“I’m harassing you because I know you’re trouble.”
“You and I have different ideas of trouble.” He made to step around her.
Astrid intercepted him again. “He’s not going to marry either of them.”
“That choice lays with Sitric.”
“You’re wasting your time,” she insisted, hoping the vehemence in her tone would convince him of the truth of her words.
“Are you not in charge of the household, sister?” Her brother appeared beside them, though she hadn’t noticed his approach. “These men look weary. We should let them rest before we battle them, else the fight will not be fair and the victory hollow at best.”
“Of course,” she acquiesced tightly. Plastering on a smile dripping with irritation, she turned to Cormac. “Allow me to take you to the baths.”
It took every ounce of her will to do as her brother bid her, leading the guests to their waiting baths and showing the ladies to their rooms.
When she stepped away from delivering Cormac, he blocked her path as she had his. Piercing azure eyes burned right through her, sending a shiver down her spine.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he growled, “but I’m not going to give up because of some meddlesome woman.” He leaned down toward her, so that she felt the warmth of his face before her. “I’m going to win.”
Chapter Four
That woman wastrying to kill him. No, not woman. That felt far too generous a term for the infuriating, conniving, irrational creature who insisted on following him about and thwarting his every move. Loudly. Like one of those shrieking creatures from the stories that Cara so loved. What were they called?
Ah, yes.
That harpy was trying to kill him.
The warm bath waters felt incredible. The luxury of a hot bath, unshared with his companions, did not go beyond Cormac’s notice. The harpy might be intent on shutting down the marriage negotiations, but it impressed him that her bitterness didn’t impact her hospitality. If you could call constant confrontation hospitality, that was.
Cormac had already stayed in Dyflin for over a fortnight before they’d traveled to Caiseal and back, so he’d grown accustomed to Astrid’s antics. For whatever reason, he served as her main target, though he and Illadan shared leadership of the Fianna with Broccan. It was a pity her temperament matched her fiery locks, for Cormac always held a weakness for red-haired beauties.
He needed to speak with Sitric privately, before his sister could poison his thoughts further. The King of Dyflin was a reasonable man, though capricious. If Cormac could explain the situation calmly and privately, ’twould be easily resolved.
Though the steaming water tempted him to linger, Cormac hurried to wash and dress so that he could hunt down Sitric before Astrid did. All of his men enjoyed their time in the Ostman settlement, the games plenty and their cares few. But Cormac could never truly relax, knowing that he need but step around the next corner and the red-haired devil would accost him. She didn’t intimidate him as much as she unnerved him. More than anything, Cormac hated losing control of his sensibilities—a thing that happened nearly every time he encountered her.
After his bath, Cormac found Sitric in the family hall, speaking with his mother and sister. The king’s holding in Dyflin consisted of a scattering of buildings ringed by a tall wooden fence and gate. Two halls, one for the family and one for guests, stood proudly in the center of the enclosure. Stables, kitchens, servants’ quarters, and the like lay beyond the halls.
The two halls were identical in design, each consisting of a long rectangular room flanked by individual rooms on the two longest sides. Doors took up the two shorter walls, and a hearth crackled night and day in the center of the hall. Pillow-covered chairs and benches formed seating areas, neatly tucked into each corner and littered with furs and blankets. Trestle tables and benches filled the rest of the space.
In one of the cozy corners of the family hall, Cormac interrupted a lively conversation between Sitric’s family. “Apologies for the intrusion,” he began, looking to Sitric, “but I’d like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”
With a sharp look in Astrid’s direction, Sitric rose, his smile smaller than it had been when they’d first arrived. “Of course. Let us find a quiet space.”
Out the back of the hall, they hurried through the pouring rain and into a small building that served as Sitric’s study. Though modest in size, the lush fabrics draped over chairs andthe crackling braziers gave it the same comforting quality as the halls. Cormac waited for Sitric to sit, then took his place in the seat opposite. Reclining in leisure, Sitric assessed him from afar before breaking the silence.
“I know what you would say.”
“Aye, you do,” Cormac agreed. “But I know not your thoughts.”
With measured words, Sitric turned to him. “I understand that Brian wants me wed to a bride from his kingdom. But I don’t want either of the ones he’s sent.”
Cormac nodded, playing the part of the sympathetic friend. And, for Cormac’s part, it wasn’t entirely an act. “He’s concerned that you intend to break the truce.”
“I have no such intentions,” Sitric asserted. “But sending me the choice of a pup or his own daughter—tell me you see the manipulation, Cormac.”
“Many a king has asked for Sláine’s hand. A man could do worse than become a son of Brian Boru. Perhaps he intended it as a sign of respect, an invitation to become family.”
“Or he trusts me so little that he must leash me like one of his hounds,” Sitric shot him an apologetic grimace. “No offense, of course.”
