Eric merely shrugged, turning back to his brother, and smiled. “Is she even one of ours?”
The man’s hands slid down to grab her arse, his hips assuring all that his tarse pushed against her. The other two moved in closer, not keeping their hands off. The lass did not appear to protest, but Marcán had to be certain. He pulled on her bare arm to break her from the embrace.
Her mouth fell open, her hooded eyes flying open, too, and an angry expression stole across her face. “Hey!”
“Ye’re wanting this attention?”
She wiped at her mouth, eyed him up and down with interest, and then smiled. “Aye, and I would be pleased to have ye join us.”
He shook his head, more in disgust than in answer, and turned toward the next group. They were tall warriors, older than the other four, discussing Brian Boru in what sounded like a heated debate. No women among them.
“Marcán?” Eric called to him, pointing as he spoke. “If ’tis Astrid ye’re looking for, ye best follow the path back up through the woods.”
Eoghan again had his hands on the lass, making free with her along with the others, but she broke free to speak. “Do not fash yerself,” she said with a laugh. “Pádraig was with them.”
Them? With a clenched jaw and fisted hands, Marcán pushed his way through the brush to follow the path, no bigger than a deer trail. Astrid wouldn’t even be marriageable if Pádraig got his hands on her. Diarmuid cared for his sister, but he was tempting fate by leaving her unmarried so long. The lass was ripe to experience being with a man. She’d be in trouble if left on her own.
Her lilting laughter carried to him and he followed the sound.
“Oh, Pádraig.” Astrid’s voice.
The lower voices didn’t carry as well, but as he approached them, he saw there were four men in total with her.
Marcán’s blood rushed through his body like a river ready to flood its banks, his heart pumping as fast as if he were preparing for battle. And in truth he was, a battle for her innocence. He paused and watched, forcing himself to regain control of his emotions before he went charging in.
Sitting in the small circle, Astrid leaned nearer to Pádraig and laughed again, her head tipping up and her shoulders dipping forward, giving them all an eyeful of her assets. Again she was offering herself up to any man with eyes in his head, and the men encircling her leaned in closer. Pádraig was the closest, touching her hair and then her shoulder, but no doubt all were stiff in anticipation of accepting her blatant invitation. Removing the fur from his shoulders and draping it across his arms, Marcán approached.
“Astrid?” Marcán kept his tone low and controlled. “What d’ye here?”
The men stood, appearing surprised, ripped out of their lustful thoughts. That confusion swiftly changed to discomfort when they caught sight of Marcán’s expression. They moved away from her, opening the circle and allowing him a direct view of her, still seated beside Pádraig.
Her hair was tousled and her eyes were widely innocent. She dipped her head, eyeing the men from beneath her lashes.
“Nothing.” Her voice held a husky tone. “We are… talking.”
The men turned back to him and waited. Could they actually have any expectation of his consent? Mayhap in the Meic Murchadha clan. Marcán slowly gazed at each man in turn, looking him right in the eye, before finally settling his gaze again on Astrid.
“Do they all know ye are Diarmuid’s little sister?”
Each man took a step back. All but Pádraig, whose face maintained a look of superiority, his hand still on her shoulder like he owned her.
Marcán moved closer to Astrid, and the other men continued to yield, stepping even farther away. “Pádraig.”
“I thought ye were telling yer stories, Marcán,” Pádraig said.
Marcán looked at his hand on Astrid’s shoulder. And waited. Time slipped by. One of the other men coughed, and Pádraig finally removed his hand. Heaving a deep sigh, he moved to stand with the others. Marcán refused to acknowledge Astrid’s crestfallen expression when he extended his hand to her.
“And I thought ye would keep to yer own women rather than taking advantage of an innocent lass.” Marcán handed the man his fur.
“This lovely lass asked me to show her the hot springs.”
When Marcán looked again at Astrid, he had hoped for some show of guilt. Instead, he was met with a defiant glare.
“Oh did she?” Marcán asked as he shifted his gaze to the other men. “Were ye afraid ye’d lose yer way on yer own?”
Pádraig offered a small smile. “If the lass wishes for the men to join us, they are more than willing, and I do not object.”
The man was speaking of accepting the offer he’d believed she was making. Marcán tasted blood where he’d bitten his cheek to hold back his angry words. Rather than speak to Pádraig, whom he was tempted to strike, he turned to Astrid. “Did ye wish for more from these men than seeing the hot springs?”
