Her Warrior Slave. Michelle Willingham

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СКАЧАТЬ 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

      The second escape attempt failed. 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 painkillers.

      ‘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.

      This time he accepted the brew, drinking steadily. Deena took the cup away when it was empty and approached a small chest. From within it, she brought out a dagger and set it beside him.

      ‘I’m going to leave this here. And I’ll return to my own dwelling to finish my sleep, as most should do in the middle of the night.’ Deena’s voice hardened. ‘But if you truly want to die, I’ve given you the means.’

      She stopped in front of the door, about to leave. ‘If you’re alive when the sun rises, put all thoughts of escape out of your mind. This is your home now. This is the path you’re meant to take. God has put you here, perhaps to teach you humility. And you must accept your fate.’

      He slept, harder than ever before. It was as if his body could not heal itself until he’d made up for every hour he’d lost. The sunlight pierced his vision when the door opened. Kieran rubbed his eyes and saw the dagger still beside him.

      His penance, she’d said. And though invisible ropes tightened around his throat at the knowledge of his slavery, he knew she was right. He had failed his brother. He deserved to lose his birthright and his family. To become a slave, to accept this punishment.

      The door swung open and his master, Davin Ó Falvey, entered the hut. His expression was grim.

      ‘You caused a grave inconvenience to my men last night. I don’t know how you managed to free yourself from the ropes, but I won’t let it happen again. I’ll sell you back to the traders, and they can do what they will with you.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind about the carving.’

      There was no doubt Davin meant what he said. Many slaves were traded by the Norsemen, sent across the sea to Byzantium or to faraway lands. And though his life would never again be the same, at least he could remain upon his homeland.

      All he had to do was agree to complete the dower chest. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, was it? He had to endure this fate and complete whatever task was ordered of him.

      He sat up slowly, pressing through the pain. ‘I’ll begin working on the chest this day.’

      Davin’s shoulders lowered slightly, a barely perceptible relaxation. ‘Not yet. Before I let you touch the chest, you must first prove your skills.’

      Prove his skills? He’d been carving wood since he could hold a knife. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t bring to life from a block of wood. This is your penance, he reminded himself, swallowing his frustration and resentment.

      ‘I want you to carve a likeness of my bride Iseult. If I find it worthy of her beauty, I will allow you to finish the chest.’

      He might have known. The woman loathed the sight of him, and he didn’t have any desire to spend time with Iseult MacFergus. Yet he had no choice if he wanted to capture her spirit in the wood.

      ‘If I carve her likeness, you won’t have the dower chest in time for a bridal gift.’ It was a last, fruitless attempt to change his master’s mind.

      ‘I would like the figure, nonetheless.’ Davin opened the door wider and pointed towards one of the huts. The morning sun illuminated the interior of the ringfort, the glaring light burning his eyes.

      ‘The smallest hut belonged to our woodcarver, Seamus,’Davin said. ‘Inside, you will find the tools you need.’

      ‘And the wood?’

      ‘It is there.’ Davin leaned down and picked up the knife Deena had left behind. ‘You will begin the carving after your confinement.’

      Confinement? His knuckles clenched as the full weight of his slavery pressed down upon his shoulders. He was to be punished for running away again. Of course.

      ‘For three days, you’ll remain guarded, in isolation. If you do as you are told, on the last day the guards will leave, and you’ll be permitted to begin the carving.’ Davin tossed the knife and caught it by the hilt. ‘You should be grateful for Iseult’s mercy. I would have confined you outside for the three days.’

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ