“I am leaving with Kieran,” she said, “to find my son.” She turned her gaze to his. “I won’t be returning here.”
The sympathy on Rory’s face was genuine. “I didn’t know what she’d done,” he said. “Believe me,a iníon.”
She did. The aging planes of his face showed his sincerity, but more than that, she knew her father would never do anything to hurt her. “Be well, my father.”
She raised herbratover her head, clasping it beneath her chin with one hand. The wind whipped at her face while she returned to the blacksmith’s hut, barely holding herself together. Her own mother. After all this time.
When she found Kieran waiting, she walked into his arms. Only then did she release the anguish inside her, needing his strength. Ragged sobs tore from her throat, the disappointment in her mother. And in herself for not seeing the truth sooner.
He reached out and brushed a tear away, framing her face with his palms. “I am sorry for causing you such pain,a mhuirnín.”
“You can’t know what it is to lose a child,” she accused, retreating from his embrace. Nothing compared to the fierce loss, nor the gaping hole inside her heart.
“I know what it is to lose a brother. A brother I should have protected.”
It wasn’t the same, not at all. And yet, it was the first time he had ever offered anything about his past. She sensed the heaviness in his voice, the reluctance to speak of it as he pulled away. She sat down, pulling her knees up to her chin while he picked up a cup of wine. “What happened to him?”
Kieran drank, as if gathering strength from the cup. “It was late winter. Our harvest was poor, and there wasn’t enough food to last everyone. So many of them starved to death.”
He held out his hand to her, and she took it. The warmth of his palm caressed hers, offering comfort even as he relayed his own suffering. “We couldn’t bury those who died. The ground was too frozen.” He lowered his gaze, still holding her hands. “We lost four men, eight women, and seven children that winter.”
Iseult moved closer, leaning against him. “What of your own family?”
“We had few provisions, the same as the others. Sometimes I gave my share of food to my sisters, or to Egan, my brother. They were younger. Not as strong.
“Then the raiders came. Norsemen, like the ones we fought here. They plundered our supplies, stealing our grain and setting fire to our homes. I fought alongside my father and my uncles. But we hadn’t the strength to stop them.”
“Did your brother Egan die in the battle?”
Kieran’s face grew grave. “I wish he had. It would have been more merciful.” He shook his head. “They took him, along with my sisters and a few of the others. They planned to sell them as slaves or keep them as hostages, I suppose.”
His hand moved through her braid, unraveling the strands idly as he spoke. “I fought for my sisters, and saved them from captivity. The raiders left with Egan.”
The back of his hand rested upon her nape. The touch of his skin seemed to burn against her, kindling feelings she wanted to deny.
“I followed them to their camp alone. I offered to trade myself into slavery, thinking they would let my brother go.” He shook his head. “I was stupid to believe they would accept my bargain. Arrogant to think that my fighting strength was worth more than my brother’s life.” He met her gaze with such fury, such pain, she wanted to weep for him.
“What did they do to him?”
He expelled a mocking laugh. “They agreed to my bargain. And when they went to cut his ropes, they slit his throat instead. I watched him die front of me. They sent a bag of grain to my father, in exchange for both of us.”
She couldn’t imagine such a horror. But she recognized his pain, as deep as her own. She almost said,It wasn’t your fault.The words stilled upon her lips, for she knew his guilt as surely as she had believed herself responsible for not protecting Aidan.
“I’m sorry.” Her hands moved around his neck, and she kissed him, offering comfort in the best way she knew how.
He returned the kiss, his mouth gentle against hers. No longer was it a fierce, forbidden embrace but instead, his touch assuaged her own grief. The tenderness moved her in a way nothing else had.
Kieran raised her to stand before him, never ceasing the kiss. In his arms, she leaned against him while her skin felt unbearably hot, her lips almost numb from kissing him. She needed more, craved his body upon hers.
He pulled back, his eyes dark with passion. “Did Davin touch you on Bealtaine?”
“No.” Her blood raced within her skin at Kieran’s jealousy, her breasts tightening. Her gown felt confining, the sensitive tips erect from the rough fabric. Staring into his eyes, she spoke the truth. “I wanted no man but you.”
To prove it, she reached up and loosened the ties of his tunic. He pulled it over his head, revealing golden skin and taut muscles. No longer did he have the gaunt appearance of hunger. Instead, he held a subdued strength. Iseult palmed his torso, pressing kisses against his neck.
Kieran’s self-control was about to snap. The scent of her surrounded him. Like wild honey, he craved the taste of her. She enslaved him with invisible chains of need.
“Iseult,” he breathed, kissing her palms. “Is this what you want?” He wanted nothing but honesty between them. “I am a man without a tribe. There is nothing I can give you. No home, no future.”
