Cormac kept an eye out for opportunities to pull Astrid aside and thank her for shooing away his brother. Though he was more than capable of enduring Teague’s harassment, he understood that she went out of her way to help him. She’d come from nowhere as his self-appointed champion, something he found entirely too endearing. She cleaved into his brother as a spear cuts through a boar’s gut, rendering him speechless and shockingly compliant. Cormac would not soon forget the look on Teague’s face, and for that alone she’d earned his gratitude.
The hearthfire crackled merrily while the games got underway. The occasional outburst of laughter or frustration interrupted the blessed quiet, but overall the morning passed in peace. Between his own matches and Astrid’s time spent instructing, Cormac didn’t find a moment to pull her aside and thank her properly until after the midday meal.
It was a small affair, with just enough of last night’s leftovers to tide everyone over until dinner in the late afternoon. The men, including Sitric, grew weary of the endless games ofhnefatafl, and the rain no longer pattered against the rooftop.
“We will cease our contests for the next few hours,” Sitric announced. “Enjoy the fine day and we will see you for dinner. But be aware that I may, at my pleasure, announce a contest of strength following supper.” He grinned like a madman. “Or not.”
Following Sitric’s devious announcement, a slow trickle of folk wandered out the front doors of the feasting hall, which told Cormac that the weather must have cleared. Astrid joined those leaving the hall, spurring Cormac into action.
“My lady,” he called, getting her attention.
She turned to him, her smile so bright it halted his next step. Cormac felt a tightness in his chest, a desire to pull her into his arms. He fought that instinct like a foe on the battlefield. She wasn’t smiling at him, anyway. She never smiled at him. He’d simply caught her in an unguarded moment.
“Where is everyone going?” he asked when he reached her.
“We’re collecting evergreen branches to decorate the hall for theJólseason,” she explained.
“How much would it bother you if I came along?”
The smile slipped from her face, replaced with a flicker of fire in those honey gold eyes. “The usual amount.”
“Excellent.” She hadn’t said hecouldn’tcome along. “I could use some fresh air.”
With surprisingly little opposition from Astrid, he followed her out into the chilly winter afternoon. They strolled at a pleasant pace down the hill from Sitric’s hall and into the town proper of Dyflin. It was a track that Cormac had travelled many times over the course of his stay there, as it was the only road that led from Sitric’s holding into the village. To get anywhere outside the king’s halls, Cormac used this path. The air held a crispness that made Cormac glad of his fur-lined cloak.
He glanced at Astrid to ensure that she wore enough clothing to keep her warm. This time a cloak of deepest green, the same shade as the pine trees they approached outside of town, draped her delicate shoulders. The white and black ermine lining would keep her warm enough.
They reached a copse of trees—pine, fir, and juniper—and the villagers began grabbing branches that had fallen. Cormac did the same, picking up a sap-covered fir branch, long and thin and still holding onto some of its cones.
“I wanted to thank you,” he told Astrid as she walked beside him through the small but thick forest of evergreens. “It waskind of you to distract Teague, that Conan and I might continue in peace.”
“It was nothing,” she brushed off, picking up a wild-looking branch. “I needed to speak with him anyway, and I meant what I told him. I have no interest whatsoever in a man who can’t be respectful to his own kin.”
Cormac smiled at that, continuing to pick up branches as they walked. “Either way, you were a fearsome sight to behold. He’ll think twice about crossing you in the future. And it was rather enjoyable to not be the one under attack for a change.”
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling topazes. “Don’t tell me that Cormac, the great warrior of the Gaels, can’t take one Ostman princess.”
“Believe me, princess—I could take you.” The words were out before he’d fully comprehended their implication. Not that his lack of thought made them any less true. But, had he taken a moment, he’d not have let them escape.
Astrid’s eyes went wide, her pink lips parting at his statement.
He’d rendered her speechless, he realized as she continued to stare at him. “Don’t tell me that the mouthy Ostman princess has finally been bested by one measly Gaelic warrior,” he prodded, relishing her reaction more than he ought.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, breathing in deeply and shifting the armful of branches she carried.
The skies opened again before Cormac could poke her further. Instead of angry torrents that raged across the landscape, it floated in a soft mist, that, combined with the chilly air, turned into the first snow he’d seen in a long while. It didn’t snow often on the island, and it happened even less that the snow stuck for any length of time. Giggles and gasps filled the small forest, where everyone enjoyed the rare gift of snow in theJólseason as they foraged.
Cormac turned to Astrid, the smile on her face pinching his chest. It was a smile he liked more every time he saw it, though it still wasn’t for him. She gazed up in wonder at the snowflakes falling above her head. They landed across her shoulders, her freckled cheeks, and dusted her red hair in a thin layer of white. She looked every inch the Ostman princess that she was, a princess of winter snows and stormy seas. Or a princess of elm, according to her story, with a woodland green cloak to match the forest surrounding them.
A trio of children tore through the trees beside them, laughing and giggling, chasing snowflakes with their mouths open and their tongues out. They laughed so much, Cormac doubted that they caught any, but they seemed to be having a fine time anyway.
“I’ve always wanted children,” Astrid said quietly after the little ones left the glade.
Her candidness intrigued Cormac. “Then why fight a marriage so fiercely?”
Astrid sighed, turning toward him. “Because the only marriage my brother seeks is one to a Gael,” she replied. “My children will be raised as Ostmen—speaking our language, following our traditions.” She worried her bottom lip, just as she had the night she bargained with him, afraid for her future.
“I think you’re afraid,” Cormac challenged.
