Beibhinn gasped. “There is nothing wrong with Pádraig.”
“There is much wrong with that man.” Astrid shifted toward Faolán. “Tell my dear mother what ye know of him.”
“I know nothing for certain about Pádraig, but my eyes do not deceive me, Astrid.”
Heat stole over her face when she remembered the sound of the door. She would not dirty that special moment by discussing it now. “Then surely ye shared how ye came upon Pádraig accosting me.”
Beibhinn was only momentarily distracted. She quickly reclaimed control of the situation with her loud, overbearing voice. “Enough, daughter. Do not attack the messenger. I trust his word that he heard ye speak of Marcán to Aednat.”
Astrid hesitated. Relief, however brief, washed over her.
“Ye may leave us, Faolán,” Beibhinn said, taking advantage of Astrid’s distraction. “Sit, Astrid. Hear me.”
Astrid did as she bid but refused to acknowledge Faolán’s departure, fighting down the unease that churned in her gut.
“I have cared for my children the best way I knew how. Mayhap I have not always done the right thing, but ’twas never for want of trying.” She glanced at Astrid, who nodded on cue. “I’ve loved ye all, and when Fergus died I… I felt as if my heart had been ripped from my chest.”
As Beibhinn wiped at the copious tears that seemed so genuine, Astrid’s own eyes began to water. She missed her little brother and wondered what kind of man he would have grown to become. Probably very much like Diarmuid. But Beibhinn’s voice called Astrid back from her wistful thoughts.
“That was when I knew I would never belong here. Not ever. If I’d had my wish, I’d have remained with my clan and never come to this God-forsaken place. Especially now…”
Astrid knew how much her mother disliked their clan, but she could never agree with her assessment. Her mother’s animosity was very hard to understand.
“…when yer brother has married himself a healer.”
Astrid had noticed her mother’s clipped attitude with Diarmuid’s wife. All her talk of Aednat’s powerful connections had fallen away. “Aednat is a good woman—”
Beibhinn halted her with her hand. “I cannot abide by such devil worship in my own home. I am happy to say I’ve found a way back to the clan of my youth, but I need yer help.”
The gray eyes that met Astrid’s were wide with accusation, and she shriveled up inside at the thought of the confrontation that was finally about to take place.
“Mother, I do not—”
“Ye’ve always been a good daughter to me. Always. And I know that.”
Astrid dare not breathe, though she was certain her eyes were wide with fear.
“I cannot expect ye now to set aside yer own happiness for mine,” Beibhinn said.
Astrid sighed, her shoulders rounding with relief. The thought that perhaps her mother did somewhat care for her was comforting.
Her mother continued, “I am an old woman and my life is near done now—”
Astrid fought against her trembling lip. Regardless of how her mother behaved, Astrid would miss her terribly when she passed.
“—Ye are still young with yer life ahead of ye. Certainly yer happiness means more to me than my own. I grant ye that…”
Beibhinn’s voice trailed off, and Astrid waited for her to resume. Her confusion had to be apparent on her face, but Beibhinn gave no indication of noticing.
“So I will stay,” Beibhinn said, “spending my remaining days here among these people. I will learn to make do.”
Astrid’s guard slipped, her vulnerability open. “I love ye,mamaídh. I will see that ye are well cared for always.”
Beibhinn nodded in a thoughtful way, and Astrid became aware of the guilt growing in her. Guilt for ever having questioned her mother’s motives. Guilt for believing her mother would choose her own happiness over that of her daughter. Guilt for a hundred times that she’d wished her mother would leave her alone.
“But I find I cannot stay and be quiet any longer.”
And like that, Astrid’s need to escape shot high into the air like an arrow seeking a target.
