Page 15 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)

A strid froze. Cormac’s piercing cerulean gaze pinned her feet in place as he watched her from the river below.

The glassy surface of the water looked inviting, but Astrid knew it would be freezing at this time of year.

He stood still as a stone, his expression equally intense and unreadable.

She’d hoped to catch him before he got in, for she knew that all the men would want to clean themselves of the dirt, mud, and blood they’d accumulated over the course of the matches.

Cormac was always quiet. It was one of the things that initially had irritated her about him, though there were many.

But during the match, she noted an unusual shift in his demeanor.

He seemed even more intense than usual. And now, as she stood there staring at him, uncertain what to say, she knew that something was wrong.

She swallowed, collecting her thoughts and searching for words.

The rippling muscles that covered every inch of his exposed torso distracted her more than she liked.

She’d seen plenty of men without their shirts, as her brother’s warriors seemed keen to be rid of them when they ran drills in the hot summer months.

But for some reason, the sight of this particular man drew her complete attention.

A warm sensation swirling up from her belly finally shook her from her trance.

After all that time, Cormac still hadn’t said a word to her.

Should she leave? This felt like a mistake.

Perhaps he needed more time alone to process whatever was going on with him.

He did seem to prefer time apart from everyone else.

Astrid noted with some amusement that instead of bothering him to check on him, what he likely wanted was solitude.

But if she turned back now, it would only be all the stranger.

“You’ll be covered in bruises by morning,” she called. There, she hadn’t even insulted him.

The hint of a smile lifted the corner of his lips. “You seem awfully concerned about my welfare of late.”

Astrid huffed at that, walking further toward the river so that she didn’t have to raise her voice to continue the conversation. “You are my champion, after all,” she replied tartly. “If I don’t take good care of you, how will you win on my behalf?”

His cocky smile deepened, but Cormac said nothing.

“I came to congratulate you on your impressive victory.” Damnit, no she hadn’t. But the compliment tumbled out all the same.

“Thank you.” He cupped his hands, pouring water over his shoulder and rubbing it into his arms to clean off the mud and grime. “Do you have any idea what our next event will be?”

“I don’t.”

“Do you think you could find out? Though they did a fine job of teaching us the game, it would be nice to be able to prepare ahead of time.”

“I’ll see what I can learn,” she agreed.

She couldn’t very well expect him to perform his best if she didn’t cooperate, odd though it felt not to thwart him.

“I can tell you that you will undoubtedly have more matches like this one. Now that everyone knows how to play, my brother can more accurately judge your skill and strength.”

He nodded, continuing to wash himself, scrubbing his face in a way that only encouraged the swirling warmth that tugged at Astrid’s belly.

“I should work with you more on preparation for other events, but my mother and I have had more to do than we’ve been able to adequately keep up on.”

“I imagine managing so many guests at once, especially in their own halls, is quite an organizational feat.”

“It’s not only that,” Astrid told him, recalling her brother’s request. “Sitric informed me during the match that I must meet and speak with every man competing, to make a measure of him. At least I don’t need to meet with you,” she pointed out her mood lightening a little.

“I’ve spoken with you plenty, and it doesn’t matter anyway, as I’m not going to marry any of them. ”

Cormac stilled, droplets of water falling from his broad shoulders into the river. “Aye, you do,” he countered. “I expect the same opportunities to prove myself as the next man. Whatever questions you’re asking them, I’ll answer the same.”

A subtle change overcame his appearance, though Astrid couldn’t decide what was actually different. As his arms crossed, the muscles flexed larger and tighter than they had before, as though he were squeezing them in frustration.

“Fine,” Astrid agreed, doing her best to aid her chosen champion. She may as well get one interview out of the way. “We can have our time together when you finish washing.”

He nodded, and she retreated so that he could finish up and put his clothes back on.

When he called her back over, they sat down together beside the river and spent several moments in silence, listening to its gentle gurgling.

It meandered just past their feet and a chill fell upon them, the crisp air of a winter evening descending as the sun sank toward the horizon.

Night came early this time of the year, and dinner would begin shortly—a grand feast, as Astrid well knew, for she and her mother had planned the entire thing.

She wasn’t about to miss it, but she didn’t want to leave this moment just yet.

Her anger, worries and fears washed away in front of her down the current.

It was so peaceful, she could almost forget that the man beside her had upended her life.

She could almost forget that she despised him for working with Brian to manipulate her brother.

Indeed, she was dangerously close to enjoying Cormac’s company, lingering in this bubble of calm that followed the warrior everywhere he went.

“What challenges did you have to pass in order to become one of the Fianna?”

She’d heard from her brother and her mother that the men in Brian’s Fianna were of exceptional skill and strength, and they’d had to prove so to join the band of warriors.

Niamh had mentioned something about studying poetry and music.

But she’d never heard what specific tasks they’d been given to do.

“Our first task was to memorize and then perform the twelve books of poetry of the people of éire. Then, with only a staff and a shield, we had to defend ourselves from the spears of nine men while we stood in a hole to our waist.”

Astrid nodded. “Difficult, but doable. What else?” she prompted, her curiosity piqued.

“We had to outrun a pursuer through thick foliage without being injured or breaking any branches.” He looked at her askance, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “It’s harder than it sounds.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “No need to defend your masculinity. It sounds plenty hard.”

A rumble of laughter escaped Cormac’s lips.

“There’s the Astrid I know,” he teased. “After the spear throwing, the most difficult challenge for many men was that of movement.” He leaned forward, speaking with his hands as much as his voice.

“We trained until we were able to leap over a tree of an equal height to ourselves, and then crawl beneath a branch shorter than our knees without touching it.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Every man that came with me to Dyflin can do it,” Cormac grinned, “and I wager they’d be thrilled at repeating the experience.”

His grin was infectious, and Astrid returned it in spite of her best efforts. “And what other unbelievable feats have you all done?”

“We ran through the forest with all speed, until stepping on a thorn. But you must then remove it without slowing down.”

Astrid rolled her eyes again at that one. “What purpose could that possibly serve?” she challenged. “Even if you could accomplish it without falling straight on your face, why is that a skill you need to prove that you have?”

“The test is of speed, but also endurance. Imagine you’re being chased through the forest and you can’t stop until nightfall, but you become injured. Somehow being able to attend to it without being captured could save your life and your foot.”

“Fine, fine,” she allowed. “It’s a bit far-fetched, but I can see that one perhaps. What are the last two?”

“A test of bravery, where we must fight outnumbered but not falter or flee.”

That one made sense, at least, though she found it unsettling that he’d done that already. The image of him fighting a battle outnumbered and unable to escape made her stomach drop. She’d have to ask him more about that later.

“And the last one?” she asked.

“To marry for love, of course.” His voice fell softer than a spring rain. “But you knew that one already.”

A flush warmth overtook her, despite the chilly evening, gone as soon as it came. “Those are all impressive feats. I find it difficult to believe that anyone could do those things, let alone enough men to create a band of warriors.”

“There’s a reason we number only eight. We lost a lot of men during the spear throwing and in the battle. And a good many more were discounted for their inability to perform the other tasks.”

“How many did you begin with?”

“Over fifty.”

They sat a few minutes in silence once more.

Astrid still didn’t want to leave just yet, but the cold threatened to overpower her desire to remain out by the river with Cormac.

She shivered, rubbing her arms with her hands and trying to warm herself so they could sit a bit longer in peace.

It felt different when she was alone with him, comforting and exciting all at once.

“Odin’s bollocks!” she swore when a violent shiver set her teeth to chattering.

Cormac chuckled at her outburst. He turned to her, his thoughtful eyes assessing as a softness overcame his face.

Astrid felt herself pulled toward him as though by a string.

His hand lifted, reaching for her.

Butterflies shot through her stomach. Was he going to pull her into his arms to warm her?

Did she want him to?

Their eyes met, and Astrid’s breath caught as his hand neared her. Had he gone mad?

But he changed course before he reached her, his hand shifting from her waist to float in front of her as an offering. “We should get you to a warm fire.”

Disappointment flooded Astrid. An odd thing, since it wasn’t like she wanted him to touch her. She took his hand, allowing him to help her up from the soggy ground, and they began the long uphill climb to Sitric’s hall.

“Tell me of Odin.”

She couldn’t have heard that correctly. “What?”

“I hear his name often enough, but I know very little about him.”

Astrid’s eyes blinked several times, as though she could clear her surprise away. “I’ve always liked the tale of the creation of humankind.”

It seemed like a good place to start, if he truly wished to learn stories of the gods.

“Odin, Vili, and Vé were three brothers, just as you and your brothers—” She paused, remembering that Cormac actually had a fourth brother, though she hadn’t realized it until just a few hours ago.

She continued, deciding to stay clear of discussions of his family.

“They walked together along the ocean’s seething shore.

” She tried her best to recall the verbiage used by the skalds.

“They are Aesir, powerful creators and rulers of men.”

“They are gods,” he interrupted.

“Yes, shush. As they walk, they spy two pieces of driftwood so big that the brothers must work together to move them further ashore. As they move the driftwood, they feel the potential of each piece deep in their bones. The wood is alive, or it could be.”

Cormac walked beside her in silence, but instead of looking ahead, he glanced at her constantly, as captivated by the story now as she had been as a child.

“Using their hands, they tear into the wood, carving it, shaping it, with no tools at all. When they finish, two new creatures like there have never before been on the earth stand lifeless before them: a man and a woman.

“But they are not finished. Odin shares his breath with them, bringing them to life, but they are still figures of wood, covered in bark like the trees they came from. So Vé steps forward. He touches their eyes, ears, and mouths, granting them sight, hearing, and the ability to speak.

“Finally, Vili approaches. He places his hands on their heads and awakens their minds. He grants them movement as well and, when he finishes, the man and the woman can finally break free of their wooden casings. They move about, talking with one another and exploring the world before them.

“Seeing the creatures they have made, the gods decide they need names. Askr, the ash tree, the father of all men. Embla, the elm tree, the mother of all women. And that is one reason why Odin is the All-Father, for he and his brothers created all of us.”

“I like that story,” Cormac whispered, his breath turning to steam in the darkening night. “You should tell me more the next time we speak.”

Astrid nibbled her lower lip, uncertain what to say next and uncertain why she was having such a reaction to this man. Only a fortnight ago, she couldn’t stand him.

She still couldn’t stand him. But even as the thought crossed her mind, an emotion alarmingly similar to disappointment fell over her as she watched Cormac walk away from her and into the hall.

Astrid would need to take great care going forward in her interactions with Cormac.

Because caring for him could only cause problems for them both.