“I-I care for y-ye.”
“Then leave! I want ye gone.” She pointed at the door but he didn’t budge. “Now!”
Her screeching voice echoed against the stone walls and tears filled her eyes.
Faolán finally dropped his arms, his shoulders relaxing. “Whether y-ye believe me o-or not, I-I have o-only ever a-acted i-in yer best i-interest. R-remember that.”
When he turned and finally left, Astrid was overcome with a sense of doom. Something in Faolán’s features. Determination? Resignation? He of all people should understand how close she’d come to having a man force himself on her. He of all people should realize it was better for her to give herself to a man who loved her than to be taken by one who did not.
Astrid hated the woman she became when she lost control, so like her mother. Her voice growing louder and louder. Deep down she knew it came from her sense of having no control over anything.
“I am sorry for yelling, sister.” Astrid took Aednat’s hand again. “We have much to discuss. Plans to make. Celebrations.”
She glanced around the empty room before kneeling beside the bed, her face close to Aednat’s. Her voice a whisper. “I have found the love of my life.”
Even saying the words thrilled her and she smiled. It would not be long now before everyone knew.
“A better man does not exist. Well, ye may believe there does since ye are married to my brother, and he is indeed a good man. But no. Not like this man.”
Their decision to wait until Aednat was better made their time together seem more like a dream than reality. She felt a powerful need to speak about it. Approaching Diarmuid with the news was the first step toward making it true. As king of their clan, he had the right to deny the joining, but she could not believe he would do such a thing.
“A wonderful man. Very brave. And handsome!” She looked at Aednat. “I should not tease ye. I have not even told ye his name.” Astrid glanced around again. She was being more than silly. “’Tis Marcán.”
Having said the word outside of her head was refreshing. She settled against the wall, bending her knees up to support her arms. “I did not even know how much I cared for him. He always seemed more of a nuisance, but…” Memories flashed through her mind like the lights dancing across the sky in winter. “…I see now how much he has always loved me. I realize he is the only man for me.”
She lowered her forehead to her knees and felt again the heat of his hands sliding along her skin, the twinkle in his eyes when he smiled down at her, the gentle touch of his lips against hers.
“Astrid?”
Startled, Astrid dropped her arms. She must have fallen asleep. Diarmuid stood there in his mail, covered with mud and spattered with blood. He reached a hand toward her. Marcán stood behind him, his expression expectant.
“Ye have returned!” She sounded out of breath as she stood to greet them. Hugging first her brother and then Marcán, who held her tight. “Praise God.”
“How is she?” The first words out of Diarmuid’s mouth were not a surprise, his eyes staying on Aednat.
“There is no change,” Astrid said, her tone more wistful than she’d intended.
“Did something happen?”
“I believe there may be a change now that ye have returned. She loves ye,” she said. Marcán held Astrid’s hand in his tight grip, hiding it behind her back. “She would not leave ye alone like this.”
Her brother turned to her with a surprised expression, no doubt at her sentiment, but she averted her gaze, afraid he would see the new love spilling out of her.
Instead, Diarmuid smiled, glancing between the two of them. “I agree.” Settling beside his wife, he brushed an imaginary strand of hair from her face, his loving gaze taking in every aspect of her. “And how is my sweet Aednat?”
His voice dropped to an intimate level, and Astrid’s heart tightened with pain for her brother. She was suddenly awash with guilt at her own happiness.
“But certainly she is healing on the inside,” she said. She wanted to encourage him. “Eating both broth and wine, she will return to health soon.”
Marcán squeezed her hand, but she did not turn to him. His breath was loud in her ear, her entire body attuned to him. When Diarmuid sighed in resignation, she became overwhelmed with shame and moved away from Marcán, forcing him to release her hand.
“I am sorry, Diarmuid. Certainly her recovery will come to pass very soon,” she said.
His breathing deepened. “Call for Maeve.” He bellowed the words. “I will have answers!”
Astrid cringed as each of his words grew louder than the last. He was letting loose his anger, and she couldn’t jump to do his bidding fast enough. “I will send her to ye.”
“I will return as well,” Marcán added, seemingly unaffected by the look Diarmuid turned on him.
