Daimhin’s breasts—she could hear Marcán’s voice describing how they hung “like heavy fruit”—were crowned with a thick gold chain. It was suddenly difficult to string two thoughts together, but Astrid managed to pry her jaw loose. “I do not believe he has much idle time.”
Daimhin merely glanced at Astrid. Beibhinn, however, hadn’t missed Astrid’s flat tone. Turning to her, she asked, “Is aught amiss?”
Astrid was not about to even try to respond, her hands clenching into fists on her lap.
Daimhin smiled at Beibhinn. “I had just asked on Marcán. Is he about?”
“Oh, yes, Daimhin! Do go and locate the man.” Pádraig said, his wide, innocent eyes barely pausing on Astrid before continuing to his sister, but Astrid did not miss it. He was being intentionally cruel. “Sure I am that the man will be more than pleased to tarry withye.”
Daimhin stood. “I wish to rekindle our friendship.”
He laughed. A loud, attention-getting bark. Like a seal. Astrid tightened her jaw, the image of ripping her nails down the man’s face, drawing blood, relieving some of her ire.
“Rekindle what ye like,” he said. “Ye’ve yet to find a suitable man. Mayhap he is the one.”
It took every ounce of Astrid’s control to not jump up and shove the woman as hard as she could, knocking her flat on her arse. But taking her ire out on Daimhin would not satisfy her—if she relented to the violent wish, she would then want to throw herself at Pádraig with fists flailing.
“Mayhap.” Daimhin nodded and went off through the throng of people, a sweet smile for everyone she passed.
Astrid counted to five before she stood herself.
“Where are ye off to?” Beibhinn asked.
“Ye seem fine. I will make sure Fintan is set for the night.”
Pádraig started to stand, but Astrid impaled him with her look. “Do not!”
Her mother frowned.
Astrid adjusted her tone. “Ye can stay and enjoy yerself here. I will be back anon.”
With a yank of herléinefrom beneath the table, Astrid strode across the hall toward the door, looking neither left nor right. There was not a chance she would be returning. Everyone in her path parted once they saw the expression on her face, but she did not care what they thought of her. There was no way Daimhin was going to getcloseto Marcán. Not if Astrid had anything to say about it.
Chapter 14
Marcán had been on his way to find Diarmuid when Gréagóir intercepted him. The hostages were acting up and refused to settle down, which only added to the bad feeling he’d had in his gut since his return. Not being able to spend much time with Astrid had left him with a sense of disquiet.
“It may have been nothing, but Astrid gripped my hand as if I was saving her life.”
Marcán’s gut churned at the ominous words. “And it was Pádraig she was speaking with?”
Gréagóir looked uncomfortable, averting his gaze. “I would not say they were speaking.” When he finally looked back at Marcán, his stern expression had returned. “They seemed a bit too close, no disrespect intended.”
“None taken. Diarmuid may see the man as harmless, but I’m finding more reasons to think it may not be so. Had I the chance to share my concerns, I am certain ourri túaithewould agree with me. We must keep a close eye on that man.”
“And I’ve sent young Nechtan to do just that.” Gréagóir smiled. “I can pass it on to some of the others, as well. Pádraig will be kept under tight scrutiny. Astrid may be a handful, but she’s our handful. We’ll not see another taking advantage of her.”
Marcán smiled, unable to take offense at such an honest assessment. Gréagóir looked on Astrid as his own sister, or daughter, but never in an unkind way.
“So be it.” With time, Marcán hoped he could help Astrid move away from the lessons her mother had taught her. She would no longer be considered a handful. But Pádraig was more than a problem. He needed his own teaching—and Marcán would be more than happy to be the one to show him the error of his ways.
“I need to get inside before all the best meat is gone.” The man patted Marcán’s shoulder. “I’ll sit beside Ian and be sure we are of the same mind. Don’t worry yerself on it. She will be watched over.”
Blowing a heavy breath, Marcán watched the man until he disappeared down the path. Diarmuid was beside himself with concern for his wife. Marcán understood Astrid’s wish to give her brother time to heal, but things were getting out of hand. Pádraig was coming and going as he chose. That needed to stop, but unless the man was caught doing something offensive, Marcán could not overstep his power by ordering him out of thetúath.What was needed was for Diarmuid to return to his duty as their king.
Marcán continued down the small path leading through the woods that led to the longhouse of theri. He was the only one who could have this conversation with Diarmuid. It wouldn’t be a pleasant discussion, but the man had ignored his duties long enough.
“Marcán?”
