Thick oat porridge drizzled with honey and studded with blackberries that would sit like a heavy lump in their stomachs if they ate enough of it, which she fully intended for them to do.
Their cups were refilled as well with cider, and more slices of crusty bread slathered with fresh-churned butter placed on a platter in front of them while Deirdre gifted her three eager suitors with a winsome smile.
“Cian O’Brien, Fergal MacCarthy, and Roy O’More—aye, I do remember the three of you at clan gatherings, how could I not? All of you are so accomplished, and your fathers’ own Tanists, too.”
“I remember you, Deirdre,” declared Fergal right before he stuffed some porridge into his mouth, and then dug his spoon into his bowl for more. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed just before adding, “You were always the prettiest girl there, though you didn’t grant me even a look.”
“I didn’t, Fergal?” Feigning shock, Deirdre did her best to keep her expression from belying her true feelings as she stared at him with his pimply skin and flaming red hair. “And you being so handsome, too, no, I’m sure I must have noticed you.”
That bald-faced lie brought a half-choked giggle from Fergal as he swallowed more porridge and waved to a servant to refill his bowl a third time.
He appeared the youngest of her unwelcome suitors, mayhap eighteen years, while Cian was the brawniest of the three in stark contrast to Roy, who was as thin as a birch sapling with sharp, pinched features that gave him an odd birdlike appearance. None of them appealing at all to look upon in spite of their fine attire, which turned her stomach at the thought of either Fergal, Roy, or Cian becoming her wedded husband—by God, not if she had anything to say about it!
“Aye, you ignored me, too,” Cian said as he wiped a dribble of porridge from his dark beard and then licked his finger. “I didn’t mind, though. It was enough just to look at you?—”
“I didn’t mind, either!” blurted Roy as he signaled for a servant to refill his bowl as well with a third helping, making Deirdre wonder how so skinny a man could hold so much porridge. “Now we’re sitting across the table from you and one of us will marry you this very day?—”
“I hope it’s me,” interjected Fergal, while a loud snort from further down the table made Deirdre glance to where Liam sat with her two other suitors, Darragh O’Sullivan and Brendan O’Neill. Frustration swept her that he had barely touched his porridge, and the other two had already pushed away their bowls after one helping.
So much for her plan for all six of them to find themselves soon gripping their stomachs with discomfort, though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Liam, Darragh, and Brendan had eaten so little. All three men were lean, muscularwarriors, while the three gullible fools facing her made her wonder how their rebel clans would continue to repel the Normans from their lands with such Tanists to one day become chieftains.
“The breakfast isn’t to your liking?” she said lightly to Darragh, though Liam was the one who snorted again, his rudeness making her bristle as he jumped in to answer.
“Aye, it was nourishment enough, but I’m eager for the competition to begin—aye,mosteager.”
Deirdre felt her face grow hot at Liam’s frank appraisal, and she shoved her bowl away, too, feeling strangely flustered.
The spawn! How dare he look at her so boldly and with her father and brother sitting right across from him at the same table?
“I’m ready to begin as well,” Brendan said with a curious look upon his ruddy face, a russet brow raised, as he glanced from Liam to Deirdre. Then he shrugged while Darragh, his hair as black as Conor’s and his expression oddly sullen, gave a curt nod that indicated he was also in agreement, even as the three suitors opposite Deirdre continued to eat their breakfast with gusto.
Suddenly she felt sick herself, and it wasn’t because she had eaten too much porridge.
Out of this lot she was to choose a husband? No, out of the men seated further from her, for she had already decided that these three future Tanists, who belched and then shoveled more food into their mouths in their eagerness to please her, would never call her “wife.”
That left Brendan O’Neill, Darragh O’Sullivan, and Liam O’Toole—God help her, she would no more choose that arrogant bastard than drown herself in the lough…though such an option almost seemed preferable at that moment?—
“Enough, it’s time to begin,” came her father’s stern voice to break into the turmoil of her thoughts, Deirdre grateful at leastthat she didn’t have to watch Cian, Fergal, and Roy making such obliging pigs of themselves.
She rose from her chair and at once, all six suitors arose, too, though Fergal’s face had turned a pale shade of green as he clutched his stomach. He looked so panicked that Deirdre almost felt sorry for him as her father called for a servant to lead the young man to the outhouse, laughter breaking out from Liam.
His arresting blue eyes filled with wry humor that told her he knew exactly what she hoped would happen, Deirdre’s cheeks again flaring hot as sharp words flew to the tip of her tongue.
“Courteous, daughter, remember?” Ronan said as he appeared suddenly at her side to escort her from the head table while Liam’s laughter continued to ring out behind her.
“But he’s so insufferable, Father, that-thatLiamO’Toole,” she fairly spat even as Ronan gripped her elbow tightly. “And those other three whom I would never have chosen for a husband in a thousand years! Why are you doing this to me?”
“I told you why, and it seems you’ve already narrowed down your choices to three, Darragh, Brendan and Liam?—”
“Not Liam, never!” she whispered fiercely, knowing her suitors followed behind them. “He’s rude and arrogant?—”
“And wholly intrigued by you, daughter, can you not see it? He didn’t take his eyes from you during the entire meal. He’s a second son, aye, with little to his name, but with your generous dowry, that will change for whomever you choose.”
Now Deirdre stopped in her tracks to stare open-mouthed at her father, who gestured for Conor to escort her five remaining suitors outside as Ronan leaned closer to her and kept his voice low.
“Did you think I would send my beautiful daughter into any marriage without the means for her husband to support her well? Even those three who are their fathers’ Tanists might waityears to become a chieftain in their own right, and I will not have you live in any less comfort than what you’re accustomed to?—”
“Oh, Father, so they’re not here for me, but for my dowry,” Deirdre cut him off, fresh tears jumping to her eyes that only made her feel more wretched. To add to her misery, Ronan didn’t appear moved at all by her distress, though she did see a tic working along his jawline as if he was doing his best to remain patient with her.
