Page 16 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)
C ormac, left suddenly to his own devices, entered the hall to find it uncomfortably full.
All he wanted to do was turn straight around and sneak into his room, avoiding all of the chaos before him.
He didn’t have any problem spending leisure time with his friends.
Even an evening spent gaming with Sitric and his men was fun enough, but he much preferred quiet evenings with a few friends to the chaos of the hall.
At least with so many people stuffing the building, Cormac had a good chance of avoiding his father and brother.
He needed time to recharge before he took on that particular challenge.
Winding through the thick press of bodies, Cormac squeezed his way back to his brothers, who already sat at the table they shared with Sitric and his family. Sitric wasn’t sitting now. He plied the crowd with smiles and hugs.
“There you are,” Conan greeted him, handing him a flagon of ale.
Cormac fell into a seat to the left of his brother, taking the offering gratefully.
“We wondered where you’d gone off to.” Diarmid leaned forward so he could see past Conan as he spoke to Cormac.
“Didn’t all the other competitors go to bathe?” Cormac asked.
Conan nodded. “Most, but you must have gone off somewhere different.”
Cormac shrugged, deciding it best not to comment on his time alone with Astrid. He wasn’t certain how he felt about it, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to discuss it with anyone else.
“Have you spoken with father at all? We haven’t been over to see him or Teague yet.” Diarmid looked around the room. “Though I don’t know that I’d even be able to find them in this mess.”
“So many people that even my boisterous brother finds it overwhelming,” Cormac mused aloud. “You should tell Sitric of his grand accomplishment.”
“I think they’re here for an alliance with Sitric against Brian,” Conan said, returning to Diarmid’s question. “I’m not even certain it matters whether Teague wins or not.”
“I think it does,” Diarmid argued. “If Sitric formed an alliance with Father behind Brian’s back, but publicly at the tournament, Brian would get word of it and likely retaliate.”
“And, let’s not forget that Cahill fought against Sitric in the battle that lost him Dyflin last winter,” Cormac added. “A marriage might smooth out any ill will that remained from the battle.”
Both his brothers nodded in agreement, all three of them taking long drinks of their tart, smoky ale.
“So you think that if Teague doesn’t win, there won’t be an alliance.” Diarmid summarized.
Conan grinned at him. “Then I suppose you’ll have to make certain Teague doesn’t win.”
“He won’t,” Cormac vowed, though uncertainty threaded his thoughts. He took another swig of his ale, his best attempt to wash down the discomfort of this entire situation.
Across the table, luminous scarlet tresses caught the firelight, glittering like a beacon from within a cloud of hungry suitors. The men swarmed Astrid like flies, buzzing around and vying for her attention.
Every nerve in his body frayed at the sight of Astrid drowning in so many men. His teeth ground and he took another drink, trying yet again to force himself to a state of calm.
It wasn’t as though he had any real claim to her.
Indeed, it wasn’t even as though he meant to actually marry her.
His entire purpose in this arrangement was to get her out of a marriage.
Why, then, did he feel the need to stride over and yank them away from her?
It was all he could do to keep himself from tossing each and every one of them into the mud outside the hall and onto their pandering arses.
While the guests devoured the meal, Cormac found a brief reprieve from the torture of watching Astrid defend herself from across the large table. Conversation waned while everyone filled their bellies with the warm, delicious meal of roast salmon and root vegetables.
Before the last plates had even been cleared, however, the room returned to the lawless battlefield that it had been when Cormac first entered.
Lively music beckoned from the far end of the hall for those brave enough to ford their way to the dance floor.
The men reappeared, once more surrounding Astrid, and this time their gesturing indicated that they were doing their best to win a dance with her.
It didn’t matter. He could always interfere if needed, but if he went over there now, he would look just as foolish as the rest of them.
“You seem distracted tonight, brother.”
Cormac turned to find Diarmid gone, no doubt off with his betrothed, Cara. Conan grinned at him, nodding gently toward Astrid.
“I wouldn’t want to be surrounded by so many fools,” Cormac grumbled, “and I doubt she does either.”
“If it’s bothering you so much, maybe you should go do something about it.”
Cormac considered it. Indeed, the idea weighed heavily on his mind for much of the meal, until he reached an unsettling conclusion.
He may actually care for Astrid.
But Cormac held no illusions that the princess would ever return the sentiment.
If he made it too obvious that he had an actual interest in her, she might end their bargain, and perhaps even choose Teague or Cairell as her new champion.
Cormac doubted that any of the other warriors would agree to the deal she’d offered, particularly since she had far less leverage on them than she had on Cormac, yet the thought rattled him.
She’d only chosen him because she thought that he disliked her and wouldn’t actually want to marry her.
Well that, and because of his part in pushing her brother to see her wed.
If she discovered that, in spite of his best efforts, he was growing fond of her, things would go back to the way they’d been—Cormac convincing Sitric to marry Sláine while Astrid did everything in her power to dissuade him.
Cormac hoped she wouldn’t turn on him so quickly, but he wasn’t willing to risk it.
As much as he wished to retire to the solitude of his quarters, he wasn’t about to abandon Astrid in a sea of drunken suitors, though he was impressed with how well she handled the onslaught. He settled in beside Conan, prepared to stay in the hall until their advances died down for the night.
In the midst of his struggle to ignore the absurd display of the men accosting Astrid, Conan smacked him on the shoulder. He nodded his head once again, as he always did to subtly sign, but this time he indicated toward one of the suitors who had peeled away from Astrid.
Their brother Teague prowled straight toward them, his deep brown eyes fixed on Cormac.