Cara choked back a laugh. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You truly believe that teaching me to toss him smiles and pat his back will change his feelings on something so important as a marriage alliance?”
“I do,” Diarmid replied, not a hint of guile in his deep voice. “He believes you two are incompatible, that you don’t know how to enjoy your life. Frankly, I agree with him, and since he and I are remarkably similar, I believe I’m the best one to help you change his mind.”
“He said this to you?” Her head already ran with ideas of how to fix her blunder. “When?”
“When I took him out drinking after dinner. In fact,” Diarmid added, “that would be a good way to start. Refusing his offer of drink was ill-advised.”
Cara’s heart sank. “If your advice to me is to take up drinking, then I’m afraid it’s failed before it’s even begun. There’s no way I’ll ever do that again.”
“Do what?” Diarmid’s eyes narrowed.
Cara worried her bottom lip. Too close. This was getting far too close to things she’d vowed never to speak of again. “I make poor choices when I drink,” was all she offered.
“Yes,” Diarmid agreed. “We all do. I believe that’s his point. But,” he added hastily when she started to retreat into her room, “we can persuade him without you needing to do anything you’re truly uncomfortable with.”
He took one step toward her. The overwhelming urge to place a hand on his huge chest bubbled up from a long-dry well within her. A well she wanted toleavedry. It was safer that way. That such a short acquaintance with Diarmid already toyed with emotions and memories she’d fiercely guarded, that his closeness had aroused the thought of touching him, told Cara that no matter how reasonable his offer, her answer could only be one thing.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “but I believe Niamh and I will be able to sort this out on our own.”
“You won’t have many more chances,” he warned, his voice rough. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Good night, Diarmid.”
He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Good night, princess.”
Cara shut the door before he’d even turned around, now absolutely certain that refusing him was the right decision. Not because she thought his offer unfounded. Not because his incessant flirting irritated her. Not even because she cringed at the notion of spending so much more time with him.
No, Cara knew she’d made the right decision the moment he called her ‘princess’—and she realized she liked it.
Chapter Nine
The following morn,Niamh came to Cara’s room at the first sign of light across the horizon to help her get ready for another attempt to win over Sitric. Of course, Cara didn’t mention anything about Diarmid’s late night visit. Niamh was helping her, but that felt too personal a discussion even for her newfound companion.
Cara retrieved her gown from the chest, changing into a fresh shift before Niamh set to lacing the deep blue woolen gown over it.
“Did Dallan have anything helpful to add?”
Niamh tugged on a lace. “He said Sitric is…” She paused, and Cara turned to see a thoroughly uncomfortable look on the healer’s face. “He’s very physical.”
Cara let out a groan of frustration, about to bemoan the singlemindedness with which men apparently lived their lives, when Niamh continued hastily. “Not only with regard to true intimacy,” she clarified. “Dallan said he loves hugs, handshakes, smiles. He likes there to be a warm, tangible presence in those he surrounds himself with. Dallan thought holding his hand and smiling might take you in a better direction.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t so terrible as it sounded initially, and with time to prepare herself beforehand, Cara thought that might be something she could manage. “Thank you. And thank Dallan as well. I’ll take that under advisement.”
She’d had a few ideas of her own, as well. Once Diarmid had hinted that she was too harsh, a ‘cold fish’ as he’d so thoughtfully put it, Cara wondered if behaving in a more feminine way might not help. The women she knew always spoke of gowns and embroidery, topics that to her seemed somewhat frivolous but made them happy all the same. Maybe Sitric expected her to be more like those women.
Deciding that her hair had no effect whatsoever on the outcome, Cara instructed Niamh to help her refresh the plaits and style them, much like they had yesterday. By midmorning, the two women were both dressed and ready for the day, slipping out of the room to find Sitric breaking his fast at one of the long trestle tables. Astrid and Dallan sat with him.
“Good morning,” she greeted them, walking over to the table.
Dallan and Astrid mumbled a sleepy response, but Sitric just looked at her. Cara berated herself for already forgetting to smile. As an afterthought, she plastered a half-hearted grin onto her face.
What was wrong with her, that she couldn’t even smile properly? That was a question for another day. Right now, she needed to focus on the task at hand.
“I had hoped I might persuade you to take me down to the harbor this morning,” she said to Sitric. “I’ve never been to the seashore before, and I’ve heard the view is spectacular.”
Sitric continued looking at her, his eyes narrowed as he no doubt weighed his response.
“You’re not missing much,” Astrid mumbled from beside her brother. “It stinks worse than a cess pit with all those ships and the sweaty men unloading them.”
