Since the day Astrid had learned of her sister’s betrothal all those years ago, she’d been envious, and she had decided that she, too, would marry an Ostman and join her sister in Noregr. That her brother didn’t understand her desire, would not even entertain it, was slowly breaking her heart. And without her heart working toward her problem, it felt an insurmountable challenge. For all her life, he’d been her unshakeable ally, her supporter in the face of all her problems. But now he was the one creating those problems for her.
Another, deeper fear in the back of her mind, was the possibility that she could end up akin to her dear cousin Eva, who had been traded as a hostage following the battle they lost to Brian last winter. Astrid knew well the isolation Eva suffered, and her cousin was not even an Ostman. Eva was a daughter ofÉire from a long line of Gaelic kings and princes. Though Eva embraced and enjoyed Astrid’s heritage, she was shunned as an outcast solely for having been on the losing side of the battle. It was not a stretch for Astrid to imagine herself in a similar situation, but instead of a hostage of war, she was the hostage of a marriage.
Long before Astrid reached the alehouse, she saw from a distance the lowest plain at the foot of the city. It was one of the few plains surrounding Dyflin that didn’t regularly flood, and was not constantly a mucky bog. Instead of a field of swaying grasses and wildflowers, a flurry of activity filled the space. Countless men carried piles of lumber into the clearing, while others converted them into planks for building.
Even in the cool mists of winter, the men worked so hard that many wore a shirt with no tunic or cloak. She watched them as she descended the hill from her homestead, amazed that construction had already begun so soon after the orders were given. Cormac and the other Fianna worked among them, drawing her attention. Without giving it much thought, Astrid veered from her course toward the alehouse, taking a narrow path that led straight out of town through the side gate and toward the field where the men worked.
Cormac caught sight of her as she strode across the field toward him. Looking askance between his men, who had not yet seemed to notice her, he walked over to meet her.
“Can I help you, princess?”
“I was just surprised to find the Fianna doing anything other than their usual routine.” And also now questioning why she had even come out here. She hadn’t much to say really.
“We heard you were in need of help, and so we offered it. And it serves as an adequate honing of our strength and skills.”
“Well, thank you,” she replied awkwardly. What on earth was wrong with her? She shifted uncomfortably, realizing that this was probably the moment to take her leave.
Before she could do so, Cormac took one step closer lowering his voice. “Are you alright?” he asked. “You seem…less intense than usual.”
Astrid regarded him with suspicion. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“You have yet to attack, so I have no reason to defend. I’m actually quite a nice person, you know.”
“Nice people don’t have to tell you that.” She resisted the urge to smile at her jab. It irritated her how much she enjoyed sparring with him.
He crossed his arms over his chest, the impressive amount of muscle drawing her attention for a moment too long. She was grateful he didn’t tease her about it—most other men certainly would have.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he tried again.
She frowned, grasping for any sort of reason to have sought him out. “I still haven’t figured out a solution to my problem of avoiding marrying you.”
“You know, coming from just about anyone else, that would really hurt.”
“I think you’re right, that I need a plan to avoid my brother just forcing the next-in-line onto me if you refuse,” she grumbled. “If I don’t come up with something, he’s going to foist one of them onto me.”
“Perhaps that’s the solution, then,” Cormac mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully and squinting into the distance. He kept his dark beard much shorter than most men, hardly longer than the sharp edges of his face.
“Letting him destroy my future?”
“Giving him a reason not to,” he corrected gently. “You’ve told me what you don’t want in a husband. You’ve rejected countless options he’s offered you. Try giving him the names of men youwouldmarry, just as you suggested he do with Brian.”
“That’s—” Astrid caught herself mid-denial, “actually not a terrible idea.”
He shrugged, drawing her attention once more to his impressive stature. “It’s worth trying, at least.”
Indeed, it was. And even if that didn’t work, it gave Astrid a different perspective on the problem. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, princess.”
A tendril of heat threaded through her at the intimate tone of his voice, at the way he caressed the words. She took several steps away, putting distance between them. “I should get to the alehouse.”
He smiled at her—which did nothing to quell her alarming reaction to him—and returned to carrying the heavy timber beams.
Cormac was, perhaps, not as devious as she’d believed. Maybe he wasn’t always out to ruin her family. And, she grudgingly admitted, he’d been rather helpful just now. But he was a Gaelic prince, sworn to her enemy Brian. Even if he wasn’t the worst man to marry—which she still hadn’t decided yet—she couldn’t actually marryhim.She’d live the rest of her days surrounded by folk who despised her and her culture.
Maybe he wasn’t awful, but he certainly wasn’t for her.
Astrid returned fromthe alehouse before dinner, surprised at just how much ale Maeve had in stock. It would cost a fortune to keep everyone well-watered for a month, but it was possible at least. The moment she returned, Astrid tracked down Sitric. She didn’t want to wait to put Cormac’s idea into action.
