“That’s right,” Sitric agreed, winking at the woman. “Maeve here runs a tight ship.”
“That’s right,” she agreed, glowing from Sitric’s compliment. “We’ve never even had to hire a guard. The Broken Oar is a peaceable establishment.”
Now that was interesting. “How did you come by the name?” Diarmid asked.
“My father told me I had as good a chance of running an alehouse as a woman as I had sailing a longship with broken oars,” Maeve explained with a playful smirk.
“That,” Diarmid declared, lifting the tankard in Maeve’s direction, “is the best story I’ve heard all day. Here’s to your hard-earned victory.” Sitric joined him in toasting Maeve, who smiled and shook her head, promising more ale as she headed off to her next table.
“I know Finn’s father is an Ostman,” Sitric said, “but of all the Fianna you are the most like any Ostman I know. Of course, there are some, like Finn, who are given to seriousness. But, the men who’ve come to Dyflin are all like us. We live our lives with bright colors, not searching for the subtle hues of the same shade.”
“She is gray,” Diarmid ventured. He knew he didn’t need to speak her name.
“Like ashes from a fire that burned out long ago, yes.” Sitric turned to him, more serious than Diarmid had ever seen him. “You understand why I cannot marry her. We have naught in common save a demand from the king to wed. We would both be miserable for the rest of our lives.”
“Do you not add ashes to your swords to make them stronger?”
Sitric chuckled at that. “Only certain ones will work.”
“I do understand,” Diarmid admitted. “In all honesty, I don’t know that I could marry her either. Have you tried telling her this?”
“Yes!” Sitric sat up, clearly enthusiastic over Diarmid’s commiseration. “I asked her if I had offended her, why she was so cold and distant. Diarmid I cannot live with a woman likethat. I spoke with her for but an hour and felt that she hated me. What would a lifetime be like?”
Diarmid felt equally relieved and concerned that he’d managed to guess at the true problem between Sitric and Cara. He was relieved because he now knew what needed to be fixed for the betrothal to progress.
Concerned, because there was only one person who could ensure it worked: him.
Chapter Eight
Several hours later,Diarmid and Sitric ambled back up the same hill to his hall. This time, however, the twinkling of stars above and the amber glow of hearths beyond guided them up what seemed a much steeper hill after a round of drinks. Sitric farewelled Diarmid, stumbling to the hall on the right, no doubt to fall into a deep, ale-fueled slumber.
Diarmid turned toward his own hall, where he planned to wait a short time before seeking out Cara. He needed to speak with her about what he’d learned, to propose his idea to her, but he couldn’t have Sitric seeing him do it. Before he’d made it two steps, Cormac appeared, looking far less even-tempered than usual.
“Where have you been?” he growled. “We had an hours-long meeting and you were nowhere to be found. Do you take your duties so lightly?”
Normally, Diarmid would have made a comment aimed to further incense his overbearing brother. But a combination of ale and exhaustion made him simply speak the truth. “I took Sitric out drinking so that I could learn the cause of his displeasure. And because he’s far better company than you.”
“You’ve had too much ale,” Cormac replied, bringing a hand to his chin thoughtfully.
“And you’ve not had enough.”
Cormac hesitated. “Did you learn anything?”
“That you are a better match for the princess than Sitric.”
“You must be drunk,” Cormac scrunched his face at the very thought. “I wouldn’t be caught dead married to that harpy, no matter how beautiful she may be.”
Diarmid laughed. “I’ve never seen your temper pricked so quickly, dear brother. Perhaps Cara has gotten to you more than you think.”
“Cara?” Cormac frowned. “I wasn’t…never mind. So what did Sitric say?”
Diarmid glanced about to be certain they stood alone in the open yard. “He thinks she’s cold and distant. Their personalities are too different.”
Cormac sighed. “Some say that’s a good thing, for balance.”
“Sitric doesn’t see it as a good thing,” Diarmid told him. “He sees it as an insurmountable obstacle to happiness.”
“We cannot change who she is,” Cormac began, his voice defeated.
