His father had loved his youngest son best of all, for the lad’s smile had never failed to charm those around him. Egan had looked up to him, constantly emulating Kieran’s actions. It had humbled him instead of being an irritation. He’d wanted to be worthy of the pedestal his brother had set him upon.
But now, Egan was gone.
Could he return home again? He didn’t know if his tribe had forgiven him. It had been so long since he’d been to Duncarrick. As an outcast, they might ask him to leave.
Kieran stood and strode back to his horse, his mind piecing together his plans. Iseult’s son meant everything to her, and he intended to get the child back, no matter what the cost.
And after that, he would find a way to give her the happiness she’d only dreamed of.
Iseultsatinsidethewoodcarver’s hut, staring at the tools Kieran had left behind. It was the middle of the night, and she had nothing but an oil lamp to light the darkness. Memories of Kieran drew her within.
She ran her fingers over the wooden tool handles, remembering the hands that had created life out of wood. She remembered Kieran’s hands caressing her, as though he treasured her.
She laid her head down upon the table, eyes dry. There were no tears left to cry anymore, not after a fortnight without him.
She didn’t regret her choice. Davin had been overjoyed to see her, though he didn’t pressure her into anything more than friendship. During the days, he handled the needs of the tribe, working alongside his father, the chieftain. In the evenings, he spent time walking with her. Not once had he spoken of Kieran, though his presence hung between them.
She reached inside a fold of herléine, her hands curling across a carved piece of wood. Her thumb grazed each rise and swell of the wood, the details of the young boy’s face. Though it was not Aidan, the figure of the boy brought her comfort.
One day I’ll find you, she promised her son. Perhaps Davin could help her. Or her father Rory.
Would Kieran continue to look? She wanted to believe it, though she had released him from any obligation. Sweet Jesu, she missed him. Though they’d spent only a few days together, it felt like years were gone from her life.
You’ll get over him, she told herself. She’d endured the pain of losing Murtagh, though now she understood it had been more embarrassment than heartache. She hardly thought of him any more.
Forgetting about Kieran would take far longer. She thought of his strong hands, his attention to detail in both his wood carvings and the way he touched her. Her body shivered in sudden warmth and remembrance.
He had the most courage of any man she’d ever known. And yet, underneath his fierce shield was a man who had suffered great loss. She understood him, for she had known the same pain.
An outside noise caught her attention, and Iseult stiffened as the door opened. She relaxed at the sight of her friend Niamh.
“What are you doing here?” Niamh whispered. “I saw the light from your lamp. Is everything all right?”
Iseult nodded, mustering a faint smile. “I’m fine. I just . . . felt the need to be here.”
“You’re so pale.” Her friend put an arm around her. “Have you eaten anything?”
She couldn’t remember. Shrugging, she didn’t protest when Niamh handed her a hard piece of bread. It tasted stale, but she ate it out of courtesy.
“You should go home,” Iseult urged, after she’d finished the food. “It’s late.”
“As should you.”
“I will. After I’ve spent a little more time here.” She picked up the figure Kieran had carved for her and put it away. The yew was smooth and polished, though the image of the boy was not finished.
Niamh sighed and sent her a knowing look. “Are you in love with him?”
Iseult rested her chin upon her hands. “Not with Davin.”
But her friend understood whom she meant. “What will you do?”
Her thoughts drifted back to Kieran. The bleakness of her life during these past few weeks had made it hurt even more to think of him. She woke up each morning, wishing to see his face. Even if she could never feel his arms around her again, it cut her heart to shreds worrying about him.
“There’s nothing I can do. He’s gone.” She met Niamh’s gaze, and her friend embraced her.
“Maybe he’ll come back for you,” Niamh offered.
She didn’t dare let herself hope for that. “Maybe,” was all she said.
