“If I had a choice, I would not…” She swallowed, fighting for her composure. “I would not see ye hurt because of me. I would prefer ye live a long, happy life.”
Marcán was so close, his breath brushed her face. How she longed to move into his embrace and accept his kisses. That was where she belonged and she knew it. Her knees weakened with the desire to take his strength upon herself.
“Clearly someone has threatened me and ye wish to protect me,” Marcán said.
Her jaw dropped at his astuteness, but she quickly recovered. “Suffice to say I would die before I saw ye harmed.”
“I would be the same as dead if I could not take ye to wife.”
He did not realize that if she rejected her mother’s desire that she marry Pádraig, Beibhinn would proclaim him a Seer and have him burned at the stake. Astrid could never allow that. She would rather subject herself to marrying a cruel, depraved man than see one hair on Marcán’s head harmed. “But ye will have life.”
“Astrid!” Beibhinn’s shrill cry carried above the din, quieting those around them. “I leave ye for a moment and ye throw yerself into this man’s arms?”
Others were following this interplay, including Pádraig. Marcán’s face tightened and he turned, ready to face her mother.
“Do not!” Astrid whispered her plea, but he showed no sign of hearing her.
“Will ye take yerself away from her!” Beibhinn yanked Astrid’s arm, pulling her closer and turning her so they were facing each other. “Why must ye throw yerself at every man?”
Marcán latched onto Beibhinn’s arm. “Do not speak to her so.”
His voice was much quieter and those around moved in closer, desperate to not miss a word of the drama playing out before them. Astrid cringed.
“How dare ye tell me what I may do with my own daughter.”
“Ye will not speak to her so.” Marcán lowered his face to Beibhinn’s, looking into her eyes. “If ye persist in behaving thus, I will gladly see ye punished as one who demonstrates no restraint on their mouth.”
“Do not threaten me. I am—”
“Ye are what? Who is it ye believe ye are to belittle yer daughter? To humiliate her so?”
“Enough, Marcán.” Pádraig stepped to the front of the crowds gathered close around them. “Ye overstep yerself.”
A knowing smile worked its way across Marcán’s face as he stood to his full height then turned to the man. “Do ye speak tome?”
“I do.”
“By what right?”
“As the lass’s betrothed.”
A gasp rose from the crowd, followed by instant chatter as if a signal had been given for each person to begin talking at once. Marcán raised his hand, and the group fell silent. He glanced at Astrid, but she couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Now how is that possible? I believe she has been spoken for. When ourrisees fit to make the announcement of whom she will wed”—Marcán moved to stand toe to toe with Pádraig—“yeare not the one he will name.”
“The words of the Seer are a lie.” Beibhinn’s voice rang out as clear as a bell and all those gathered around took a great step back, their eyes wide with fear. “And ye are an abomination!”
“Mamaídh!” Astrid hissed the words, shock gripping her gut. “Do not.”
Pádraig smiled, a huge smile, and said, “As I am the one who deflowered her, I am willing to take her to wife.”
The man never saw the punch coming. Astrid screamed and jumped back while Marcán’s fists flew, catching Pádraig’s face, his sides, and the flat of his stomach. The man appeared too dumbfounded to even move, finally responding by protecting himself with both arms. One or two misplaced punches were all the liar could manage. The crowd cheered, quickly choosing Marcán’s side over Pádraig’s, despite Beibhinn’s declarations.
Pádraig’s face was bloody and he doubled over in pain before the combined efforts of Murdoch, Faolán, and Ian successfully hauled Marcán back from his assault. Marcán was winded but clearly still ready for more, while Pádraig was dragged to a bench to recover.
Gripping his chin, Marcán shifted his jaw back and forth before impatiently wiping the blood from the side of his mouth. His chest heaving, he did not look directly at Astrid, but she sensed he knew she stood but a few feet behind him. Even now, he was ready to continue defending her virtue while she merely stood there, awed by his courage. The wrongness of that suddenly struck her.
Beibhinn straightened beside her, preparing to open her mouth, but Astrid yanked her mother’s arm before she could put herself at the center and declare her damnation of the man Astrid loved. There was no way to know how the crowd would shift. Would they join her mother’s demand for punishment? Or would they stop and think and realize Marcán was a good man and a brave warrior?
