She found him in the hall, meeting with his warriors to determine the games and rules for the tournament.
“I have a solution,” she announced.
“Do I have a problem?” Sitric asked.
“What if I choose three men that I would wish to marry? Perhaps we could find some common ground—”
His cheeks tightened in a way that told Astrid he wasn’t in agreement with her new plan. “I’ve already invited everyone who is to compete.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Astrid. The competition will decide the marriage. But perhaps the results will be to your liking.”
Astrid bit her tongue to keep from arguing. It was clear his mind was made up, and there was no use continuing to walk down that particular path. Normally, Astrid would’ve panicked.
But this time she wasn’t walking alone.
Chapter Ten
The next tendays flew by in a whirlwind of cutting, sawing, and laying boards to construct the temporary housing necessary to fit the many suitors soon headed their way. Cormac tried not to think overmuch on what would follow after the housing was finished. He didn’t know how he felt about any of it, aside from conflicted. Seemingly overnight, Astrid had gone from someone he avoided at all costs to someone who stole the majority of his thoughts.
Many times over those long days of building he contemplated how he might break the news to the rest of the Fianna, to his brothers, that he would be competing for Astrid’s hand in marriage. Though he knew an explanation of his plan would quickly dissolve any argument they might have, or even any jesting at his odd shift in allegiance, he still felt that he hadn’t found the right words. It was a good plan—he was convinced of that—but something inside him gnawed at him throughout those long days of manual labor.
As the first contestants started trickling into Dyflin, Cormac accepted that the time had come to inform his brothers, and then the rest of the Fianna, of his decision to compete. After dinner in Sitric’s hall one day before the games began, Cormac took his brothers to the alehouse in the heart of Dyflin—an occurrence so unusual that they cast him sidelong glances the entire way.
They found the alehouse busier than usual, with both the indoor and outdoor tables stuffed to overflowing, no doubt on account of the impending tournament. Diarmid, turning on his notorious charm, approached Maeve, the establishment’s owner with whom he’d become well-acquainted in the course of their time in Dyflin. Cormac didn’t even overhear what was said, but following a few brief words, they were seated in the far back corner inside the alehouse, quite near to the bar itself.
“Are you going to tell us why you brought us here?” his middle brother, Conan, asked as Maeve brought their first round of ale.
“Is it that odd for me to want to spend a night out with my brothers after weeks of hard work?” Even Cormac wasn’t convinced at the tone in his own voice.
“You rarely leave Sitric’s estate,” Diarmid replied, “and when you do it’s only because we force you.”
“True, true,” Cormac conceded, though he wasn’t able to smile with his admission as he normally would. “The truth is, I’ve brought you here to tell you something, and I had hoped that copious amounts of ale and the promise of an evening out might hinder any untoward comments.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have told us that,” Diarmid laughed, taking a swig of ale. “Now I’m obligated to go out of my way just to make said comments.”
Conan shoved Diarmid, making his ale slosh out of the mug. “Out with it,” Conan demanded. “I’ll make sure he’s not too hard on you, though I can’t imagine what our responsible older brother could possibly have done that he believes merits commentary from us heathens.”
“After great consideration, I have made the decision to enter into the tournament.”
For a long moment, his brothers stared at him blankly, as though unable to comprehend what he’d said.
“You mean in the tournament here?” Conan asked, his grey-blue eyes wide with skepticism.
“The very same, but before you make any wild assumptions, let me explain my plan.” He didn’t get much farther than that before the pair of them burst into laughter.
“You’re going to compete for the hand of the woman who drives you absolutely mad?” Conan sputtered.
“It’s because he’s secretly in love with her,” Diarmid teased. “That’s how they get you. First they irritate you, then they ensnare you.”
“Shall I tell Cara your views on the matter, then?” Cormac prodded his brother, knowing full well Diarmid’s new betrothed would have a thing or two to say over it.
“I’m certain it wouldn’t surprise her,” Diarmid chuckled, “but I’d appreciate it if you told it in the context of this story.”
“So what’s really going on then?” Conan asked.
Though both Cormac’s brothers were lighter of spirit and wilder than Cormac ever had been, Conan was the more thoughtful of the two, and the more likely to see the truth behind Cormac’s statement.
“She approached me about it,” Cormac explained, “and offered a truce. If I help her get out of a marriage entirely, in return she will convince Sitric to marry Sláine.”
“How is competing going to save her from a marriage?” Conan asked.
