Her Warrior Slave. Michelle Willingham
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She shivered at the utter bleakness of such a life. Without meaning to, her thoughts went back to Aidan. Ever since he had been stolen away, there was an emptiness inside her that could not be filled. She gripped her arms, as if to force the sadness away.
‘How did you end up a slave?’
He stopped drawing and set the board aside. ‘We’ve finished for tonight.’
He walked past her and lifted the hide flap in a wordless command to leave. Iseult paused before the door. In that fraction of a second, her gaze drew to his. He was staring at her, as though she had cut off the air to his lungs. Her skin warmed, and when she looked at him, it was as though she had become the slave and he the conqueror.
Without looking back, she stumbled into the night.
Chapter Four
‘Kieran!’his brother pleaded. The men dragged Egan to the edge of the wooden palisade and pulled back his brother’s neck. With a casual glance to Kieran, they drew the blade across Egan’s throat.
His brother never made a sound. A cry tore from Kieran’s lungs when the boy’s body struck the ground. The raiders never looked back, but stepped over Egan as if he were nothing but an inconvenience.
Kieran sat up from the dream, his hands shaking. Sweat poured over his brow, and he buried his face in his hands. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. The early morning light filtered through the crevices below the hide door. He ran his hands through his hair, staggering to his feet.
He went outside, inhaling sharp bursts of air, as if it could expel the nightmare. He’d lived with the memory for several moons now, and he doubted if it would ever leave.
In the cool morning stillness, he saw other slaves and members of the fudir tending the fields. He should have been among them. Hard labour was what he deserved, not a chance to do something he loved.
With the wood, he could transform the fibres into something almost alive. Like a god, he shaped and moulded his creations. It wasn’t right that he was interested in the work, even if it did involve a beautiful woman.
In the distance, a purple and rose-tinged sunrise emerged from the east. Kieran moved towards an animal trough, dipping his hands in the water and splashing it over his face. Though Davin had kept his word, removing the guards from his doorway, he sensed the others watching him.
One took a few steps forward. With a shaved head and a long red beard, the man had an arrogant swagger to him. ‘You, there. Slave,’ he called. ‘Bring us some water.’The man smirked at his companion, and Kieran’s knuckles curled over the trough.
In the past, no man would have dared to command him. But these tribesmen expected him to jump to their orders, like a dog. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the men and sent them a warning look.
He wasn’t in the habit of obedience.
This is your penance, his mind insisted. Do as they command.
No. These men weren’t his master. They wanted to exert their power over him, demeaning him. Although he would accept whatever tasks Davin gave, he wouldn’t let these men gain the upper hand.
Against his better judgement, Kieran turned his back and returned to his hut. No doubt they would run off to Davin and complain. There would be repercussions, but he didn’t care. He might choose to endure the slavery for a time, but it didn’t mean he would bow down before every man.
He sat down with the door open, allowing the natural light inside. The carving tools rested on the table wrapped in leather, just where he’d laid them. His sketches of Iseult, along with the yew, awaited his attention.
He uncovered the carving tools from the protective leather. His thumb brushed the edge of a knife, judging its sharpness.
The red-bearded man shadowed his doorway, fists clenched. ‘I ordered you to bring me water, slave.’
‘Did you?’ Kieran anticipated the rush of a fight and his hand curved over the hilt of a blade. His own height rivalled the other man’s, making him an equal opponent. ‘I’m not your slave, am I?’
‘Davin will hear of your disobedience,’ the man asserted. ‘And I’ve a mind to punish you for it.’
Just try it.
Kieran lifted his knife, his body poised in a defensive position. He might have lost his former strength, but he knew how to wield a blade. ‘Will you, now?’ Slicing the weapon through the air, he invited, ‘Well, then, let’s see it.’
A growl emitted from the man’s throat, and he charged Kieran, aiming for his wrist. Kieran turned sideways, cutting a thin slash across the man’s forearm. Nothing serious, but an insult nevertheless.
Energy pumped through him, and he revelled in the chance to use his former skills. Long ago, he’d been one of the best fighters in their tribe. His muscles remembered how to move, though his body cried out with the pain of it. His opponent picked up the iron cauldron, sloshing its contents at him.
Kieran dodged the splash of vegetables and meat, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Hungry, are you?’He kicked the slab of overcooked mutton towards the man. ‘Take what you’d like and get out.’
‘I’ll make you eat the dirt, first.’Before Kieran could move, the bearded man seized his wrist and struck the raw wounds on Kieran’s back. Pain shot through him, and Kieran was forced to drop the knife. He aimed a kick at the man’s groin, twisting to avoid a punch.
‘Enough of this,’ a man’s voice interrupted. Davin strode into the hut, stepping between them. To the redbearded man, he ordered, ‘Cearul, release him.’
Sullen and grim, the man obeyed. Kieran rubbed his wrist, angry that Davin had interfered. He could have finished the fight.
‘He refused our orders, Davin,’ Cearul claimed. ‘He was supposed to bring us water.’
‘I have set Kieran a more important task,’ Davin said. ‘When he has finished with that, then perhaps he can attend to other needs. For now, I would suggest you return to your own duties. The planting is not yet finished, I believe.’
Cearul reddened, and though he glared at Kieran, he nodded. A moment later, he departed.
‘I want to see the work you completed last night,’ Davin said. All traces of amicability were gone.
‘You didn’t have to stop the fight.’
‘I didn’t want you killing any of my men. It might have been a fight to you, but not to them.’Davin crossed his arms, pinning him with a dark glance.
Kieran forced himself to let it go. ‘My drawings are there.’He pointed to the board he’d left on the table. ‘I’ll begin working on the carving this evening.’
Davin lifted the board, revealing nothing of what he thought. ‘I’ll send her to you again tonight. And I want to see the completed carving within a sennight.’
Kieran supposed it could be done, if he worked every spare minute upon it. But the level of detail he wanted would require painstaking work. He needed more subtle tools than these, gouges with narrow ridges and steeper angles.
‘A fortnight would be more reasonable,’ he bargained. ‘And these tools are not of the best quality.’
‘A sennight,’ Davin repeated. ‘If you are a competent woodcarver, you’ll manage even without the tools.’ He returned to the doorway. ‘I’ll order the others to leave you alone, but I’d advise you not to leave the hut without an escort. And if I find that you insult or endanger Iseult in any way, you’ll answer to me for it.’ He departed, leaving the door open.
Davin’s warning was not an idle threat. Kieran suspected the man would have no qualms about killing him, were Iseult threatened. He could