Sitric took the improper question in stride, ever ready for a new game. “I’m considering marriage, yes, but I wouldn’t say I’m looking for it. And as for your second query, I should like a bride who is honest and adventurous.”
“And let us not forget courageous, strong of will, and honorable,” Astrid added.
“Yes, of course,” Sitric agreed hastily. “Those as well.”
“I was surprised to hear you had never been married,” Catrin continued, undeterred. Beside her, Cara’s face flushed, her lips thinning into a tight line.
Astrid choked down a laugh, not wanting to cause any more of a scene. The ignorant princess implied that Sitric was eitherold or unsuitable for marriage, though Astrid doubted Catrin realized those implications.
Her brother would never wed so naive a woman, and convincing him of the problems with Sláine should prove simple.
“My brother only has thirty summers,” Astrid informed her gently. “Some men wait longer even than that to wed.”
Finally, Catrin’s face blushed to match her mortified sister’s. “Oh!” she exclaimed breathily. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Astrid, are you not of an age for your own marriage?”
Astrid’s gaze shot like an arrow toward the end of the table. Cormac’s eyes twinkled with the mischief of his calculated interruption. The lopsided smirk on his face didn’t do her temper any favors, either.
“Don’t tell me you’re interested?” she whipped back.
Cormac choked on his ale. “Not in the least. I simply wondered why Sitric here is the constant target of marriage alliances, while you appear happily unwed.”
“An interesting point, my friend,” Sitric agreed, his fingers stroking his golden beard thoughtfully. “In fact, my sister and I spoke of this very topic earlier.”
Cormac’s crooked smile grew to a victorious grin. “Did you now?”
She had a thing or two to say to him once the table cleared out.
“Aye, I feel it’s time for Astrid to wed.”
“No suitable men have presented themselves,” Astrid explained. “Like my brother, I, too, have requirements for an adequate partner.”
“Perhaps, like your brother, we can help find you a suitable match.” Cormac’s eyes never left hers, spearing her in place. Challenging her.
Her heart pounded, its volume rising alongside her ire. “I doubt it.”
“Brian has many sons,” Cormac goaded. “I’d be happy to brave the deluge to retrieve one of them for you.”
Astrid’s temples throbbed, her fingers reaching to massage them. “When I deign to wed, it will be to an Ostman. And certainly no relative of your king’s.”
“He’s your king, too, is he not?” Cormac pressed.
Her brother inserted himself, no doubt to cease the questioning of their loyalty to Brian. “Unfortunately, dear sister, our friend here has a point. It is time for you to marry, and you will marry a Gael to further tie us to this land and its people.”
“But—” Astrid started right in with her protest, but Sitric wouldn’t allow it.
“We’ve discussed this numerous times,” his voice softened, “and I am decided. But,” he announced to the room, “I am not without a heart. My sister desires to wed one of our people to preserve her ties to our culture. Luckily for us,Jólis near.”
Astrid couldn’t fathom what the feast of midwinter had to do with her marriage. Before she could ask, Sitric continued.
“Jólis a time of festivity, games, and community. A perfect opportunity to share our culture with your future husband.”
Astrid tired of this nonsense. “What is your point, brother?”
“We will send messengers across Éire, inviting select men to come to Dyflin forJól. For a full turning of the moon, we will host aleikmót.”
Every Fianna warrior turned to Finn, who took pity on them and translated under his breath. “A festival of games.”
