Turning to face Ian, Marcán wasn’t prepared for the look of disappointment and betrayal he saw there.
“Ian.”
“Is there truth to what Beibhinn said? Are ye a Seer?”
The others had drifted toward Marcán, standing idly by as if not listening. But they did listen. Intently. Tension was obvious in their closed mouths and stiff bodies. They were the same people who had so enjoyed his storytelling the night before. Just like that! It baffled him how quickly one word had changed their smiles and applause into suspicion and distrust.
Exhaling slowly, Marcán offered a tight smile to Ian. “And if I were a Seer, lad? Would I truly have indulged so in the poisoned mead?”
Ian frowned, considering his words, before offering a relaxed smile. “True! Not a Seer then.” He patted Marcán awkwardly on the shoulder and nodded.
The people around them seemed to relax as well, for they all went about their duties. He didn’t miss the few sidelong glances that continued to come his way. Suspicions had been ignited. Damn Beibhinn and her manipulative ways.
“My thanks, Ian. I hope to see ye again before too long,” Marcán said.
“I am not hopeful,” the lad said darkly. “My father is very ill. I am going to him now.”
“I will pray for his quick recovery this very night. Please give him my regards. I must return. I have… duties.”
Ian smiled, a knowing smile. “Aye. Astrid. Daimhin tells me she snuck off with Pádraig in the middle of the night.”
Without another word, Marcán raced into theráth, grabbing the first available mount.
* * *
By the time Pádraig got Astrid home, the sun had still not broken the horizon. At least in that instance, he had been true to his word. The more she pondered the events of the night, the more certain she became that he had always planned on having his way with her. And she had made it far too easy for him.
Her back ached from the effort of sitting as far from him as possible while on the same mount, but at least Faolán had insisted on accompanying them. Pádraig dared not appear openly disrespectful of her in the other man’s presence. He’d kept himself apart and allowed her to do the same. The yard was quiet—not even the animals were awake yet.
Faolán dismounted with them and moved to help her down. The look he received from Pádraig would have shriveled a lesser man. With both men ready to assist her, she clenched her jaw and leaned toward Pádraig. It was the only way to avert conflict. Once the man was gone, she’d never have to endure his touch again, and that could not be soon enough.
“I thank ye, Pádraig, for—”
“Faolán! Refreshments would be much appreciated.” Pádraig sounded as if he were at an inn, ordering drinks for all.
Faolán tipped his chin and walked to the roundhouse.
Stopping in front of the large wooden door without opening it, Faolán turned to Pádraig, who had followed him.
“Y-ye’ll have to w-wait there”—Faolán indicated a bench more than a stone’s throw away—“a-as the others are not yet awake.”
“I do not wait outside!” Pádraig’s voice was louder than it needed to be. He was clearly insulted.
“Hard working men and w-women require their rest. I-I will not have ye startling them from their sleep. Y-yer arrival in the middle of the night does not give y-ye license to w-wake everyone.”
“Ye’llnot have… are ye certain ye wish to continue in this manner?” Pádraig jutted out his chin, an intimidating gesture to be sure.
Faolán simply crossed his arms, revealing nothing on his face. Astrid wanted to cheer him on. Pat him on the back. Give him a big smile.
Pádraig turned his exasperated face toward her, his eyes wide in disbelief. She offered no response, and after another moment, he simply shook his head and walked toward the bench.
“My thanks,” she said to Faolán in a quiet voice.
Too late, she realized her mistake. She tried to push past him to go inside, but he was not having it.
“A-A-Astrid, d-do not let him get away w-with whatever he has done to ye. He is o-only one m-man.”
His sincerity melted her heart, but she couldn’t allow herself tears. She smiled. “’Tis fine. Ye’re imagining things again.”
