“I will not stay in the house of a traitor to the king,” Cahill spat at the end of his tirade, enunciating each word through gritted teeth.
“If you will not take advantage of an opportunity for all the kingdoms to unite against a common enemy and cease this bickering amongst ourselves, then I cannot help you,” Brian growled.
“I will not resort to blows at my daughter’s wedding.” Cahill’s voice went eerily quiet. “But you and I, we are finished.” He turned, finding his four sons—Teague, Cormac, Conan, and Diarmid. “Let’s go. Now.”
Teague did as he was told, walking to stand beside Cahill without hesitation.
Cormac’s feet stood rooted to the ground beneath him. He agreed with Brian. The Fin Gall were raiding deeper and deeper inland. Entire villages had been massacred. And they were spreading and settling, setting up outposts so they could continue driving further toward the heart of the island. Brian was right. If they did nothing, then there would be nothing left. No place seemed safe from their raiding.
Cormac knew that his future, and even that of his brothers, would depend on his next move. They always did as he did, thinking him older and wiser. Clearly, they weren’t privy to his thoughts, for if they saw his mind now they would know that he floundered like a landed fish.
This moment would be a turning point for the rest of his life. His dinner threatened to burst from his belly. The blood drainedfrom his face, but he stood firm, shaking his head in the face of his father’s anger.
“We stay,” Cormac declared, “and we fight.”
“Then you are no sons of mine,” Cahill spat, turning on his heels and pulling their mother and Teague out with him.
Cormac’s heart tore in two as he watched them walk away, wondering if his brothers would ever forgive him.
Chapter One
Dyflin, Éire
December, 1001
Frigid waters brokeupon the bow, sending a thousand icy pinpricks against her face in a tempestuous spray of foamy brine. The taste of salt permeated the air so fully that she could breathe it in with every leap the longship took over the frothing waves.Thiswas the way life was meant to be lived: crashing headlong through whatever waves the stormy sea demanded.
Astrid’s eyes shut, her face upturned against the onslaught of the voyage as she stood behind the prow of her brother’s longship. Their father had made a far longer journey, first to Laithlinn and then, years later, to Éire. He left his own kingdom a warrior, but he died in this new land a king. From her youth, Astrid dreamed of visiting the land of her father, of living in a place filled with her own people.
She felt her brother’s approach, the sound of his steps echoing off the oaken planks.
“You choose the strangest days to come out with us,” Sitric remarked. Even though he took up the mantle of kingship over the harbor town at Dyflin after fighting hard for it, Astrid always thought him too kind a soul for the position.
“It’s colder than this in the lands of our ancestors.” She opened her eyes, taking in the tall figure of her brother. Withhis long, golden hair and thick beard, he clearly took after their father. “It’s good practice.”
“Astrid.”
She hated the sympathy in his voice almost as much as she hated being separated from the rest of their kin. “I simply don’t understand why we can’t return. Leave all this nonsense with Brian and Laigin and all the hundreds of other kings behind our oars.”
“The nonsense would follow us.” He leaned against the prow, his gaze straying to the seething waters beyond. “The petty squabbles between kings drove Father away from his people. We would be trading one spider’s web for another, and in leaving we would destroy the kingdom he spent his life building.”
Her hands squeezed into fists, bringing back some of the feeling stolen by the cold. No matter how many times she broached this conversation, her brother threw platitudes and excuses at her. But she would not bend so easily.
“Then let me go alone,” she tried, already knowing that Sitric would argue. “Stay here and uphold our family’s future while I seek out its past.”
“You know I cannot.” His ice-blue eyes, the same color as the roiling winter sea, flashed to her. “I am responsible for your safety, a duty I cannot adequately perform whilst in a different kingdom.”
“Do you never long to see it?” she pressed, growing desperate. “Do you never dream of seeing your true home?”
Sitric turned to her fully, his face too serious. Her brother rarely felt the weight of his responsibilities. Like their father, he was a man much given to joy and laughter.
“Dyflin is our home, Astrid, no matter how stubbornly you fight it. It is our birthright and it is where we belong.”
Astrid’s blood boiled despite the bite of the winter air in the harbor. Grinding her jaw to keep from shouting at her brother—for that would only make matters worse—she fought for calm with every word.
“I will never feel at home while we crawl like worms before a foreign king. His men will return, and they’ll try to foist another heifer on you.”
“I’m going to tell Cara you said that,” Sitric grinned.
