“He led us to a small path in the woods.” A verydarkpath. “When he called other men to join us, I tried to explain we needed to speak alone, but he said we would talk later.”
He’d actually told the men to come “for some entertainment,” which had shaken her confidence a bit, though surely Marcán had been mistaken about their intentions.
“We’d settled on the ground. Pádraig placed a protective arm around me.”
Astrid knew she had very little with which to attract attention from someone as handsome and powerful as Pádraig. If she wanted to get herself married, she needed to continue to take bold steps, so she had tapped down her trepidation.
“I thought that Pádraig may have needed to speak to these men, so I laughed at their jokes while they passed around a wineskin.” Their jokes had nearly burned her ears with their bawdiness. “And I kept his attention. I did!”
Her mother was still smiling as she nodded, encouraging the story.
“The other men, too, so I’d hoped they would leave—”
The smile dropped. “Do not tell me ye insulted the man by saying as much!”
“Of course I said no such thing. I was very pleasant. Very interested in all they said.” She’d even encouraged their interest in her. It had made her feel powerful again. Wanted. “I had just hoped the others would leave.”
“Astrid!” Her mother’s scolding tone continued. “Do I need to remind ye how important this is to me? To us? I cannot stay another winter with yer father’s people.”
Astrid sighed. She’d heard the story enough times to recite it by heart. There was only one man her mother had ever loved. Only one man she had been willing to leave her own clan to marry, and that man was not Astrid’s father. The man Beibhinn had loved had been bewitched by a heathen woman.
“No,mamaídh. I am satisfied to accept him as my husband, but he does not ask!”
It made Astrid sad to think of her father being so despised by his wife. According to Beibhinn, he was the reason for all her unhappiness—and one needed only to spend a few moments with her to know she was a very unhappy woman. Astrid remembered her father differently. He had been a good man. A loving man. She had missed him desperately when his trips away from home had started to stretch out longer and longer. No doubt he had felt the loss of her little brother, Fergus, just as she still did. The only time she’d ever seen her father cry had been after Fergus’s death.
After that, when her father did come home, he never stayed long—until he finally stopped coming back at all. The occasional missive had done little to fill the hole in her heart from not seeing him. The day they received news of his death had been the saddest one of her life. He’d died in battle, his best friend andtánaistebeside him.
“Have I not explained to ye how this is done?”
Astrid nodded, but she did not like the idea of being sneaky. It went against her grain. She would prefer to be forthright. Approach him with the idea. Show him the merits of the two clans joining.
The furrow between her mother’s eyes deepened. “Ye had an opportunity with the man and… Oh well. Ye did yer best, I suppose.”
Desperation clawed at her gut. She would not be so easily defeated! Marrying Pádraig might be the only chance she’d have for a family, and with her mother helping her, it seemed like a real possibility.
“I was doing very well, but then Marcán—”
“Marcán?” Her mother spoke the man’s name as if it were poisonous. “What doeshehave to do with this?”
“He was afeared for my innocence and he brought me back—”
Beibhinn was on her feet in an instant, pacing the small space, a hand on her forehead and a fist at her hip. “That one! He is like a thorn in my side.”
Astrid’s lips parted. “What are ye saying? He is Diarmuid’s dearest friend.”
The woman turned her sharp gaze back to Astrid before pasting a smile on her face. “Ye have it right. Forgive me, Astrid. I fear I am overwrought. Marcán was no doubt looking out for ye.”
Settling down on the flat pallet, Beibhinn patted the spot beside her and Astrid took the seat. They sat in silence.
Astrid hesitated before sharing her idea. “I’d had a thought… to mayhap return? Seek Pádraig out again?”
“Could ye do that?”
Astrid shrugged. “The feasting is ongoing. I could slip in and see if I can get him alone again.”
She hated how conniving she sounded, but her mother enjoyed such things. If Astrid actually saw Pádraig and found an occasion to speak to him, her approach would be more direct.
“A fine idea.” Beibhinn stood beside her, smoothing her hair down. “Remember the importance of this.”
