She wanted to turn her back on him, to leave him without a second’s thought. But she refused to behave like a coward.
“Why did he punish you?” she asked.
His jaw tightened. Rain slid over his face, outlining hollowed cheeks. “Because I tried to escape.”
“You were not mistreated. Why would you want to leave?” Davin had saved his life. Was he not grateful for it? He’d been given food and medicine to tend his wounds.
“A woman like you could never understand.”
Iseult stiffened at the accusation. What did he mean, a woman like her? Did he think she knew nothing of suffering? “You don’t know me at all.”
He rose to his feet slowly, watching her. Within his face she saw pain, but he made no complaint. “You shouldn’t be here, talking to me,” he said. “Your betrothed is watching us.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
He took a step forward, straining at his ropes. A fierceness tilted at his mouth. “But I have.”
Her imagination conjured up thoughts of murder or other wickedness. Although Kieran was lean, there was a ruthless air about him. As though he would do anything to survive.
“Weren’t you ever warned about men like me?” His rigid stare reached inside and took apart her nerves. The cool rain rolled down her skin, sliding beneath her bodice like a caress. She shivered, drawing her cloak around her. Not that it would protect her.
Kieran’s face grew distant. Then his mouth tightened. “Go back to your own master, Lady Iseult.”
Chapter Three
Thesecondescapeattemptfailed. Kieran had made it beyond the gates this time, nearly to the forest before his body had collapsed. He didn’t know how long he’d lain there. Hours or minutes, it was all the same.
The fecund scent of rain and grass had surrounded him while he welcomed the promise of death. He’d awakened to an animal licking his face. A wolfhound, nearly the size of a newborn mare, had whimpered and crooned to alert the others.
It was the middle of the night when they dragged him back to Deena’s hut. His skin was puckered from the rain, his body numb with cold.
Just as before, Deena treated the lash marks upon his back. She spread an oily salve upon the rope burns at his wrists. It stung, instead of soothing his irritated skin.
“You shouldn’t bother,” he said. “I’m not afraid to die.”
The healer studied him as she worked. Gently, she continued treating each of his wounds.
“I had a son once,” Deena said quietly, holding out a cup of bitter tea. Though he accepted it, he did not drink. Unless the brew would bring a final sleep, he had no interest in potions to dull his pain.
“He was a strong young man, about your age.” She smiled in memory, the fine lines crinkling around her eyes.
Kieran kept his gaze upon the simple wooden cup, as though he hadn’t heard her. But he was well aware of her words.
“He was struck down by the evil spirits that cause sickness. On a spring night, such as this.” She took the cup and lifted it to his mouth, touching his cheek as she did so.
But still he did not drink.
“I did everything in my power to save him. I used every herb, prayed to every god in heaven or known to my ancestors. But it wasn’t enough.”
Her wrinkled hand pressed warmth into his skin, the touch of a mother. “For a long time, I blamed myself. I wanted to die, just as you do.”
Her other hand moved to his shoulder. “The pain doesn’t go away. You must endure it, one day at a time.”
“I don’t want to take away the pain,” he said. Violence rimmed his words. “I want to remember. And I want every last one of them dead for what they did.”
“I don’t know what you’ve suffered, lad. I won’t ask. But whatever evil befell you, it takes a greater courage to live than to die.” She tilted the cup, easing the liquid into his mouth. At first, he nearly choked. She moved the cup away while he coughed.
“Perhaps this is your penance. To be left alive.” She pressed the cup to his mouth again.
