But her response wasn’t tinged with its usual bite. Likely she’d disagree with him for argument’s sake, but heed his advice anyway. How else would she continue vexing him?
The following morn,Cormac sought out Illadan, the leader of the Fianna, to let him in on the events of the past two days. Illadan stood in the light misting of rain, awaiting the arrival of the rest of the Fianna. They met every morn in the field outside the hall to go on a run around Dyflin together through the muddy peat bogs before running drills.
Beside him stood Broccan, the commander of Brian’s men who had asked to be reassigned to the Fianna. Illadan had a temperament akin to Brian’s—loyal to a fault, lethal to his enemies, and a bit of a romantic at heart. Broccan was both loyal and lethal, but not once in the years after his wife’s death had Cormac seen him smile.
He greeted the two men, childhood friends turned brothers-in-arms.
“You look grimmer than usual,” Illadan remarked.
“I’ve made what is, in all likelihood, a terrible decision,” Cormac muttered, feeling more empathy than usual with the grumpy Broccan. “I thought I should tell you what was actually going on, since it will look even stranger from the outside.”
“Did you kill someone?” Broccan asked.
“I’ve made a bargain with Astrid.”
Illadan’s amused grin spread ear-to-ear. Broccan rolled his eyes.
“She’s going to convince Sitric to marry Sláine instead of doing her best to undermine us.”
“And…” Illadan prompted.
“And I’m going to compete in the games, win, and then help her somehow escape marriage.” He threw his hands up. “Her plan isn’t terribly clear to me, but she believes it will work. I came to ask your leave to seek out Sitric this morning and discuss it with him.”
“You know you can’t marry her,” Broccan interrupted.
“She assures me that it won’t come to that,” Cormac replied.
“You have my permission to miss training today, on the condition that you relay, in precise detail, how your conversation with Sitric goes.” Illadan appeared barely able to contain himself at the thought of Cormac competing for the hand of the woman he couldn’t stand.
The irony wasn’t lost on him, either. He just didn’t find it particularly funny at the moment.
It didn’t take Cormac long to track down Sitric, who sat in the family’s hall, breaking his fast with Gormla and Astrid.
“Cormac!” Sitric shouted the greeting as soon as Cormac strode into the hall. “Come, join us!”
Sitric was so like his youngest brother, Diarmid. Loud, warm, and exuberant, both Cormac’s brother and the Ostman king hadno shortage of hospitality. Cormac had always craved the quiet, preferring to take in his surroundings and keep to himself.
He approached the trio, seated at the far end of the center table, but did not sit. “I had hoped to speak with you in private when you had a moment,” Cormac told him, using a great deal of restraint not to glance sideways at Astrid. The last thing he needed was the princess accusing him of making a mess of this on purpose.
“I share most business matters with these two lovely ladies,” Sitric grinned. “If it’s something they’ll learn about anyway, we can discuss while we eat.”
Cormac considered how best to ask for a private audience, when Astrid caught his attention by making a face at him. Squeezing her lips together emphatically, she nodded once in the direction of her brother.
Apparently, she saw no problem with doing this publicly, so Cormac pressed on. Or, perhaps she was using public humiliation as part of his penance.
“I wish to compete in theleikmót.”
Sitric stopped chewing, setting down the bread he’d been about to bite. “You wish to marry my sister?”
Reminding himself he must convince Sitric of the earnestness of his request, he managed to keep all sarcasm from his response. “Aye.”
Gormla eyed him suspiciously over the rim of her cup. Astrid’s face flushed like a ripe apple. Her pale complexion did her no favors in concealing her thoughts.
“I had no idea.” Sitric sat up straighter, turning to his sister then back to Cormac. “We’ve not yet sent the runners. If you wish it, you can simply marry her. I know you to be the best sort of man, and you are of an equal status with her.”
After Astrid’s comment last night, Cormac anticipated such a suggestion from the magnanimous king. “I don’t believe she’sfond of me,” he replied, “and I won’t force a woman into marriage. The games will afford me the opportunity to win her goodwill by proving that I value the same things she does.”
“And what might those things be?” Astrid asked, playing her part well.
