“I loathe her almost as much as she loathes me,” Cormac replied, sounding irritated for the first time the entire night. “My deepest wish is to leave this settlement before she tries to kill me in my sleep.”
Conan wiggled his eyebrows at Diarmid with a knowing glance, earning a glower from Cormac. Diarmid had to admit that it was rare indeed to see his eldest brother so easily riled, or to have him say anything that appeared unfounded.
Conan continued teasing Cormac as they sat at a table outside, waiting for Maeve to bring their drinks. They spoke of the raid with Sitric, of the Fianna, even of their childhood and their shared disgust of their father, who had turned his back on Brian after years as an ally. For a time, Diarmid nearly forgot all about his troubles with Cara.
Cormac was right. All Diarmid needed to do was get through the next few days. Once they returned home, he wouldn’t have to see Cara again.
If only that was what he wanted.
Instead, he wanted to learn about her childhood. He wanted to learn the name of whatever bastard had used her so poorly so he could hunt him down. He wanted to know what she thought about Dyflin, about her family’s problems, about her own capture and rescue. As he sat under the twinkling stars with his brothers, letting the chill night air clear his mind, Diarmid realized that though he’d loved every woman he’d bedded, he’d not once falleninlove.
Until now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sooner shekissed him, the sooner she’d be through this nightmare, Cara told herself. Niamh combed Cara’s hair—something they did several times a day while she wore it down in an effort to win over Sitric. Unfortunately, Diarmid appeared correct, and Sitric warmed to her considerably when she left it loose.
All she had to do was kiss him. Kissing Diarmid had been easy. And pleasant. So pleasant that she found she couldn’t dwell on the memory for long or she’d lose all nerve to continue with Sitric.
“How did you know you loved Dallan?” Cara asked as Niamh worked through the multitude of tangles.
Niamh thought for a moment, looking wistful. “He always makes me feel good about myself,” she said at last. “When I’m with him, I feel as though I could do anything. And he makes me laugh,” she added with a grin. “He’s always there for me, even when I’m at my worst, and I try to do the same for him.”
Diarmid had been there for her since the moment she’d met him. He’d seen her at her worst—when she was so broken by Torna that she could hardly bear to be near anyone—and had helped her until she began to heal.
“It takes time,” Niamh continued when Cara sat in silence. “You’ve only just met Sitric.”
If only she’d been asking about Sitric. “How long did it take for you to know you loved Dallan?”
Niamh bit her lip, tossing a long, golden braid over her shoulder as she moved to comb the front portion of Cara’s tresses. “Well, that’s a bit different. I was young, and he was my first love—”
“How long?”
“About a day,” Niamh sighed. “But it took seven years for us to make it work, even knowing we loved each other.”
A day seemed short, even to Cara, and seven years—interminable. “But you knew the day you met him?”
“I did,” she admitted. “But most people don’t. Finn courted Eva for months before they realized they were in love.”
“Isn’t Illadan married as well?” Cara thought she remembered him mentioning his wife over dinner the other day.
Niamh chuckled. “To Finn’s little sister, aye.”
Cara turned to her wide-eyed. “No,” she breathed conspiratorially.
“Yes.” Niamh nodded. “And she’s carrying already. You should have seen Finn’s face when he found out.”
“About the marriage or the babe?”
“Both,” she laughed. “He’s usually a gentle soul, but I thought he might attack Illadan. There,” she declared, setting the comb on a small bedside table, “all finished.”
Cara thanked her, standing and stretching. Walking out of her room and into the main hall, she found Sitric waiting for her. They’d been meeting most mornings, going on walks about his holding and the town in an attempt to grow acquainted. Cara certainly felt that she knew Sitric better, but he still never brought flutters to her stomach or made her heart race.
Not like Diarmid.
Every time she saw Sitric, every time he grabbed her hand or hugged her, Cara could hear Diarmid’s clandestine confession. Feel his hands on her hips, so big that his fingers nearly touched over her stomach. Taste his mouth against hers.
Maybe that’s what it would be like with Sitric as well. She’d only ever kissed Diarmid. For all Cara knew, kisses were much the same no matter the people involved.
