Cara turned around to pin him with a sharp look. “Neither of those qualities implies that he would make a good husband. In fact,” she mused, “I think they imply rather the opposite.”
“You want to marry an ugly man?” Diarmid sounded truly confounded by the notion.
“I want to marry someone who will be wholly devoted to me,” Cara admitted. “But, as I know such a man does not exist, I am content to marry whomever the king chooses.”
Niamh looked up at Dallan, then turned to Cara. “Such men exist,” she insisted. “Though sometimes they can take a while to find.”
“I think you’re better off marrying Sitric,” Diarmid declared.
“And we’ll all be better off if we get some rest before visiting him.” In one swift statement, Illadan roused his men to action, setting up bedrolls and blankets.
After kissing Dallan, Niamh walked over and laid down beside Cara. Though they were of an age, Cara had always found Niamh’s presence calming, as though healing ran through her even without the aid of poultices or tinctures. For the first time since Aodh had arrived in Thurles, Cara sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Two days later,they arrived at an inn on the outskirts of Dyflin, too far from the settlement to arrive before dark. The sun had all but sunk beneath the western horizon when they tied off their horses at posts in the stable yard. Cara walked into the single-story timber building, wondering how they could possibly secure enough rooms for all ten of them.
She hugged her satchel against her, squeezing the leather bag to ensure its contents remained safe. Aodh had allowed her a short time to gather any items she might wish to bring on her journey, and the first thing she’d grabbed was a book. Cara read everything she could get her hands upon, but her favorite stories were the tales of the wars in Greece and Troy. She hadn’t been able to find her family’s copy ofThe History of the Trojan War, a book she’d read a hundred times already, so she’d settled on the Aeneid. Aeneas’ tale was grand indeed, but he was no Achilles.
The common room looked much like a king’s hall, though only half the size of one and built in the style of the foreigners, or so she believed. She had never been in a Fin Gall home herself. Cara paused inside the doorway, her senses overwhelmed by the chaos of the room before her. A hearth burned bright in the center, much like her hall at Thurles, but no braziers lit the shadowed corners of the room. The heat of so many people crowded into one space, filling the tables and squeezing into every crevice between, hit her like a wave. The smell of lard, ale, and peat assaulted her nose.
“I’ve heard,” a soft male voice whispered behind her, “that if you actually go into the room, the folk behind you can get out of the cold.”
Cara didn’t need to turn to know who’d spoken. Since that first night when they’d rescued her from Aodh, Diarmid had poked and prodded her relentlessly, apparently deriving great joy in her irritation. She didn’t even turn to face him, tempering her rising ire so she didn’t fan the flames. Instead, she searched the undulating crowd for the rest of her companions, finding them surrounding an agitated young woman. The top of her head only reached the center of Illadan’s chest, but she stood there, hands on her hips, frowning up at him.
“I’m sorry,” Cara heard the woman say tightly, her dark braids shaking along with her head, “but we have no beds left.”
Illadan appeared to be arguing with her, though Cara couldn’t fathom why. It wasn’t as though she could will a spare bed into existence. Diarmid brushed past Cara, stepping firmly between Illadan and the woman.
“Allow me to apologize for my overbearing friend,” he said, leaning toward her attentively. “I can see how busy you are, so we won’t keep you. I’m Diarmid.” He bowed to her with an absurd flourish.
The woman’s shoulders loosened, but her lips remained tight. “Enat,” she replied in kind.
“A pleasure.” Diarmid winked at her—winked—and then the woman smiled. And Cara lost any respect she had for the beleaguered innkeeper. “Now, I believe I heard you telling the oaf behind me that there are no rooms left?”
“Aye, that’s right.” She crossed her arms even as her eyes softened, taking a good, long look at Diarmid.
“Have you tables open for a warm supper?”
“Aye,” she answered. “But none as can fit all of you. You’ll have to take two or three, and they’re nearly full up already.”
Diarmid nodded, leaning closer to the woman. “We’ll be around for a while. If there’s anything I can do for you, you know where to find me.” The perusing look he gave the woman was so obviously suggestive that Cara could almost hear her own eyes roll in her head. “And if, perchance, any rooms open up, we’d be willing to pay you handsomely for them.”
“You’ll be the first person I come to,” she promised. “Take any tables you can find, and I’ll have your suppers sent out.” Her blue eyes ran the length of his tall form before she smiled at him and returned to her other customers.
The other Fianna walked past Diarmid, either slapping him on the back or laughing as they ventured toward the tables.Cara just stared, her mind still processing the entire exchange. Diarmid’s attentions had been so transparent, and so obviously for the purpose of securing them a room. And yet—
“You look surprised.” Diarmid strode over to where Cara still stood near the doorway.
“I’m horrified that such drivel actually works,” Cara retorted. “Surely no one would actually believe that you’re being sincere.”
He scoffed. “My dear lady, Iwasbeing sincere.”
“You’re telling me you would’ve offered your—your services all the same, regardless of the lack of rooms?”
“Of course,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I’m always happy to offer my services to any woman in need.”
“How valiant of you,” Cara quipped. “Happily, I shall never be counted amongst your conquests, nor forced to endure your misleading smiles.” Prepared to have that be the last word, Cara took a step forward.
Diarmid blocked her, forcing her to retreat so she didn’t run right into him. He moved even closer. Her back smacked against the hard daubed wall, her irritation bubbling beneath her carefully managed exterior. Even if she felt any sort of reaction, she’d be damned if she let it show. Diarmid put a hand on the wall beside her, using it to hold himself up as he leaned down.
