“I’ll help you,” she offered when he didn’t answer. “My Astrid can be a challenge to understand, but more often than not, she’s motivated by fear.”
“I highly doubt that,” Cormac countered. ‘Fearless’ might be one of the most complimentary words he’d use to describe her.
“Then you have more observing to do. If you want her on your side, that is.”
“While I have your ear, what advice do you have regarding your son?” Cormac had more ideas where Sitric was concerned, but it could never hurt to hear a mother’s insights. Already he felt this conversation could be the turning point in his mission.
Then Astrid appeared.
For the first time in the history of their acquaintance, she didn’t glare at him when she stopped beside his chair.
“Astrid, dear,” Gormla cooed, “I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I had.” She swallowed hard, then turned to Cormac. “But then I thought of a conversation we had earlier, and I wish to continue our discussion.”
If Cormac hadn’t been sitting, he would have fallen over. Was Astrid truly seeking him out for a reasonable discussion of the brides? He stood, not about to miss such an opportunity.
“Don’t bother moving,” Gormla insisted, standing from her own seat. “I was about to turn in anyway.”
She gave Astrid a quick hug on her way to her room. Astrid took her mother’s abandoned chair, facing Cormac and scanning the room behind him.
He waited, letting her lead the conversation since she’d been the one to request it.
As soon as Gormla was out of sight, Astrid’s face flushed crimson, her hands clenching into tight fists. “This is allyourfault,” she ground out. “You pushed my brother into this, nowyouneed to get me out of it.”
He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he certainly wasn’t surprised. “Discussing the possible marriage of a princess, especially when her brother is to be wed, is not unreasonable. I need to do nothing.”
“I thought you Fianna were supposed to be men of honor.” Her voice rose higher with every word. “How is it honorable to help entrap a woman in a marriage against her will?”
Cormac hated the feeling of guilt that slammed into him at her accusation, but he wasn’t about to get entangled in a family matter—especiallythisfamily. “Did Sitric not say you’d already spoken of it before? Numerous times, if memory serves. Nay, princess, I think that dam was broken long before I joined the conversation.”
To his astonishment and amusement, her face reddened deeper, now nearly matching the color of her tresses. Her rounded nose flared dangerously. Cormac braced for the next onslaught.
Instead, Astrid surprised him.
“What of a truce?” she grumbled, not sounding the least enthusiastic at the prospect. “If you won’t be decent, perhaps I can compensate you in some way.”
Cormac sat back in his chair. “Consider me intrigued.”
“Well, I’m not going to do all your work for you. Tell me what it is you want.”
“I’m the one here with nothing to lose,” he countered, enjoying finally having the upper hand in one of their arguments. “Let’s hearyourproposal.”
Astrid huffed and brought a hand to her temple, massaging the idea into existence. If she weren’t such a thoroughly disagreeable and damnably frustrating woman, she’d be exactly the sort that caught Cormac’s attention. Red hair. Delicate features. A fierce personality. Aye, it was a good thing that shehated him and he couldn’t stand her, otherwise he’d be very tempted by the beautiful Princess of Dyflin.
Quicker than he expected, she looked up at him, her honey-hued eyes sharp as a freshly-honed blade.
“You are,” she grimaced, “exactly the sort of man my brother is trying to foist on me. A Gael, a prince with valuable political connections.” She waved her hand as though that completed the list of his marriageable qualities. “And I am told you and your men are the best warriors in all the kingdoms.”
Cormac did not like where this was going. “I will stop you right there, princess. I cannot marry you, or I would break my oath to Brian.”
Her brows, several shades of crimson darker than her hair, furrowed. “But others of your men have wed.”
“For love,” Cormac explained. “One of our oaths is that we marry for love.”
“It matters not,” she continued. “We won’t be marrying. I want you to compete in theleikmótfor my hand and win, but then refuse the marriage once the other competitors return home.”
“Will your brother not simply summon them back and betroth you to the next man?”
