A debate broke out between the three of them, but it faded into the back of her thoughts as Astrid groped for a plan. Brianwould never swear. She knew it, and she could hardly blame him for it, either. She despised the man, yes, but he’d risked everything to get to this point in his life, so close to uniting the kingdoms under his rule. He wasn’t cruel, but he was pragmatic, and Astrid knew he’d do everything in his power to avoid swearing to Malachy.
Her eyes scanned the harbor, from the cliff where her half-brother was being held hostage to the far northern horizon filled with masts and sails. The wind blew hard, whipping the sails against their ropes, the ships swaying in their berths.
And then it hit her.
Striding in between her bickering family, Astrid hushed them all. “I have an idea,” she announced. “But it’s risky.”
Chapter Thirty
“Risky” did notbegin to cover the incredible danger of Astrid’s plan. Bold and clever, aye. But so many things could go wrong, and all of them put lives at risk—Duncan’s in particular.
The despair of his last conversation with Astrid yet crushed him, but Cormac pushed it out of his mind. He knew she could never forgive him for battling Sitric. Even if she did, there would always be a rift between them—his oath to Brian. No matter how much she loved him, he didn’t expect her to betray her family any more than he could his. Fate, it seemed, conspired against them at every turn.
Cormac’s mind raced as he urged his horse up the steep hill to the top of the cliff. They needed to get to Cahill with all speed so that Astrid had enough time to enact her plan without him noticing.
They were the distraction.
The Fianna arrived first, as planned, to draw Cahill’s attention away from the harbor while Brian and his guards made their way up to bargain with Cahill.
It was the same promontory where Astrid took him to watch the Northern Lights dance across the sky—a memory he held dear in spite of its bittersweet ending. The cloudy afternoon cast a grey pall over the clifftop, the trampled grass and littering of stones and bare earth as gloomy as Cormac’s mood.
Cahill’s men stood nearest, forming a line to protect Cahill, Teague, and Duncan, who perched far too close to the cliff’srugged edge. It was a steep fall, but not so high that the distance alone might kill a man. The rocks that jutted out along the cliff and those hidden beneath the sea, however, were deadly.
“You’re not a villain,” Cormac called to his father. “You won’t kill a boy.”
The Fianna dismounted, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a line that faced Cahill’s men. It would be an easy fight—hardly a battle—but it put Duncan’s life at too great a risk to simply attack. Cormac wanted to believe that whatever their disagreement, his father wouldn’t actually harm young Duncan, but it wasn’t a risk he was prepared to take. That trust had been shattered the day Cahill turned his back on his children.
“Hostages are a part of war,” Cahill called back. “As are casualties.”
Cormac didn’t much care for that answer. “What game do you play, then? Hostages always serve a purpose.”
“All I require is Brian’s oath of loyalty to Malachy and a guarantee of peace. Where is he?”
“He’s on his way.” Cormac couldn’t let Cahill turn behind him, else he’d see Astrid and Sitric hard at work, ruining their plan. It all hinged on the element of surprise. If they lost that, they may lose Duncan.
“Is this why you came?” Cormac shouted angrily. “To capture a boy?”
“I came to ally with Sitric,” Cahill spat, “but that proved a fruitless endeavor. The boy is the next best option. Better, even, if it stops all this battling.”
“You could stop fighting, you know,” Conan growled. “You invade Mumhain as often as we retaliate.”
Hoofs sounded behind them as Brian and his guards appeared behind the Fianna. Brian’s eyes blazed in fury as he took in the sight before him.
“Give me my son, Cahill,” he demanded.
“I could say the same thrice over,” Cahill shot back. “You stole three of my sons and my only daughter. It seems fitting I should take one of your children.”
“You abandoned us!” Cormac knew he should stay silent and let Brian negotiate, but his heart hammered in outrage. “You disowned us—your own children. You cast us aside without even the courtesy of a conversation.”
“I told you to come with me. You refused. I left.” Cahill shrugged. “What would you have had me do?”
“We were still of fostering age, and I’d spent the past seven years with Brian. Of course I would choose to stay. I hardly remembered life in Connachta.”
“You wish you’d chosen differently then, boy? Is that it?” Cahill smirked. “Swear your oath to Malachy and I will take you back.”
Cormac’s fists clenched at his sides. Why had he wasted so many years angry with this man? Swallowing his anger, he shook his head, feeling so much like the boy he’d been that night so long ago.
“No, you’re right,” he managed. “There’s no sense in anger unless I would change the outcome.” He looked his father dead in the eyes. “And I would not.”
