Her Warrior Slave

‘You wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t ordered it, would you?’ Davin asked.

Kieran strode behind Davin’s gelding. ‘I wouldn’t, no.’ He resented the time away from his work. In another two days he’d have the carving completed. He planned to smooth out the wood with sand until it was polished like the softness of a woman’s cheek. Then he would rub the surface with butter until the natural beauty of the yew emerged, along with Iseult’s face.

Remembrance tightened inside him like a curled fist. He should never have touched her. He’d meant to frighten Iseult away, but instead the encounter had shaken him. Something unexpected had flashed between them, and he didn’t want to know what it was. She was hauntingly beautiful, a woman etched into his mind like a blade into yew.

Forbidden.

He forced his mind back onto the hunting party. Without a mount of his own, he had to run lightly to keep up with their horses. Miles passed, and his muscles burned from weakness. Nonetheless, he’d not give up, not even if he collapsed to the ground. There was a sense of rightness, pushing his body to the limit. Regaining his strength and endurance, past all boundaries.

He ran alongside the horses, pain rippling through him. The lash wounds burned upon his back, but he kept on until his mind overpowered the weakness of his body.

When he inhaled the crisp air, he felt it renewing him. Life. Rebirth. The wind rushed against his ears like the whisper of his brother’s voice. As though Egan were with him still.

The loss inside numbed him. His younger brother had embraced each moment of every day. And he wouldn’t have wanted Kieran to surrender to death. It was too easy—a coward’s path.

No. He would live after enduring this penance. Thirteen weeks, he decided. One for each year of his brother’s life. He cared naught about Davin’s promises of freedom. When the time came, he would seize his own fate.

Kieran studied the landscape, noting the location of water and familiarising himself with the territory. By Lughnasa, he would have his strength back and could make an escape without being found. He would learn where the tribesmen kept their weapons and supplies.

They travelled through the valley towards another forest. The flat meadows stretched into a wooded glen. After a time, Davin slowed his horse’s pace. ‘Did the traders starve you before they brought you here?’

‘I had little desire to eat.’ He’d tried to refuse, but as punishment, they had threatened to beat a small girl in front of him. ‘If you do not eat, she will pay the price,’ his master had claimed. Though his stubborn body rebelled against the food, Kieran had choked down stale bread and water. He’d understood, then, that he held value for these men. And he cursed himself, for he had no power to set the girl free.

‘I’ve sent provisions to you,’ Davin said. ‘I expect you to use them. I’ve no use for a weakened slave.’

Kieran’s knuckles clenched in response to the accusation of weakness. Words of denial formed, but he held them back. Davin spoke the truth. He was nothing but a weakened slave. Nothing but a broken-down shadow of the warrior he’d once been.

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