“Fun-loving?” Diarmid tried. He’d wanted to say less uptight, but he doubted she’d takethatwell.
“Are you suggesting that a woman who wears her hair in braids cannot have fun?”
Diarmid ran a hand through his hair. “No, no,” he lied. Not any woman, but this particular woman. “Of course not. You know what, forget I said anything. You look breathtaking either way.”
The men excused themselves hastily, before Diarmid could dig a deeper hole. The women promised to be down momentarily.
“I’ve never seen you flounder in a conversation with a woman,” Dallan commented quietly, before they rejoined the rest of the Fianna.
“I’m trying to help her,” he grumbled. “Sitric won’t be thrilled about marrying a woman made of ice, princess or not. You know that, too,” Diarmid accused. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because, apparently, I’m wiser than you,” Dallan retorted. “And because, no matter how loose that woman wears her hair, Sitric will see her serious demeanor the moment he speaks with her. It’s not as though her hair could hide that.”
Dallan was right, though Diarmid wasn’t about to tell him that.
As promised, the women appeared in the common room shortly thereafter, looking radiant and ready for a royal visit.
“Diarmid!” Enat, the innkeeper, called, running to catch him before he walked out the door. “I wanted to thank you for all your help last night.”
Diarmid caught Cara watching the exchange from the corner of his eye. And decided he couldn’t resist teasing her further. “It was my pleasure,” he purred, throwing Enat his most wicked grin.
“If you ever need to stay in Áth Cliath again, you come find me.” Enat turned away, leaving Cara glaring daggers at him forthe second time that morn. Diarmid determined that was simply her natural state—irritated indifference.
“Something wrong?” Diarmid waited for Cara to join him, walking into the street just behind him.
“Yes,” she replied tightly. “You’re despicable.”
He pretended to drive a dagger into his heart. She didn’t even smirk, only looked down her nose at him.
“Enat doesn’t seem to think so,” he observed when she didn’t elaborate.
“Do you take anything seriously?” she asked at last. “How can you live your life so carelessly?”
Diarmid considered answering her honestly, telling her that he took everything—including his trysts—with the utmost seriousness. He had fun, but he took great care that no one’s heart was broken in the process. He joked with the Fianna, but he would take an arrow for any one of them without hesitation. He made light of their quests, but he took an oath to King Brian, and he meant to keep it.
But telling Cara any of that would mean that her opinion of him mattered. Andthatwas something he would never admit. Instead, he prodded her further.
“Some say the best cure for distress is humor,” he quipped.
“Are you ready, Cara?” Illadan called, motioning for the princess to join him by her horse.
“Yes.” She held her head higher than strictly necessary, picking up the hem of her gown as she walked away from Diarmid. “Unlikesome people, I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Diarmid shared an exasperated look with Dallan.
He’d never been more grateful to have escaped arranged marriages altogether. From the day he took his oath as one of the Fianna, Diarmid could only ever marry for love, meaning his parents could no longer arrange a match for him, or any of hisbrothers for that matter. And though he’d never much cared for the idea of having only one woman for the rest of his life, he was particularly grateful that he’d not been saddled with someone as cold and unfeeling as Cara.
Thank God for that. He watched Illadan help the princess seat herself on the horse, counting both his blessings and the hours until they were finally settled into Dyflin.
Chapter Five
The earthen embankmentssurrounding Dyflin rose up from what Cara could only describe as a swamp. The peat-filled bog cut swaths through the carefully-laid farmlands, until they came within sight of Dyflin. There, the earth itself seemed to fall away into the pools of dark, murky water that dotted the coastline, hidden between hills and trees.
Atop the embankments, a wooden palisade rose taller than any man she’d met—unsurprising fortifications for a people who had violently overtaken her own. Cara found it particularly telling that, in spite of the expansive trade industry in the harbor, the only side of the city without a gate was the one facing the sea. As though the Fin Gall knew their own kin may turn on them at any time, sailing across the frigid waters to lay claim to this godforsaken settlement.
“What do you think?” Niamh asked, riding beside Cara. “It seems…”
“‘Desolate’ is the word you’re searching for,” Dallan offered from in front of them.
