Page 17 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)

T hey were everywhere.

Reaching, talking, asking. Occasionally shouting. They lurked like crows on a battlefield.

Luckily, Astrid thrived in chaos, though she couldn’t remember a time when she’d had so many people speaking to her at once.

She couldn’t understand what most of them said as they spoke over one another, but that was just fine.

Perhaps Sitric had been onto something when he suggested that she meet them individually, for there was no possibility of her making sense of the conversations surrounding her while they all happened concurrently.

She’d have been far more annoyed, if not for the surreptitious glances she stole toward Cormac. It entertained her to no end, watching the progression of his obvious jealousy.

First, his eyes bored murderously into each and every man at her side, as though he could hurl them away from across the vast table.

Then, she’d noted the white knuckles on his hand as he gripped his ale flagon tighter and tighter.

That one had been particularly entertaining.

Finally, when she’d grown bold enough to meet his gaze, she saw that he clenched his teeth so tightly he probably had broken a tooth.

At the same time as it amused her, it also brought back to life that warm, tingly feeling—the one that had started deep in her belly, growing stronger the longer she kept Cormac company on the riverbank.

It irritated her far more than any of the suitors.

Her reactions to Cormac were getting out of control, and that simply could not stand.

But it was fine, she assured herself numerous times over the course of the meal. Just because her body seemed to like something about the warrior didn’t mean she actually cared for him, or anything equally ridiculous. They were simply working together to accomplish goals. That was it.

And that was all it could be.

Long before the skalds took up their instruments, filling the room with lively music, and long after the dancing began, Astrid’s attention split equally between the suitors surrounding her and the brooding man across the table from her.

As much as she tried to ignore him, her gaze kept landing where he and his brother sat in conversation.

One of the suitors to her left—a tall, thin man who, in spite of his height over her, did not even come close to Cormac’s great stature—extended his hand, requesting a dance. Astrid turned to him so that she could decide whether or not she would accept, catching movement in the corner of her eye.

Teague peeled himself away from the group of men surrounding her. It didn’t take Astrid long to understand his intent. Though he wove his way around through the thick crowd, it was clear he drifted toward his brothers.

All other distractions melted away as she watched him approach Cormac and Conan.

She couldn’t see Teague’s face until he took a position behind the two warriors, leaning down and speaking to them.

She couldn’t tell what was said, except that it was malicious, based on the sneer that crossed Teague’s lips and the fury that filled Conan’s face.

True to his patient nature, Cormac sat still, unflinching against the verbal assault.

Teague’s narrowed eyes and the quick movements of his pursed lips told her exactly the nature of what he said, even without her hearing any of the words.

Astrid had witnessed enough men posturing over one or another to know it when she saw it.

Up until that point in the evening, Astrid had been mildly irritated. Constant interruptions were one thing, but watching someone accosting Cormac elicited quite a different reaction in her.

The blood in her veins boiled.

She knew Cormac would say nothing. He would simply sit and take whatever drivel Teague spewed at him.

That was how he always reacted or, rather, didn’t react, when she gave him a piece of her own mind.

Cormac’s nose flared, his gaze hardening as his brother leaned further down to whisper directly into his ear.

That was the moment Astrid snapped. Enough was enough. Cormac may be just fine sitting there taking it, but Astrid couldn’t watch this happen. She stood, turning to the men surrounding her and clearing her throat to get their collective attention.

“I will begin meeting each of you this night to determine whether we might make a good match, should you be skilled enough to win this tournament. You will leave me be until you are summoned.”

Astrid didn’t wait for their reaction, instead marching around the end of the table by the same route she’d seen Teague use only moments earlier.

She blew in like a storm, interrupting the conversation between the men.

She stepped in between Teague and his brothers, crossing her arms and doing her best not to simply hurl insults straight at the man.

“Were you planning to actually try to win this contest?” she demanded. “Or did you come here simply to insult your own kin?”

Teague’s brows rose and his eyes widened, though he didn’t redden at the cheeks as Astrid often did when provoked.

“You will escort me to one of the quieter seating areas in this hall, and you will explain to me why I should even consider marrying a man who would treat his brothers in such a manner. Taunting an opponent is one thing, but seeking out and attacking your own kin is quite another. I should like to hear your justification of such behavior during a holiday celebration.”

Properly chastised, Teague quietly followed Astrid, though she caught the parting glare he left with his brothers. Cormac stared at her intently as Conan fought a fit of laughter.

They moved to the quietest of the four corners of the room, where her brother had set up areas perfect for conversation or gaming, or even working on embroidery.

Furs covered a circle of couches and chairs, with extra blankets piled up so that one could be comfortable to the point of laziness.

Two unfamiliar women occupied the space, but left without argument when Astrid requested privacy.

“My apologies, my lady,” Teague opened, taking a seat opposite her in the corner. “I swear to you it won’t happen again.”

His immediate apology and promise of improved behavior did a great deal to pacify Astrid’s bubbling fury. “Why would you do such a thing in the first place?”

“Years ago, when the three of them were fostering with Brian, my father had a falling out with him.” Teague shook his head and took a deep breath, as though fortifying himself.

“It happened when he married Dunla, the night of the wedding feast. Brian and my father argued in the middle of everyone, shouting and making a show of it. After that father and I left, but Cormac and the other two stayed. We remained loyal to Malachy, the true high king. They chose to support Brian in his efforts to usurp that throne from him.”

“But until the argument, your father and Brian had been friends?” Astrid hadn’t heard this particular tale. All she knew was that Brian and Cahill were enemies. He was the staunchest supporter of Brian’s rival Malachy.

“Aye,” Teague answered. “Good enough friends that my father offered my sister to Brian when he was in need of a wife, and sent all four of us to foster with him until we came of age.”

“Divided loyalties can cause great difficulty in a family,” Astrid observed, “but I would ask that you keep your family feud out of this tournament.”

“Of course, lady,” Teague agreed. “But I’m not the one you’re going to need to mind. It’s my father who’s bitter over it.”

That bit of information didn’t surprise Astrid, though she worried about the disruption it might cause in the future.

If Cahill proved problematic, she or her brother or even her mother could speak with him.

For the time being, she was pleased with her pacification of Teague, who had been far more civil than she expected considering how she’d approached him.

Many men raised their hackles the moment a woman challenged them.

She tried not to do it often but, as her brother liked to point out, keeping her thoughts to herself was one of her greater struggles.

Standing and following Teague back toward the rest of the merriment, Astrid hoped that her announcement encouraged the gaggle of suitors who’d been following her like goslings to disperse. Instead, she found every one of them standing there, staring at her expectantly.

Waiting for their turn.

Astrid sighed. This was going to be a long night.