Astrid felt all the blood rush to her face, her head light as the foam on the surface of the sea. “He pities me, ’tis all,” she argued.
Sitric caught her gaze, as he did every time he wanted to ensure she didn’t dismiss his words. “You could do a lot worse than the Prince of Connachta. I’d be happy to see you choose him.”
That silenced her. Cormac wasn’t really competing for her hand, was he? She could hardly tell Sitric that. But now she didn’t know what she wanted or how she felt, for her brother had unwittingly hit the nail straight on its head. She could no longer deny that she enjoyed Cormac’s company, craved it even, and that she enjoyed his attentions more than she ought. But was that enough for her to allow him to actually be her champion? Could she see herself marrying him when her brother named him the winner?
As much as Astrid wanted to fly over the rock-filled shore and squeeze what life remained out of Cormac in celebration, her brother made a fair point. With restraint that surprised Astrid, she instead wandered back to the guest hall in her brother’s holding to await his return. She could speak with him alone there without the appearance of favoritism, as Sitric accused.
The longer she waited, pacing before the central hearth fire, the more anxious she grew. She wrung her hands and debated just what she might say to him. She’d been so worried. Guilt flooded her, followed by frustration. She was furious with herself. She was furious with him for allowing her to make such easy use of him and his skills. Oath of service or not, he shouldn’t die simply so that she might avoid an unwanted marriage.
When the doors to the hall burst open, Astrid still hadn’t a clue as to what she would say. The Fianna all entered at once,talking and shouting and laughing and surrounding Cormac as he dried off with a strip of cloth in their midst. His shirt, she realized. He used his shirt to dry off, which explained why his torso was still bare.
The conversation died down when they noticed her waiting.
“I say we go have a round of sparring,” Conan declared. “Illadan?” He looked to the leader of the Fianna questioningly.
“Absolutely. Fianna, grab your weapons and meet me on the field,” Illadan called.
In mere moments, the men were armed with staves and practice swords and headed back out, except for Cormac, who received a sound slap on his back from Diarmid as he passed his brother. Niamh and Cara followed them from the hall, leaving Astrid standing alone before her giant, shirtless champion.
She wanted to run to him.
She wanted to run away.
Instead, she landed somewhere in the middle, standing her ground as he approached her. “What are you doing?” she demanded, wincing at her own poor choice of words. Gods, what a terrible way to start.
But, patient as ever, Cormac took her outburst in stride, his face unreadable. “My best,” he answered simply.
Clarity descended with his words, and Astrid finally decided what it was she needed to say to him. Between the kiss and the dangerous swim and the inequality of their agreement, she didn’t know where he thought this was headed. Frankly, neither did she.
The more she contemplated it, the more she worried that she, too, may be getting the wrong idea. She couldn’t stop thinking about his kiss, about what it might feel like if he pulled her into his arms again. His very bare, very muscular arms, that waited just out of reach.
“But why?” she asked. “Why are you doing your best?”
He took a long, slow step toward her, a storm brewing in his cloudy blue eyes. “Ask me what you really want to know.”
A shiver shot straight from her core up her spine. “This agreement isn’t fair to you,” she continued, ignoring him.
He took another step. The salty scent of the sea wafted from him toward her.
“And you were nearly killed.”
Another step.
Her back touched the wall. She should be shouting at him, but no words came out. Her breath faltered and her head spun. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body against hers. But she wanted him closer.
“Do you actually care for me?” Her question came out so softly she wondered if she’d even spoken it aloud.
Slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to shy away, his hand reached for her face. She leaned into it, unable to stop herself. His voice broke, sending another rush of excitement through her as he gave his answer.
“Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Her eyes hadn’tleft his lips for the entirety of their conversation, excepting the singular moment when she stared straight at his bare chest and arms. Cormac knew that he played with fire, but that kiss awakened something within him that had slumbered for far too long. And, in spite of her rejection of him the night he’d kissed her, she wasn’t running off just yet.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, his hands aching to reach for her again.
She shook her head, her full, pouty lips parting beneath his thumb.
