“Mother, shall I see Fintan settled?” She turned to him. “Ye may return to the festivities if ye desire.”
Beibhinn seemed far away, and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on her daughter. “A fine thing for ye to see to, Astrid.”
Astrid stood along with Fintan.
“I need very little. A pallet would suffice.” He followed her through the door but stopped to look up at the star-filled skies. “A lovely night.”
Glancing up, she nodded. “A night sky without a single cloud is very good indeed.”
“Ye sound as if ye’re pronouncing an omen.”
She scoffed. “I do not believe in such things.”
He glanced back at the roundhouse. “And if I remember yer mother, ’tis a good thing ye do not. Is she still so bent on ferreting out wrongdoers?”
“She believes she alone is capable of it, and if the priest concurs? So be it. But if he does not, he too may receive an earful.”
Astrid led the way to a small roundhouse opposite the large one, seldom used and hidden among the overgrown trees. A place of honor for visitingfili. A king’s reputation could be made or broken by the words of a man such as this. And those words would be repeated far and wide. His opinion mattered, so he was always well treated.
When Fintan reached the closed door, he turned toward Astrid. “I do not mean any disrespect to yer mother, but ye do realize her views are quite contrary?”
His eyes were intent, their brightness reflecting the moon hanging just behind her.
Astrid shrugged. “It matters not what others believe as long as we cater to whatshebelieves.”
“It cannot be an easy thing to sit beside her, and ye with such a tender nature. Have ye never considered speaking to her about her baleful behavior?”
Astrid would have laughed at such an outrageous question but for the pang it caused in her heart. “She has little respect for me or my opinion. Diarmuid has managed to keep her from doing too much harm.”
“Yer father always considered ye his brightest child.”
Her chest tightened. “He did?”
Fintan cupped her cheek, staring at her with a gentle expression. “He thought the world of ye and only wanted the best for his only lass.”
“Would that he had seen to a betrothal for me when last he was here, I would no longer be under Beibhinn’s thumb.”
“He tried. Repeatedly. Yer mother refused her consent, and even though he could have forced his will, as was his right, he was tired of the constant bickering. Like ye, he preferred peace in his own home.”
Fintan averted his gaze, but Astrid knew he wanted to say more. She had a prick of a memory of him as a younger man, his hair less gray. Her father had been there, and the two men had been speaking so seriously that Astrid had felt the need to break the tension and approached them with her freshly collected wildflowers.
“I will miss seeing this one most of all.”
Astrid closed her eyes against the painful memory. Certainly, she must be remembering it incorrectly… When she opened her eyes, Fintan’s sad, expressive gaze was on her.
“Ye remember his leaving, don’t ye?” he asked.
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she nodded.
“He did not want to leave ye here, but he could not remain and be subjected to her nastiness.”
She sniffled, wiping the dampness from her cheeks before speaking. “I remember my father as a wonderful man. Why was she so unhappy with him?”
Fintan shook his head, his expression shifting to anger. “Yer mother believed she was meant for another, and she would never let it go.”
“A-Astrid?”
So intent on their conversation, they were startled to be interrupted by Faolán, who stopped a few feet away.
