“I do not wish to marry him.”
“Ye do not have a say.”
“Why would I not?”
“Because ye have expressed yer interest. Ye’ve approached him with the idea. He has decided to accept ye as his wife.”
Her world seemed to be spinning out of control. Beibhinn made it sound as if it were a signed agreement.
“But Diarmuid has not—”
“Yer brother is of little use to anyone.” She shook her head in a display of sheer exasperation. “He is preoccupied with that woman, but—”
“Hiswife!” Astrid spat the words at her.
Already Beibhinn was speaking ill of the woman who required Diarmuid’s time. Astrid feared how her mother would react upon learning Diarmuid’s wife was a healer.
When Beibhinn turned her censuring eyes on her, Astrid refused to back down.
“Aednat. Is. His. Wife!” The need to defend the woman became overwhelming. “Did ye not just spend time with her? She’s a lovely woman.”
“She did not even know I was there, and I do not like this show of disrespect.”
“He is not…” Astrid stopped talking when she noticed her mother’s suddenly shocked expression. The woman stood, her eyes wide and fixed on a man who’d just entered the roundhouse. He wore dark brown trews and a tunic as green as moss. The gold chain around his waist spoke of great wealth, as did the layers of cloth covering him.
“Fintan?” Beibhinn’s lips curled into a huge smile, and she gestured to the fair-haired man. “Fintan, come! Sit beside me. What brings ye here?”
It was not anyone Astrid recognized, but clearly her mother knew him quite well, even hugging his arm when he sat beside her. Her mother was not very demonstrative and to see her behavior now was surprising in the extreme, sending all other concerns from Astrid’s mind.
“Beibhinn, it has been too long. I came to rectify that.” Their hands were clasped as if they were close friends.
“Ithasbeen far too long.” The woman nodded, that slow, sad, agreeable nod that always came right before she moved into her lamenting. “Wherever have ye been, my friend?”
Astrid had no patience for her mother’s usual discontent. She smiled around the woman. “Fintan, is it? I am called Astrid.”
“Ah, Astrid, I remember ye well.” The man’s face creased with his broad smile. “Not yet a woman when last I saw ye at yer mother’s side.”
Her mother also laughed. “And so she still remains with me. A good daughter.”
Astrid flinched at her mother’s assessment. “Would that be when my father still lived?”
Fintan lowered his eyes. “Ah, yer father. Kane was a great man indeed.”
Astrid’s chest tightened at the sentiment.
Fintan nodded before lifting his gaze to her. “D’ye know he was named for the son-in-law of ourárd rí? A mighty warrior! He was aptly named.”
Astrid flushed with pride. “Thank ye for sharing that with me. I did not know.”
“Enough!” Beibhinn shifted forward, blocking Astrid’s view of the man, and raised a hand to those waiting to serve the meal. “Names are seldom prophetic.”
Fintan leaned forward just a bit and winked at Astrid before settling back. Astrid turned away to smile. She would need to speak to this man if given the chance. Her mother had such a poor opinion of her father, Astrid sometimes wondered if her own memories of him were true. He had always seemed bigger than life to her, and she still missed him more than she could say.
“Astrid?”
Beibhinn’s irritated tone yanked Astrid out of her musings. And now her mother raised her eyebrows, not hiding her annoyance.
“Well? Do ye agree or not?”
