“Only the foreigners will compete, but they must learn the Ostman games to do so. The winner—who proves himself the most Ostman of the Gaels—will win your hand.”
Astrid’s stomach dropped, her ears buzzing as the blood rushed to her head. “You cannot be serious!”
“It’s the perfect compromise,” Sitric declared. “You marry a Gael who will not rob you of your heritage. Everyone wins. And we all get to enjoy a month of games.”
Catrin and Sláine hurried to add their enthusiastic support to Sitric’s absurd plan. Astrid’s efforts to protest were drowned in a sea of excitement at the prospect of the games. Her brother stood, raising his hand for silence. The room obeyed.
“It is decided. Theleikmótbegins in a fortnight. The prize is my sister.”
Chapter Six
She shook withanger, her face nearly as red as her hair. Had it been anyone else, Cormac would’ve regretted the turn in conversation. He hadn’t meant to pin a betrothal on her, simply to turn conversation away from Sitric’s choice of bride.
Catrin had fumbled through a disaster of a conversation, embarrassing not only herself but the Fianna as well. He’d watched Cara do her best discreet intervention to no avail before deciding a change of topic was in order. Little had he known that Astrid’s unwed state was a topic of dissent in the family.
Sitric’s proposal seemed eminently reasonable. As he’d said, it would be the best of both their desires in a husband for Astrid: a man who respects her culture and a man to help their political position in Éire. It didn’t surprise Cormac in the least that Sitric’s solution managed to include games.
The best part of the whole ordeal was that Astrid would now be occupied with delaying her own betrothal. Hopefully that meant she’d stay out of Sitric’s.
He’d already spoken with Sitric directly about marrying Sláine, but Cormac remained unconvinced that Sitric intended to cooperate. With Astrid finally out of his way, Cormac could focus his efforts on others who held Sitric’s respect. Two people came to mind instantly: Diarmid, Sitric’s good friend, and Gormla, Sitric’s mother.
After the dinner itself ended, folks went their separate ways. The Fianna and Sitric’s warriors stayed at the table to gameand drink. Townsfolk who’d attended the meal returned to their homes. Some of the women of the household stayed to play, but more of them left to retire for the night.
Cormac sat at the table while ale was refilled and knucklebones brought out, listening to the general merriment of his companions. Then he spotted Gormla. She left their table and Cormac excused himself, hurrying to catch her before she disappeared into her room.
“My lady,” he called, halting her near the end of the hall.
Gormla turned, her expression warming when she spotted her pursuer. “Cormac. What can I do for you?”
Gormla and Astrid could’ve been twins but for age and eye color. Where Astrid’s tresses glowed like smoldering embers, Gormla’s resembled a rich wine. And where Astrid’s eyes were orbs of amber, Gormla’s were the same pale blue as Sitric’s.
“I hoped to speak with you for a moment.” Cormac gestured to the nearest seating area, blessedly unoccupied, and they each took a chair. He waited until she got comfortable before easing into the conversation. “I wanted to extend my gratitude for allowing my men and I to impose upon you and your family for so long a stay.”
Gormla snorted in amusement. “No, you wish to know my thoughts on the marriage of my son.”
“Aye, but my thanks are genuine.” Cormac appreciated directness, but he didn’t want to appear dismissive of his generous host.
“You should know that what I think hardly matters. My children know better than to take marriage advice from me.”
Now it was Cormac’s turn to scoff. “Surely the experience can only be a boon.”
When Gormla’s first husband, Sitric and Astrid’s father, died, she began a torrid affair with Brian that ended in a son and a failed marriage. Their relationship crashed through Caiseal likea storm, all lightning and thunder between the occasional calm. After it inevitably ended, Gormla returned to Dyflin to live with her older children while her younger son, Duncan, underwent his fosterage. It all happened during Cormac’s fosterage, so he’d spoken with Gormla on numerous occasions but rarely on any topic of great import.
“Even if they agreed with you on that, they both feel I’ve too great a personal history with Brian to judge the situation fairly. And they’re likely right to think so.”
Cormac nodded, considering his next move. “You know Brian,” he agreed. “And you know how he can be when he sets his mind to something. Or when he takes offense with someone.”
All mirth fled her face. “It’s gone that far, then, has it?”
“I am here to fulfill my oath to him, aye. But I am also here to prevent further bloodshed between my friend and my foster father.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “I fear Sitric doesn’t see the threat behind the request, and that your daughter’s voice is louder than any other in his ear.”
Gormla considered him, leaning back against the dark furs and crossing her arms. “Brian always spoke of your wisdom,” she began thoughtfully, surprising Cormac. “Not only your ability to observe without prejudice but to then use your observations to better understand people. Tell me, why do you think my daughter speaks so loudly?”
Cormac searched his mind, running through his observations of Astrid.
Loud. Angry. Stubborn. Proud.
He realized quickly that for all his observing, not once had he done so without prejudice. Perhaps his efforts with her failed not only because of her temperament, but also because he’d never genuinely tried to win her over.
