Finally able to return her attention to the game, Astrid searched the men to find Cormac so that she could track his performance. Though he wore a loose-fitted tunic, the muscles in his arms swelled even beneath his clothing, and he was one of only a handful of the men on the field with such impressive bulk. Not that she ought to be noticing such things, especially since she wasn’tactuallylooking for a husband. Just as her attention settled comfortably back into the game, her brother nudged her with his elbow beside her.
“I wanted to let you know,” he told her, “that you have a part to play in all this, aside from helping judge the victor of the competition, of course.”
“And what might that be?”
“I need you to set aside time to speak with each man. Your assessment of their characters will be an important part of my decision. In the end, I won’t have you saddled with a dishonorable man.”
Astrid tore her gaze from the chaos of the field so that she could look at her brother. “Thank you,” she whispered, and she meant it. She may not relish the idea of setting aside time to meet with over a dozen different men and assess their characters, especially as she didn’t plan to marry any of them, but she appreciated the care in her brother’s request.
Assuming he’d finished, she turned yet again back to the game. Cormac hit the ball to his opponent across the field, the only man who matched him in size and strength. The man caught it, and Cormac charged at him down the field to try to wrest it from his grasp.
Astrid scooted to the edge of her seat.
Cormac’s shoulder slammed into the man’s chest, knocking him flat on his back with a groan and a thud.
She cheered, her hands raising of their own accord. Beside her, someone cleared their throat. She turned to find her mother and brother both staring at her in confusion and surprise. She shrugged, nodding toward the field.
“It was a good hit.”
A cheeky smirk rose on her brother’s face, earning him a good smack on the shoulder. He chuckled, and they all returned their attention to theknattleikrgame. Perhaps he really could win. He was certainly one of the largest of the men and in the best shape by her measure. Maybe he could do it. Maybe he really could win. Astrid certainly hoped so, for her future depended on it.
Astrid fell deeper and deeper into the match—into every sprint, every swing of the bat, every movement across the field—until her awareness was naught but the game itself. In particular, the experience of one specific player on the field. Until, of course, her brother nudged her again. This time the glare she turned to him could have turned a man to stone, but he’d long since become immune to such looks from her. She supposed he thought they were some sort of jest, but she was deadly serious and seriously annoyed. Could she not simply watch the game in peace?
“Yes, brother?”
“I just thought that you might like to know an interesting fact I learned about one of the players.” He paused, as thoughexpecting some sort of reaction from her. Realizing that wasn’t forthcoming, he continued. “It seems purely by happenstance, I’ve invited someone who fulfills many of your desires in a husband.”
That got her attention. “Oh?”
“Do you see that man?” He pointed to the mess of bodies in the center of the field.
“I see about twenty men, brother. Which do you mean?” It was impossible to tell to whom he pointed.
“The man wrestling Cormac.”
The mention of the warrior’s name sent a shiver through her—an odd reaction, indeed. She found him then, the tall, broad man with sandy brown hair.
“That man, Cairell, is a prince of the Dál Fiatach. And, just like our mother, is the son of an Ostman slave and a Gaelic king,” he explained.
“Really?” That genuinely surprised Astrid. A half-Ostman was much closer to what she wanted in a husband. “Thatisinteresting,” she admitted.
A sharp intake of breath from everyone along the sidelines alerted Astrid that something exciting must be happening in the match. She and Sitric both turned toward the field. Cormac laid flat on his back, clearly having been knocked over by Cairell. If he didn’t get up soon, he’d lose this bout.
Astrid’s hands gripped the edge of her seat, squeezing as she leaned forward, as though she could somehow help him solve this dilemma. “Come on,” she groaned through gritted teeth.
Cormac moved his legs and his arms, still holding the ball at least, but for how much longer?
Cairell raised his free arm. He was going to slam it down to try to free the ball, she realized.
Astrid’s breath caught as she prepared for the impact.
Chapter Twelve
He needed toget on top. The game had gone well so far, in spite of his initial distraction by the arrival of his father and brother. But right now his shoulder hurt something fierce after that tackle and a giant held him pinned to the soggy ground.
The man’s hand pounded against his chest, where his arms held the ball tight. Pain seared across his middle at the blow, but he didn’t drop the ball.
A great, raucous cheer broke out from the sidelines. He didn’t need to look. His chest swelled, bolstering him as the Fianna cheered him on, reminding him that he was the best. They were the best.
