son, as if it would somehow bring her closer to Kieran.
Would he truly carry out his promise to find her son? Though she wanted to believe it, she was afraid to let herself hope. As she stared out at the desolate landscape, she prayed for both of them.
With a signal to the mare, she continued onward. On the outskirts of the ringfort stood the blacksmith’s hut, belonging to her father. Made of stone, he kept the work space open to the elements to avoid the dangers of fire. Due to the rain, she suspected he would be staying inside their home this day.
No one guarded the gates, and Iseult smelled the musty aroma of peat burning as she drew near. She dismounted and led the horse inside the ringfort. Her wet gown clung to her skin, causing her to shiver with cold. Although the rain had slowed, she longed to be inside, warming herself before a fire.
She brought the mare to her family’s dwelling, a circular stone hut with a thatched roof. After loosening the ties that bound her belongings, she led the animal to a sheltered lean-to. She rubbed the mare down, then gave her grain and water.
Iseult hesitated before knocking upon the door, unsure of what her parents would say. But when the door opened, her father’s face broke into a smile. His hair had grown thinner, and he’d cut it short to his shoulders. In the months since she’d seen him last, the fair strands had faded almost to gray. Rory pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, laughing heartily.
