Murdoch nodded. “True enough. True enough. Thetúathcovered by this new king is strategic. We need someone of great influence and power to keep our coasts protected.” He turned to Pádraig. “What say ye? Do ye have what it takes to defend this land? Yer father wasri túaithefor a considerable number of years.”
So the questioning began. Pádraig shifted to a more amicable stance and accepted the seat that had been brought to him. He nodded, but before he could respond, Marcán interjected. “And I heard he kept ye under his thumb rather than have ye share in the oversight.”
Mumbles rippled beside him as the others at the heavy, wooden table considered his words. The redhead remained apart, his eyes darting between the other men and Pádraig. Marcán was confident he had indeed located the compromised member.
The narrowing of Pádraig’s eyes was the only indication that Marcán’s comment had hit its mark.
“Ye are in error, Marcán. My father took me with him always; in battle, to the villages, even having me sit beside him when complaints were brought forth. I have vast experience in caring for our clan lands.” He turned to include the others before continuing. “And have done him quite proud in how quickly I’ve learned.”
The mumbles shifted to a more accommodating tone.
“And yet he is not among us to say so.” Marcán paused, feeling the eyes of the others upon him. “Was it in battle then that I heard ye were found lacking?”
A quiet hush fell across the men as well as those gathered around, their eyes wide with wonder at the accusation. And by the look on Pádraig’s face, he was seething. Marcán’s chest filled with anticipation at the opportunity to finally knock this man on his arse. When Pádraig stood to drop the sack from his side and the mantle from his shoulders, Marcán did the same, his eager fists clenching at his sides.
But Murdoch quickly rose to stop them. With his hands patting the air in a conciliatory gesture, he said, “Gentlemen, please. Settle yerselves as we address this matter peaceably.” His light eyes, shaded with a thick gray brow, shifted from Pádraig to settle on Marcán. “Once peace has beenprovedineffective, we will certainly see the matter dealt with in this manner. Are ye agreed?”
Marcán inclined his head in acceptance, settling again on the bench. He could certainly wait for his chance to kick Pádraig’s arse.
“I have never heard such a thing, Marcán.” The redhead leaned forward to make eye contact with him. “Pádraig made his father quite proud in all he accomplished.”
“My thanks,” Pádraig said. “I see both yer sons quickly following in my tracks.”
And thus the means by which Pádraig had acquired his support was revealed. No doubt Eric or Eoghan would be namedtánaiste. Murdoch continued with the questions, others at the table joining in, and Marcán bided his time.
Before too long, a break was called, and Marcán could not get away soon enough. Although he had noticed Astrid in the crowd, she’d avoided looking directly at him. But he couldnotavoid her. She was like the moon in a cloudless night, calling his eyes to her, beckoning him not to look away. From the graceful manner with which she’d settled on the blanket beside her mother—whose tongue never stopped flapping—to the way she kept gazing off into the distance, toward the unseen ocean, her shoulders straight and proud, he couldn’t focus on anything but her. And he moved toward her at his first opportunity.
“Astrid?” Marcán’s voice was quiet, his eyes on Beibhinn, who had just left.
Astrid’s bright blue eyes widened at the sight of him and her lowering lashes did not hide a look of excitement.
“I have missed ye.”
Astrid shook her head. “Ye should not say such things.”
With the slightest brush of his fingers across her cheek, he savored the feel of her before dropping his hand and looking around to see that no one observed him. “’Tis how I feel… and ye as well.”
“I do not.”
If not for the tightness in her voice, Marcán might have actually believed her. Beibhinn had managed yet again to twist Astrid to her will. Should he tell them both of Diarmuid’s blessing? Mayhap not. Astrid clearly believed that he, Marcán, would give up on her. He needed to show her that there were no lengths to which he would not go for her.
“Ye forget how well I know ye.”
Others were busy around them as food and drink were brought to a side table set up for that purpose. He took the opportunity to move in closer, again glimpsing over his shoulder.
“Look at me, my love.” His voice was quiet, but the finger that tipped her head up to his was insistent.
Her eyes were filled with tears. “Do not.”
“I will.” He thumbed the single tear slipping down her cheek. “Ye will not cry on account of me.”
“I have no choice.”
“Ye do.” With his palm flat against her cheek, he lowered his lips to hers for the gentlest of kisses. The taste was sweeter than he remembered, the softness of her lips a boon to his shredded nerves. Despite his desire to ignore all around them, he heard the surprised sounds of the crowd, followed by quiet murmurings about this public display. He pulled back enough that he could look into her eyes. “Ye are not alone, my love. I am here with ye. I will stand beside ye against any that look to hurt ye even when ’tis yer own flesh and blood. I vow this to ye. Always.”
Her eyes rounded. “I love ye and will love ye until I have breathed my last.”
The unexpected declaration caused a sudden tightness in his chest, and an aching began deep down inside him. “I have waited so very long for ye. Do not push me away now that we have found each other.”
