It had been all of a moment’s time before Cormac realized that he needed to focus entirely on the game before he somehow managed to convince himself that he was attracted to the infuriating woman. Lord knows that of all the women in all the world, Astrid was the last one he’d want to be trapped in a home with—her and her sharp tongue.
But though his mind and heart knew well the dangers, his body seemed to have other ideas. So he did the only reasonable thing: he did not repeat the mistake of looking at her again.
At least until her final, most ridiculous statement, when shock conquered his good sense.
“First, you are risking your life to preserve your honor after forcing a lady into a marriage against her will. Second, if you are unwilling to speak with him, then don’t.” She flipped a long, red tendril of hair over her shoulder. “We can go right back to the way things were, and even though I may not be able to escape my marriage, I will do everything in my power to thwart my brother’s.”
“You won’t have to beg him, though,” she added. “As I said before, you’re a prince and a Gael and a warrior of great renown, with connections to Brian, even. If you asked him to call off the tournament and give you my hand he’d probably do it.”
“You know I cannot,” Cormac reminded her.
“Yes, yes,” she waved a hand. “Your oath forbids it, I remember. But my point is that if you simplyaskhim to allow you to compete, I can’t imagine he would deny you.”
Cormac didn’t understand her plan, but he wasn’t certain she did, either. She’d have to marry eventually, and why putting it off another few months mattered he hadn’t a clue.
“I understand why you would wish to be selective in your choice of a husband, but I don’t see why marrying a Gael would be so terrible.”
“A Gael would not understand why we sacrifice to Odin, why we welcome an honorable death. I will not watch my identity suffocate in the arms of a man who would see me assimilate. I will not raise my children as anything other than Ostmen. And I will not leave Dyflin unless I go to another settlement where the laws of my people are the laws of that land.”
She’d gone breathless by the end of her impassioned speech, her face flushed and her hands in defiant fists at her side.
Gormla’s words came back to him then, that Astrid acted most often from a place of fear. A fact that had never been clearer to him than it was now, in her poorly hatched plan to cling to the life she had instead of the one for which she was destined.
Cormac had taken a total of four oaths when he joined the Fianna, one of them being that he would marry for love. Another was that he would always offer aid to those in need of it, so long as they weren’t doing wrong.
Astrid may not be following the course of action he would recommend, but she wasn’t in the wrong, either. And she had made a valid point in their earlier conversation—he was directly responsible for her current plight, though he doubted she’d have avoided it much longer without his interference.
“Ask me to help you, and I cannot refuse.”
Her brows furrowed. “I’ve already asked you.”
“You demanded recompense for a perceived slight, proposed a truce, and then explained what you wanted. You never actually asked for my help.”
“You agreed, nonetheless,” she argued. “Why must I ask now?”
“Because this scheme of yours grows wilder by the day, and I’m starting to feel that perhaps the terms aren’t as equitable as I initially believed. But,” he held up a hand to stop her from interrupting, “if someone is in need of my help, I must offer it.”
“Why?”
“It was another of my oaths.”
“Odin’s arse, how many of those did you make?”
“Four.”
She worried her bottom lip, picking up one of her game pieces and twirling it in her fingers anxiously, as she’d done earlier. Setting it down loudly, she turned to him.
“Will you please help me escape a marriage against my will?” She choked on the word ‘please,’ but she managed to get it out.
“Happily,” he grumbled. Now he was well and truly mixed up in their family’s affairs.
They played out the next few turns of the game in silence, before Cormac realized yet another potential problem.
“If you expect Sitric to believe I wish to wed you, you’ll have to stop yelling at me. At least in front of him,” he added, holding in a laugh at the horrified look on her face.
“If I’m too nice to you, he’ll suspect something,” she countered. “I think it’s better to continue with the yelling.”
Aye, that sounded about right.
