“Tellye?No.” Determination covered the man’s face. “A-a special lass, that o-one.”
Damn!
Marcán refused to flinch. “We all feel that way about the sister of ourri túaithe,” he said.
Faolán’s jaw visibly tightened, his animosity toward Marcán all but pouring out of him.
“I-is that the w-way ye feel a-about her, M-Marcán?”
Marcán gazed out toward the field, crossing his arms about his chest, ignoring Faolán’s unrelenting gaze. While Marcán had no problem telling this man or any other how he truly felt about Astrid, she had asked him to wait. As difficult as it was, he wished to honor that.
“I feel just fine about her.” Marcán pointed toward the far side of the field. The raised dirt wall protecting the animals was more prominent from this angle. Faolán’s job was to secure the palisades atop the banks as needed. “And I see some damaged stakes that require repair. Come find me when ye’re done with that.”
Disappointment at the order was quickly replaced with anger. “But I-I a-am to relieve Diarmui—”
“Rest assured.Iwill see to Diarmuid.Yedo as I command.”
Marcán went back within, shutting the door as the man huffed away. Back in the enclosed space, he breathed in the scent of Astrid that still lingered. Nothing about her should have surprised him after all these years of knowing her, of desiring her, but her passion was even more intense than he had guessed. It near overwhelmed him until he was struck with how well matched they were, how satisfying it was to be with a lass who always demanded more.
Taking the dry cloth from the side of the bath, he headed down the road to the stone longhouse, built in the style of the Norsemen, where Diarmuid sat with his wife. Marcán prayed he was wrong about Aednat’s condition and that she would recover quickly. The man was smitten with her and the realization was hitting him hard. If the situation were less dire, Marcán would have laughed. Diarmuid finally understood how it felt, being helplessly in love with a woman who was his entire world.
Chapter 11
Merewyn’s incessant chatter was trying Astrid’s patience. At first, she’d believed the girl was interesting. She certainly had a great amount of knowledge. Walking into the roundhouse with Merewyn at her side—chatting away—had made Astrid feel less conspicuous about her long absence. Now, hours later, Astrid felt like a prisoner to the girl’s mouth. She couldn’t seem to get any distance from her. Her only choice was to send her somewhere else.
“Merewyn?”
The auburn-haired lass ceased her talking and turned to her with an expression of anticipation. “What d’ye need me to do for ye, Astrid?”
And just like that, Astrid felt like an unappreciative mistress. Merewyn was trying to please her. Earlier, the smaller children had been stomping all over her last nerves, and Merewyn had helped calm them, telling them in an even tone that their mistress preferred the sweet clover to the bitter dandelions. Settling beside the hearth, Astrid held the mending in her lap. That her fingers refused to stop shaking and her nether regions were more than tender was not Merewyn’s fault.
When Merewyn settled on the ground beside her and took theléinewith the torn elbow out of her hands, Astrid tried not to sigh in relief.
“Sometimes ’tis difficult to settle down to work.” Merewyn paused, a great crease in her forehead as she pulled one thread and then another, trying to work out the mess Astrid had created. “And ye do seem to be having quite a bit of difficulty. D’ye not care for children?”
“I love children.”
“Ah, then ’tis all the same feelings causing yer grouchiness.”
The woman’s perception was a bit too sharp, but her ability with the needle could not be denied.
“Glad I am that ye are well-trained in mending.”
Astrid glanced toward the door again. She’d hoped Marcán would follow her in, but there had been no sign of him. All the men were missing. And though many worked the fields, it was more likely the warriors were preparing for another battle. There were men who had escaped Oengus’s camp, men they would wish to find and imprison.
“He went to see Diarmuid.” Merewyn’s voice was so quiet, Astrid wasn’t sure she’d heard her correctly.
“Who?”
Merewyn gave her a wide-eyed glance before returning to the mending. “Ye know.”
Astrid swallowed. “I do not.”
With a huff, Merewyn dropped the material in her lap, glanced around the empty room, and returned Astrid’s gaze. “I am a good help to ye, am I not?”
“I have yet to decide—”
“When they tried to search ye out last night, I distracted them. Easy enough to do with yer mother, but Faolán was more difficult.”
