“I don’t want to know the details,” Finn began, “and I’m not going to even ask if you’ve lost the wager, because you’re buying me a drink either way. But I am going to need you to tell me what the hell is going on, since I swore to Brian that the woman in your bedroom would marry Sitric.”
Seeing no way around it, at Finn’s insistence Diarmid told him the entire tale, from the day they’d arrived in Dyflin. Leaving out, also at Finn’s insistence, all of the intimate details.
Finn fell into a chair beside the glittering embers. “As it happens, I know a thing or two about sneaking around with a woman, and I’m going to give you some advice whether you want it or not.”
Diarmid thought that entirely fair, given the situation. “Please.” He sat in the fur-laden chair across from Finn.
“You need to decide what this really is,” Finn told him. “Are you in love with her? Is she in love with you? Are you starved for companionship and using this obsession to compensate? You need to discuss this with Cara and be brutally honest. Becauseif you really do love each other, and she refuses to marry Sitric, then you need to go tell him you’ve been bedding her.”
“I haven’t been—”
“Close enough,” Finn interrupted. “But trust me when I tell you, the very worst thing in this situation would be for Sitric to find out from anyone other than you. As uncomfortable as you imagine that discussion may be, anything else will be catastrophic, and not just for you.”
Diarmid remembered what happened when Dallan discovered that Finn had been sneaking around with his sister. Everyone did. It had nearly destroyed their friendship. For a time, Diarmid believed that it had.
“I wish that it were just an obsession,” Diarmid admitted quietly.
“But you love her.”
Diarmid let out a breath. “I don’t want to ruin this entire mission. And I consider Sitric a friend, odd though that may seem.”
“If you value his friendship, confront him about this. If he’s a true friend, he’ll understand. He may punch you in the face,” Finn added with a wry smile, “but he’ll come around eventually.”
“What of Brian?” Diarmid asked. It was the one question he’d not dared to pose even to himself, not until he had no choice but to consider it.
Finn shrugged. “I couldn’t begin to guess. He’s always been a bit of a romantic, but he’s a shrewd politician. If you go through with this, you need to decide how much you’re willing to give up for her. Will you risk losing your place among the Fianna? Will she risk losing her land and title?”
It struck Diarmid then that no matter what decision he made, he would be disappointing someone. Yet again.
“Don’t do what I did,” Finn advised, rising and placing a hand on Diarmid’s shoulder. “Be prepared for the consequences before you take the action.”
“Thank you,” Diarmid called as Finn hurried to get the harp from his room. “Truly, I appreciate it.”
“You owe me a drink tomorrow,” Finn reminded him on his way out of the hall.
Diarmid owed his friend a lot more than a drink. He stood there alone, staring into the dying embers of the hearth, collecting his thoughts. In the distance, cheers erupted as an expertly plied harp filled the night with a heartrending tune. As Finn’s strong, steady voice took up the melody, Diarmid made his decision.
He walked toward his room, gathering his courage for the conversation that awaited him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cara paced theconfines of Diarmid’s room. Waiting.
She hated waiting.
She didn’t know Finn terribly well, but he seemed a decent enough fellow not to overreact. Honestly, Cara worried more over Diarmid than herself. She knew that the Fianna were his family and it would destroy him to let them down. Cara didn’t envy him the conversation he was having with Finn right now, and she felt more than a little responsible for it.
Diarmid’s room, and all the rooms that adjoined the halls, were nearly identical. Wattle mats covered the floors, always clean and smooth. Each held a bed, covered in woolen blankets and at least one fur—a testament to Sitric’s immense wealth. A small table, a chest to store belongings, a washing stand with a bowl, and a brazier filled what remained of the modest space. Cozy and minimal, Sitric’s halls put most others to shame with their accommodations.
The floor creaked as Cara turned on her heels once again and paced the other direction at the foot of the bed. She had no way of gauging how long she waited. Every moment felt like an eternity. When the door finally opened, she turned expectantly, her heart racing.
Diarmid’s face was so serious—more so than she’d ever seen him. It made her realize how much she missed the man who teased her and laughed all day long, who had once irritatedher endlessly. Right now, she’d give anything to have him back, shameless flirting and all.
“This is my fault,” she said as he shut the door behind him.
He stared at her, silent but not upset. At least not that she could sense. His chestnut eyes blazed, strong and determined. She knew that whatever he said, it was final, a decision he’d reached after great thought.
Cara had every intention of waiting for him to finally speak, but not knowing what he thought, caught in the stillness hovering between them, she could bear it no longer. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
