Her Warrior Slave
Ireland—AD 1102
'He's going to die, isn't he?' Iseult MacFergus stared down at the bruised body of the slave. Lash marks creased the man's back, raw and unhealed. His skin was pale with hard ridges of bone protruding, as though he had not eaten well in several moons. Her mind rebelled at the thought of the torment he must have suffered.
Davin Ó Falvey handed her a basin of cool water. 'I don't know. Likely I wasted a good deal of silver.'
Iseult sponged at the blood, lowering her eyes. 'We don't need a slave for our household, Davin. You shouldn't have purchased him.' It was becoming less common among the tribes to own slaves. Her own family had never been able to afford them, and it made her uncomfortable, remembering her lower status.
'Someone else would have, if I hadn't.' He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. 'He w ... read full excerpt from: Her Warrior Slave ebook
