“You’ve heard right,” Cormac chuckled. He didn’t care at all for the idea of Astrid marrying his brother, but he held his tongue—he’d finally gotten Teague to speak civilly with him. Instead, he tried to turn the conversation toward their purpose in Dyflin. “Are you truly interested in marrying her?”
Teague shrugged. “She’s not hideous, and everyone knows it’s a good alliance to make.”
Astrid was so far from hideous that Cormac struggled to keep his mouth shut at Teague’s understatement. Instead, he decided to keep pushing. “How did you learn of the tournament?”
“I’m not going to betray him,” Teague replied evenly.
An interesting response. And, again, unsettling as it implied some amount of plotting.
“It’s a long way to come, from Connachta, especially if you were not invited.” It had crossed Cormac’s mind that perhaps theyhadbeen invited by Sitric, but that the invitation had been kept secret so he didn’t appear a traitor to Brian. The more he reflected on it, however, the more Cormac thought that Sitric likely held as much of a grudge against Cahill as he did against Brian, since both kings attacked Dyflin.
Dyflin brought Cahill within easy reach of Brian’s fortresses, but without an army it wouldn’t do much good.
Teague scowled, turning to Cormac. “What do you want?”
“To make sure you didn’t come here to do more than just win a bride.”
“Icame here solely for the tournament.”
Cormac didn’t like the way Teague emphasized that statement. “And father?”
“As I said,” his voice turned to thunder, “unlike you, I won’t betray him.”
The games themselvesproved little challenge for Cormac after the rigorous trials he’d undergone to join the Fianna, which meant that his most pressing problems at present remained his father’s plotting and his relationship with Astrid.
Was she angry with him? Did she plan to end their agreement after he stepped so egregiously out of line? Or, perhaps the most frightening possibility of all, did she return his feelings? For after that moment with her in the trees, Cormac had no choice but to accept that his affections toward her grew by the day in spite of his efforts to quash them.
At midday, Cormac stood shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, surrounded by the rest of the Fianna, waiting to be called for his turn at thetoga honk. The contest began with theweakest men paired off, and would work up to the strongest. Cormac remained with the Fianna to watch the first bouts and gain insight into strategies he might use to overpower his opponent.
From what he observed, it seemed the most advantageous to keep your legs at a wide stance and use them to anchor you while gripping the rope somewhere near your waist. The men who braced their legs one in front and one behind tended to be the ones that lost. He also noted that men struggled when they held the rope too high or too low from their waists. Once he felt confident in his strategy, Cormac made his way through the crowd of onlookers until he reached Astrid.
After careful consideration, he determined that the best course of action was to continue helping her find a solution to the problem of an unwanted marriage. He’d come up with another idea, though every time he thought of it he liked it less. But still, it was the best he had to offer and, in the end, it was Astrid’s decision—not his.
She spotted him before he came within earshot, and instead of forcing him to fetch her, she excused herself from her brother and mother and met him toward the back of the crowd.
“Is something the matter?” she asked, her brows knitted.
Cormac took a deep breath. He didn’t want to ask, but he needed an answer. “Do you want me to let him win?”
Astrid’s brows only furrowed further, her eyes narrowing. “What?”
“I thought,” he hesitated, choosing his words with care. “He’s the closest you’ll find to the husband that you wanted. If you desire it, I will allow him to win so that you can have your Ostman husband.”
Astrid’s mouth fell open. Clearly, he’d taken her by surprise. That she hadn’t even been considering such a thing gave him some small hope. Her mouth opened and closed several times,as though slowly collecting her answer with each motion before she could finally get it out.
Before she managed an answer, Cormac was called to the field for his turn.
“Good luck.” Her whispered words followed him all the way to the rope.
It was, in keeping with Astrid’s manner, the least helpful answer to his question.
Cairell picked up the far end of the thick rope. Cormac went to the near end and did the same. The rope was heavy, as thick as the palm of his hands, which made it more difficult to grip. It reminded Cormac of a ship’s rope, as though Sitric had taken a spare from the harbor. The ends of it were rough and fraying from the friction of the other men’s grips. Between Cormac and Cairell, beneath the center of the rope, a bed of red hot coals crackled. The first man to place his feet in the coals lost.
“Pull!” Sitric’s man shouted once Cormac and Cairell were in position.
And pull they did.
Cormac’s hands tightened about the rope, his legs standing firm as he leaned backward. He knew that he could win, but if anyone here could beat him, it was Cairell. Cormac needed to watch for an opportunity to overpower him or to outlast him. Fixing his eyes on Cairell, Cormac tugged at the rope with all his might, taking one shaky step backward.
