Her only consolation at the awkwardness was a harper playing so fiery and lengthy a tune?—
the man’s high tenor voice recounting heroic exploits of ancient Éire—that to try and speak above him was impossible.
Ronan wouldn’t have appreciated any conversation during the harper’s performance anyway, her father listening raptly and drumming his fingers upon the table.
He loved the old tales, as did her mother, Deirdre wishing desperately that Triona would return from Carlow and put an end to this debacle of a day.
Darragh limped now from a knee injury, her words of sympathy to him after they had all seated themselves at the table greeted by a derisive snort from Liam, which hadn’t surprised her.
Yet what had astonished her was his teasing grin when she glanced at him…while outside he had appeared so angry after his victorious wrestling match with Darragh—begorra, she would never understand the man!
She sensed Liam’s ire may have flared because she had cried out when he had felled Darragh to his knees, the ferocity of his tactic startling her. Had Liam thought, mistakenly again, that she had purposely attempted to distract him?
She had watched him storm away without a glance in her direction, which had confirmed her suspicion and undeniably stung her, too, that he would think so ill of her. Then the next thing she knew, he had caught up with her and her father and Darragh at the entrance to the feasting-hall, where Liam good-naturedly winked at her—aye, and now he ate with gusto as if little troubled him at all!
Well, except for whenever she spoke to Darragh. Each time she sensed tension in Liam, just as she did now when she leaned slightly toward Darragh, the harper finally finished with his tune and conversation resuming in the feasting-hall.
“You’re not hungry?”
Darragh shook his head as he leaned closer, too, and whispered into her ear, “I will eat when this day’s events are done and you’ve chosen me for your husband, my beloved Deirdre.”
His words so huskily spoken that she blushed, Deirdre found herself gazing into his dark eyes even as the sharp scraping of Liam’s chair startled her. She glanced over her shoulder to find he had risen to his feet with his ale cup lifted high.
“A toast to our gracious host, Ronan O’Byrne!”
At once everyone stood up to raise their cups and shout in agreement, though Darragh didn’t appear pleased at all as he scowled at Liam.
Oddly enough, Deirdre couldn’t suppress a giggle at their blatant rivalry, which made Liam turn to look at her with surprise.
“What? Amusement from my fair bride-to-be? A welcome sound, indeed, and I look forward to more of it after we’re wed?—”
“By God, O’Toole, your arrogance sickens me!”
Deirdre stared wide-eyed at Cian, who lunged across the table at Liam only for Brendan to wrench him backward.
“Are you mad, O’Brien? You insult our host?—”
“Aye, what of it?” Cian shouted, so incensed that spittle dripped into his dark beard. “I’ve had enough of these tests of skill while those two”—he pointed a thick forefinger at Liam and then Darragh—“believe they’re the only ones worthy to wed the O’Byrne’s daughter. I’m my father’s Tanist while they have nothing, no lands, no title, and no wealth! Choose now, woman, and let’s call an end to this farce of a contest—now!”
Cian slammed his beefy fist down so violently upon the table that plates rattled and ale sloshed from cups, Deirdre taking a step backward at the way Cian looked her up and down.
Hungrily. Lustily. She felt sickened by the thought of so brutish a man as her husband while Ronan raised his hand to silence the stunned buzz of voices in the feasting-hall.
Deirdre’s heart thundered at what her father might say—dear God, had he been swayed somehow by Cian’s wild-eyed outburst?
“Aye, you’re a Tanist, O’Brien, and I honor you for it, but you’re not the one to whom I would entrust my daughter. I have gold for you to take to your father…and you have my thanks for accepting my invitation to participate in this day’s contest, but now you must return to your clan without a bride.”
Ronan’s expression was stern, the harsh cast to his voice brooking no argument as Cian uttered a foul curse and then stormed away while Niall and Conor followed after him—Deirdre certain that they had gone to ensure her thwarted suitor left the stronghold at once.
Her face warm with relief, she glanced gratefully at her father only for him to look at her with the same sternness.
“You have three suitors left, Deirdre. A few tests more and you must decide by the end of the day which one is most worthy to become your husband. I agreed to your request, remember?”
Deirdre nodded, though her knees felt shaky as she glanced from Brendan to Darragh and then Liam.
All three men watching her intently as if for some sign of who she might choose…Brendan appearing uncertain if he had a chance at all, Darragh’s gaze strangely hard though his expression appeared sympathetic, and Liam who went so far as to reach out and squeeze her hand.
His eyes so kind at that moment, the pressure of his fingers strangely comforting as tears near blinded her, though she choked them back and pulled her hand away.
