She nodded.
He scratched his cheek before narrowing his gaze on her. “A-and ye?”
His words were packed with meaning, but she gave him a sad smile and met him halfway. “I am fine. Just concerned for Diarmuid’s wife.”
Faolán glanced off the way the men had gone. “But w-we have our o-own p-problems, ye a-and I.”
His level gaze was unrelenting and heat rose in her face. She needed to stop this. When she began to push past him, Faolán grabbed her arm. While not a harsh action, it was not at all like Faolán.
“Y-ye lied to m-me about Pádraig.”
“I did not! And ye’ve no reason to believe that.”
He pointed a finger at the crook of her neck. “I-I do not know of a-any other way a w-woman can get a m-mark like that e-except by a man’s mouth, suckling her hard. U-usually w-while he takes his fill of her.”
Astrid immediately covered the place where he’d been looking. She met his gaze while her mind worked frantically to come up with a reasonable explanation. Damn her for not checking herself. Then again, she wouldn’t even know what such a mark would look like, but Marcán would. He must have seen it as well.
The door to the roundhouse slammed open and her mother came out, a beaming smile on her face. “Astrid!”
Faolán stood his ground, lowering his voice. “If the man returns while I am in charge, Astrid, there will be blood.”
Her eyes rounded.
“Astrid! Come hither!”
Astrid yanked her arm from him and hurried toward the roundhouse, turning the marked side of her neck away. Faolán followed close behind.
“Well? How was yer ride with the handsome warrior?” Her mother’s eyes were bright with anticipation.
“Handsome w-warrior? Pádraig?” Faolán frowned.
“The most handsome,” Beibhinn gushed. “A wonderful match.”
He searched Beibhinn’s face, and Astrid could almost feel the wind changing around them. “Y-ye would have a m-match with the man?”
The woman held up her hand, glancing around in a secretive way before speaking. “Ye must not say a word! Diarmuid has much on his mind, so I will see to my daughter.”
Faolán nodded, his face an unreadable mask. “Y-ye w-would want this for yer daughter?”
Beibhinn’s brows slashed down. “Are ye daft, man? I have said as much. Go! Go… see to the fence.”
Now in a huff, she gave him her back. Faolán wandered toward theráth. Placing an arm around Astrid’s shoulder, Beibhinn turned her toward the roundhouse.
“How was yer ride?”
“Not as I had expected.”
Beibhinn’s expression was immediately filled with an emotion with which Astrid had become achingly familiar. Disappointment. “Oh, Astrid! Ye did not offend him, did ye?”
Astrid nearly choked on the very idea. “I did not offend him.”
Pádraig’s angry expression flashed through her mind. He had not liked being refused.
“Good. We do not want to do that. Pádraig hasalwaysbeen good to me, and that’s all I can go by.”
“I do not see Diarmuid working on any special alliances with them. Surely there is nothing that clan has that we would need.”
Beibhinn gave her a bland smile. Her mother’s belief that Astrid knew nothing was quite apparent. “Diarmuid is a warrior. He thinks like a warrior. He does not have civility and foresight—”
