“I wondered when you’d finally come and face me like men,” he muttered when they stopped before him.
Diarmid let out a low whistle.
“Hello to you, too,” Cormac answered, fighting to stay calm in the presence of the man who’d so easily cast him aside.
“You’re lucky none of the women heard you,” Conan told him. “I can think of four in this very room who’d love to prove that sentiment wrong.”
“Six,” Cormac corrected him, recalling that the two brides sent by Brian were spirited enough to take exception to his father’s poor choice of greeting.
“I must admit,” Cahill began in a condescending tone, the sound of his voice sending Cormac straight back to his childhood, “I understand why Brian would insist Sitric marry his daughter. For reasons of subjugation, of course, and the ostensible keeping of the peace. But I fail to see how having you also marry the sister accomplishes anything further and, if that was indeed his intent, why he didn’t simply demand it as part of the agreement?”
“Brian did not ask me to compete,” Cormac replied drily.
Cahill raised a wild, bushy brow, the one riven by a jagged scar. “That might lead me to assume you are so inadequate that you must compete for the princess’s hand instead of simply asking for it. Not afraid she’d deny you, are you?”
Cormac knew better than to expect civility from his father, yet he’d still dared to hope. “An interesting assessment,” he countered, “as you appear to be doing much the same, but with a poorer showing.”
Diarmid snickered and Conan grinned. Cormac forced himself to keep a straight face, knowing he’d landed a blow at last on his father. It was a pittance for payback, but it was a start.
“You’re quick to disparage your own brother.” Cahill nodded toward Teague, sitting beside Cairell in the far corner of the room.
“If you aren’t our father, how could he be our brother?” Cormac’s mirth disappeared. “Or have you forgotten our last conversation?”
“Why are you here, old man?” Conan interrupted.
Cormac had allowed his emotions to overwhelm his sense—the memory of his father’s rejection, of that feeling of being discarded like refuse threatening to swallow him. The moment he stood his ground, he nearly forgot their mission.
“Isn’t it obvious? We’re here to get Teague a wife.”
“You know Sitric cannot choose Teague, no matter his performance. You’re a right bastard, but you’re no fool. Brian would never allow such an alliance between former and current opponents.” Cormac leveled the challenge at his father, laying it all out on the table. He wasn’t one to mince words, and he wished to end this conversation as quickly as possible.
Cahill shrugged dramatically. “If the lady desires him, Sitric may not have a choice.”
A flicker of rage ignited, and Cormac felt it threatening to burst forth.
Diarmid placed a hand on his shoulder, as though he sensed the change in Cormac. Conan stepped between Cormac and the man who’d once been their father. “The lady’s feelings hold no sway in this matter,” Conan replied, taking Cormac’s place in the conversation. “Sitric knows it would cause trouble that he hasn’t the manpower to handle.”
Cahill’s eyes widened, brightening as he stared over Cormac’s shoulder. “Perhaps the lady herself can enlighten us,” he called, his voice sickeningly sweet.
They turned to find Astrid eyeing all of them suspiciously. “Perhaps,” she allowed tightly.
“We were discussing whether or not political prejudice may play a part in your brother’s selection of the victor,” Cahillinformed her. “I’d hate to see you lose an excellent partner out of malice for his circumstances.”
Astrid’s narrow nostrils flared, her jaw tightening. “An odd concern for someone who invited themselves to this tournament,” she quipped. “You’re lucky my brother didn’t turn you away the moment you arrived, as I’d have done. I suggest that instead of accusing him of malice, you thank him for his graciousness.”
Cahill’s gloating turned to fury, darkness flattening his features. Instead of biting back, he bowed to the princess, surprising Cormac.
Astrid, apparently finished with the exchange, turned and walked away. Cormac couldn’t take his eyes off the way her blue dress, the color of a robin’s egg in spring, fell enticingly around her narrow hips. His fingers itched to grab them, to pull her toward him. Shaking such foolishness from his head, he forced himself back to the problem of his father allying with Sitric.
Just as he’d predicted from the very beginning, this woman would be the death of him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Astrid waited forCormac outside the hall. Butterflies filled her stomach to bursting, as they had of late whenever they were about to meet. She carried an armful of blankets and a spare cloak, in case Cormac didn’t have his with him. Though bitter cold gripped the air, it was the first night in a month when the stars shone clearly. On nights like these, when it was so cold you could see your breath before you, sometimes the spirits of the ancestors fought in the skies above and put on a magnificent show for any who dared to seek them out.
It had only happened a handful of times in her life, but that didn’t stop Astrid from looking for them at every opportunity. Sitric told her that she was lucky to have seen them at all, as they tended to do battle the most over their homelands far to the north, where the skies were clearer and the nights colder.
“Are we camping?” Cormac asked, shaking her from her thoughts as he approached. Without a word, he grabbed the blankets, carrying them for her with a smile that made her heart pound.
