She needed to get him out of her mind.
And Cairell may be her best chance of doing just that.
“It was a lovely surprise for this time of year,” she added, realizing her answer had been insufficient.
“So what manner of questions have you been asking the men? I admit, I’ve been curious as to what these discussions might entail.”
“It depends on the man,” Astrid told him. “Often I ask of their family and how their life is, where they came from, the arrangement of their keep or their town.”
Astrid also made a point of including a question or two to gauge how they might treat a wife. She found that their thoughts on female relatives were often quite telling, but she liked to prod them more deliberately to see what sort of reaction it got her. The last thing Astrid wanted, aside from leaving her home and going somewhere far from her own people, was to marry a man who might mistreat her.
“And what manner of questions do you have for me, then,” he prompted, taking a bite of bacon.
Astrid already determined that Cairell was not a man with violent tendencies toward women. Sometimes she spoke with a man and could tell instantly that he could be cruel when his temper was prodded. But the man before her showed a great deal of patience, for Astrid knew that her mind was far afield and she’d not been a good conversation partner thus far.
“My questions for you are different from those I’ve asked any other of the men,” she replied.
“It’s because of my mother, isn’t it?” he asked. “She came with me, excited at the prospect of spending time in a settlement of her own people.”
His words were answer enough for one of Astrid’s questions. Apparently his home was not a settlement of her people, as she’d hoped, or anything close to it.
“Should I assume from that statement that there are no other Ostmen in your homeland?”
He shook his head, the grin slipping from his face. “I wish I could tell you otherwise, but it’s only my mother and a few others.”
“My grandmother was an Ostman servant to a Gaelic king,” she told him.
“I had heard that, lady, and I thought it an interesting connection between us.”
It was, indeed, and Astrid already found him far more promising than any of the other men, aside from her chosen champion.
“Do any of them speakNorr?na?” she asked, hoping that perhaps, even if there was a dearth of representation, she may at least have fellow Ostmen with whom to share the language. That would make it far easier to raise her children speaking it as she wished to do.
Cairell grinned, this time setting down his breakfast and giving her his undivided attention. “Aye, all the Ostmen do,” he replied in the language.
Astrid straightened in surprise. Perhaps there was some hope of preserving her culture after all. Her mission completed and all her questions answered, Astrid took her leave, wishing him well in the games to come. She had heard quite enough by that point to make her assessment.
He was a fairly pleasant fellow, similar to her brother in disposition with his proclivity for grinning and the odd wry comment. Unfortunately, the answers to her most pressing questions left something to be desired. Cairell may share a heritage and a language with her, but it sounded like living in his kingdom would be nothing like living in Dyflin. It still wouldn’t feel like home, and Astrid still ran the very real risk of a cool reception there with so few of her own people.
Her decision firmly in hand, Astrid returned to her family’s hall to find an alarming surprise awaiting her. Her brother, bent head-to-head over ahnefataflboard.
With Princess Catrin.
“How goes your game?” Astrid called, striding over to interrupt with all haste.
“She’s doing well.” Sitric sat back from the table, smiling up at Astrid. Her brother always smiled.
“It’s more difficult than I expected, given how small the board,” Catrin giggled.
“Thank you for playing with me.” He stood, straightening his red tunic and turning to Astrid. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to speak with you and mother.”
“Of course,” Astrid replied, happy to have succeeded with her interruption. “I’ll go fetch her.”
“No need,” Gormla called, rising from a couch in the far corner of the hall. “She’s already here.”
Catrin, somehow, didn’t sense that she was being dismissed.
“Could you give us a moment, dear?” Sitric asked her.
