“But we can change how she behaves.”
Cormac looked at him, eyes narrowed. “You have a plan?”
“I do,” Diarmid replied, wondering just how much his brother would berate him over it. “I’m going to teach her how to behave around him, if she agrees. Get her to at least appear warmer.” He waited for Cormac’s sharp dismissal, for his logical explanation of why this was a terrible plan and how it would go horribly wrong.
But it never came.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” his brother began, “but that’s not the worst plan. And it’s far better than anything we conceived during our meeting.”
It took several breaths for Diarmid to realize his brother actuallylikedhis crazy plan. “I need to go speak with her soon, so she can remedy this before it goes too far awry.” He turned to head into the family’s hall, where Cara stayed, but Cormac caught his arm.
“Can I trust you with her?”
That he had to ask stung, but it was the nicest tone he’d ever used to suggest that Diarmid had no control of himself. And that wasn’t even taking the wager into account. Hiding the pain of his brother’s mistrust, Diarmid instead smiled at him. “I like her about as much as Sitric does.”
*
“I’ll see whatI can find out from Dallan,” Niamh promised as she slipped from Cara’s room. They’d spent the hours following dinner dissecting every interaction Cara had with Sitric, and trying to decide what had gone wrong. She’d been polite. She’d been honest. She hadn’t even jumped away when he’d pulled her into an embrace. She made every effort to be interested in his people, his kingdom. How could it have gone so wrong?
Cara began the laborious process of re-plaiting the few strands of hair she’d let loose for dinner. She always slept with her hair in braids, else she woke to a tangled mess that took hours to set to rights. It had been a pathetic attempt to make a better impression on Sitric. When she realized that her betrothal was failing, Diarmid’s unsolicited advice rang through her head, and she’d decided there wasn’t much left to lose. And Sitric hadn’t so much as smiled at her when she’d made the subtle change.
Before working on her hair, she loosened the tight lacing of her woolen gown, slipping it off, folding it neatly, and placing it in the chest at the foot of her bed. With only her white shift on, she stretched, taking a deep breath and calming her mind after that awful day. She sat on the edge of her fur-covered bed, pulling her unbound hair over her shoulder with a resigned sigh.
Cara dropped the three strands of hair she held when a soft knock sounded on her door. Niamh must have news fromDallan, she decided, hurrying to answer it. She flung the door open.
To find Diarmid leaning against her doorframe, eyes wide as he took in her half-braided hair and gossamer-thin shift. Then that devil grinned at her.
“I take it you were expecting Sitric?”
Cara fought the urge to smack him again, as she had when he’d caught her in the forest. “I was expecting Niamh.” She didn’t dignify his insinuation with a response. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak with you. Privately.”
“I’m not going to take you up on your presumptuous proposition,” she declared, poking her head out of the door to see if anyone was still awake.
“They’re all abed,” he said quietly. “And I have a very different sort of proposition for you. I thought we could meet here.” Diarmid gestured to the seating area right outside her room, a circle of four chairs around a small table. “Though, if you intend to wear that, we’re better off in your room.” His hooded eyes roved her body, pausing where the swell of her breast was visible beneath her shift.
Cara should move. Cover herself. Berate him for being such a beast. But the unexpected tightening of her belly distracted her.
Then she recalled the last time she’d experienced such a feeling, the memory finally propelling her into action. “Do you mind?” she hissed in exasperation.
“Not at all,” he drawled, lazily lifting his eyes to her face. He was absolutely shameless.
“Are you incapable of thinking about anything other than naked women?”
“I’ve not bedded a woman in two days,” he complained—as though this were actually some sort of trial. “I may as well be dead.”
“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “I’m going to have to, politely, decline your offer of a private meeting.” She threw the door closed.
He caught it without flinching, pushing it back open. “The meeting wasn’t the offer. I can help you win Sitric’s betrothal.”
Cara stilled. “How?”
“Do you want to meet, or would you prefer to lose your kingdom and destroy what remains of your family’s reputation?”
“You have one sentence to explain your plan,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes at him. He was right, of course. She desperately needed to salvage her family’s standing after her parents had broken countless laws in a misguided effort to curry Brian’s favor. Brian had generously given her father’s throne to Cara, as recompense for her sacrificing her own safety to save her mother and sister. But he’d made it clear that he intended to strengthen his alliance with Sitric by gifting Cara—and her kingdom along with her—to the Ostman. Her future, and her sister’s, were dependent upon this betrothal.
“I will teach you to charm him so that he no longer thinks you a cold fish.”
