Her Warrior Slave. Michelle Willingham

with each moment.

      This was not a wise decision. She was grasping at sand, the granules of hope slipping from her fingertips. There was no means of visiting every tribe in Ireland, and even then she might not find Aidan. After today, she would have to alter her strategy. Never would she find her son this way, with desperate searches.

      After endlessly long minutes, the guard returned. ‘Come.’ He beckoned, and they followed the guard to a large dwelling at the opposite end of the ringfort. Built of wood, and twice the size of Davin’s home, she understood what Niamh had meant about the tribe’s power.

      Inside, several groups of men gathered. Iseult hung back beside Niamh, fully aware of the men watching them. Her skin rose up with goose flesh, and she wished she had not endangered her friend. Now she understood why Davin had not wanted her to travel alone. These men could harm her, and there was nothing she could do.

      Too late to let her fears strangle her now. Iseult lifted her face, trying to look braver than she felt.

      She waited for a time until at last the king ordered them to come forward. Iseult knelt before him and explained about Aidan’s disappearance.

      ‘I have been searching for him over the past year. I would know if anyone from your tribe has seen a young boy, about two years of age, who was not born to your people.’

      The king considered her story. ‘Why did your husband not come with you?’

      ‘I have no husband. But I did not come alone,’ she added. When the king’s gaze turned shrewd, she drew closer to Niamh as if to gain support.

      King Brian conferred with some of his advisers, then shook his head. ‘We have many foster-children, but their families are known to us. If your son was stolen, it is likely he was taken into slavery. If he is still alive, that is. You might wish to ask the traders.’

      With a nod, he dismissed them.

      Though Niamh took her hand, Iseult barely felt the contact as they walked out. She knew of many children sold into slavery, but most were born of the fudir.

      Not once had she visited a slave auction. The idea of hearing the children separated from their mothers, people’s lives given over into servitude, bothered her intensely. Though Davin had never treated his slaves with anything but kindness, she’d rather have no servants at all.

      ‘Let’s go home,’ Niamh urged, leading her to their horses. Iseult mounted, though she was hardly aware of them leaving. Another failed chance. And now, the possibility of her son being a slave. He might be a world apart from her now, for she’d heard that the trade ships, particularly Norse longboats, often sold Irish slaves across the sea.

      A light rain fell over them, but Iseult hardly noticed. Kieran had been to the slave markets. He’d travelled across Éireann. Would he have any answers for her?

      Her mind flashed to the moment when his hand had touched her hair. Kieran had warned her to stay away from him, and not once had he spoken about his past.

      Why would she ever think he would help her? He was a stranger, and she didn’t want to confide in him or expose herself in that way. He was the sort of man to take advantage of weakness.

      But there was nothing else to be done. He was the only man with possible answers.

      She had no choice but to ask for Kieran’s help.

       Chapter Six

      ‘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.