Page 14 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)
H e needed to get on top. The game had gone well so far, in spite of his initial distraction by the arrival of his father and brother. But right now his shoulder hurt something fierce after that tackle and a giant held him pinned to the soggy ground.
The man’s hand pounded against his chest, where his arms held the ball tight. Pain seared across his middle at the blow, but he didn’t drop the ball.
A great, raucous cheer broke out from the sidelines. He didn’t need to look. His chest swelled, bolstering him as the Fianna cheered him on, reminding him that he was the best. They were the best.
And that was why they were here, why Astrid had chosen him as her champion.
Throwing his hips sharply upward, he reached his hands over his head, moving fast so the man didn’t have time to make a grab at the ball. The motion threw his opponent off-balance, and Cormac took immediate advantage, using his entire body to flip the man onto his back.
All Cormac wanted was to finish the game and then disappear somewhere to collect his thoughts alone before he confronted his father and brother. He wasn’t ready to speak with them, not yet.
At long last, after hours of playing, Sitric called a halt to the game. Cormac moved off the man he’d just spent much of the day wrestling, offering his arm to help him up.
“Well played,” the man congratulated him. “I’ll have to remember that little trick next time.”
“I thought you had me. Cormac,” he introduced himself.
“Cairell,” the man replied in kind. “What brings you to the tournament?” He glanced at Astrid, seated beside her brother and watching them intently. “Other than a beautiful wife, that is,” he grinned.
Cormac felt his shoulders tense at Cairell’s words, but he shook the feeling off. “For me, it’s just the wife,” he lied. Well, it wasn’t precisely a lie. He was here only for Astrid, but to help her get out of a marriage, not wed her himself. “You?”
“An alliance with the wealth of Dyflin would please my father,” Cairell replied. “And a marriage to an Ostman princess would please my mother.”
“Is your mother an Ostman?” Cormac asked, unsure what to make of that last statement.
Cairell nodded, grinning. “I’m only half a prince,” he laughed. “My mother is an Ostman slave. Or was, anyway. She’s raised her status since my father took her to wife.”
Cormac’s blood ran cold. “Does Astrid know that?”
This man could be the answer to all her problems. Cormac should be elated, happy to have solved it for her. Yet here he stood, wanting to go another round with Cairell.
“’Tis no secret,” Cairell shrugged. “But I doubt it will upset her overmuch, as her own grandmother was in the same position.”
“Of course not,” Cormac agreed. “It shouldn’t be a problem at all. Best of luck to you.”
Cairell grinned. “And to you. I imagine we’ll be seeing much of one another over the coming weeks.”
“I look forward to it.”
The onlookers all rushed the field as one. Some to congratulate, others to see to wounds. For, as Astrid had warned him, this game had indeed been brutal. Most men were bloodied and bruised. A few were wounded enough to need a healer.
Diarmid shouted at him triumphantly, congratulating him with a grin and a slap on the shoulder that caused another rush of pain. Cormac grimaced, but did his best not to let it show.
“It was thanks to you lot,” he told them, finding a smile amidst the chaos of his thoughts and the pain in his shoulder. “I think God himself could hear you shouting at me,” he laughed.
“And we’ll be doing the same at every match,” Conan assured him.
“You played well for your first time,” Finn commented. “I have a few suggestions for you, but I’ve never seen a better comeback.”
Cormac allowed himself a moment to soak in the contagious joy of his friends. Darkness overtook his thoughts when he spotted Teague and his father searching the men on the field, as though they were looking for him. Beside him, Illadan’s attention went to Cahill and Teague as well.
“Let’s leave Cormac to get cleaned up and then we can celebrate properly after the feast,” Illadan declared, nodding behind him for Cormac to disappear while he still had time.
Cormac mouthed a thank you, moving quickly away from the tournament field.
As they were already outside of Dyflin, the walk to the river was a blessedly short one.
Cormac arrived and took off his shoes and shirt, recalling that day in spring so long ago when Diarmid had leapt into the river.
Cormac wasn’t about to splash around like a flopping fish as his brother had, but he relished the thought of the cool water soothing his aches and bruises from the match.
The appearance of his father and brother perplexed him.
Cahill would always be an enemy of Brian, their brief and tepid alliance notwithstanding.
That had been purely to halt Sitric’s increasingly bold raids inland, and had ended in the same moment as the battle.
Cormac doubted Sitric would soon forget that Cahill sided with Brian against Dyflin, no matter how brief.
But Sitric had allowed Cahill to stay and Teague to compete, which could mean but one thing: Cahill must have offered him some support against Brian.
Everyone knew that Sitric had only submitted to Brian after a devastating loss at a bloody battle, the bloodiest Cormac had seen or heard of in his lifetime.
No king wanted to be the subject of another king.
Cormac would wager that Teague and his father were here to start an alliance against Brian.
If Teague won and married Astrid, Sitric would potentially have the strength of both Connachta and Midhe behind him.
An alliance such as that might be enough to put an end to Brian’s bid for the High Kingship and his goal of uniting all the kingdoms.
As he finished stripping down, Cormac stepped into the icy river.
The cold crept up his legs and torso like fingers reaching up from the deep, pulling him in to soak his aching shoulder in the frigid water.
He couldn’t stay in long, he knew, lest he risk losing all the heat in his body and going into shock, but he needed to stay in long enough to help him recover from the match.
What if his brother won? Cormac had been so certain of his ability to consistently place at the top of the contests of skill, but now that confidence faltered.
As children, Teague had always been the stronger, the faster, even the smarter of the two of them.
Perhaps it had been due to the age difference, with Teague being his elder by several years.
Or, perhaps, Teague was simply better than him.
The crunch of footsteps nearby halted his dark musings. Astrid strode toward him across the flat, grassy bank.
And, for the first time since he spied his brother and father, Cormac’s calm returned.