Page 20 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)

T hus far, Cormac had managed to avoid his father and brother, aside from Teague’s antagonism at the opening feast, anyway.

Unfortunately, he and his brothers were tasked with determining what their father and Teague were plotting by showing up to the tournament uninvited—which meant he’d need to speak with them both, and soon.

Astrid had relayed to him the conversation she had with Teague at the feast, including a comment he made about Cahill being the one to watch.

Cormac didn’t like that one bit, as it implied that there was something to watch for .

His father wouldn’t be easy to taunt into speaking, but since Teague had openly made such a statement, Cormac hoped he might divulge even more with the correct motivation.

That morn, Sitric announced that the men would play games of toga honk , which Finn told him was a tug-of-war. Like all the other challenges, the men were matched by their respective strengths, which meant that Cormac would battle Cairell for certain, and likely his brother Teague as well.

After breaking his fast, Cormac ventured down to the guest housing outside Dyflin, near the field where they competed each day.

Though Diarmid and Conan were also responsible for speaking with Teague, Cormac thought it may feel less like a conversation and more like an attack if they all descended at once.

He guessed the best chance at getting some honest answers from his elder brother lay in speaking with him alone.

Cormac only needed to follow the sound of clashing steel to find Teague. A group of men sparred in the fields outside the guest halls, his brother among them. Teague wasn’t in a match, so Cormac approached him and stood beside him in silence, watching the sparring currently underway.

“I’m surprised you aren’t already wed,” Cormac mused aloud. “As I recall, you had droves of girls following you around.”

“I almost married,” Teague replied, his attention still fixed on the men crossing swords. “I’m surprised Diarmid was the first to choose a wife.”

“If you’d known him as a young man, you’d be even more shocked.”

“Is she a good woman, his betrothed?”

“Aye. One of the best.” Cormac smiled to himself. “Why did you not marry? You said you almost did.”

Teague’s jaw clenched, but he still didn’t turn to face his brother. “The marriage wasn’t deemed suitable.”

“I’m sorry.” Cormac meant it, too. He knew how it felt to care strongly about something only to face their father’s opposition for it.

“Do you know the princess well?” Teague asked. “I’ve heard she can be a handful.”

“You’ve heard right,” Cormac chuckled. He didn’t care at all for the idea of Astrid marrying his brother, but he held his tongue—he’d finally gotten Teague to speak civilly with him.

Instead, he tried to turn the conversation toward their purpose in Dyflin.

“Are you truly interested in marrying her?”

Teague shrugged. “She’s not hideous, and everyone knows it’s a good alliance to make.”

Astrid was so far from hideous that Cormac struggled to keep his mouth shut at Teague’s understatement. Instead, he decided to keep pushing. “How did you learn of the tournament?”

“I’m not going to betray him,” Teague replied evenly.

An interesting response. And, again, unsettling as it implied some amount of plotting.

“It’s a long way to come, from Connachta, especially if you were not invited.

” It had crossed Cormac’s mind that perhaps they had been invited by Sitric, but that the invitation had been kept secret so he didn’t appear a traitor to Brian.

The more he reflected on it, however, the more Cormac thought that Sitric likely held as much of a grudge against Cahill as he did against Brian, since both kings attacked Dyflin.

Dyflin brought Cahill within easy reach of Brian’s fortresses, but without an army it wouldn’t do much good.

Teague scowled, turning to Cormac. “What do you want?”

“To make sure you didn’t come here to do more than just win a bride.”

“ I came here solely for the tournament.”

Cormac didn’t like the way Teague emphasized that statement. “And father?”

“As I said,” his voice turned to thunder, “unlike you, I won’t betray him.”

The games themselves proved little challenge for Cormac after the rigorous trials he’d undergone to join the Fianna, which meant that his most pressing problems at present remained his father’s plotting and his relationship with Astrid.

Was she angry with him? Did she plan to end their agreement after he stepped so egregiously out of line?

Or, perhaps the most frightening possibility of all, did she return his feelings?

For after that moment with her in the trees, Cormac had no choice but to accept that his affections toward her grew by the day in spite of his efforts to quash them.

At midday, Cormac stood shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, surrounded by the rest of the Fianna, waiting to be called for his turn at the toga honk .

The contest began with the weakest men paired off, and would work up to the strongest. Cormac remained with the Fianna to watch the first bouts and gain insight into strategies he might use to overpower his opponent.

From what he observed, it seemed the most advantageous to keep your legs at a wide stance and use them to anchor you while gripping the rope somewhere near your waist. The men who braced their legs one in front and one behind tended to be the ones that lost. He also noted that men struggled when they held the rope too high or too low from their waists.

Once he felt confident in his strategy, Cormac made his way through the crowd of onlookers until he reached Astrid.

After careful consideration, he determined that the best course of action was to continue helping her find a solution to the problem of an unwanted marriage.

He’d come up with another idea, though every time he thought of it he liked it less.

But still, it was the best he had to offer and, in the end, it was Astrid’s decision—not his.

She spotted him before he came within earshot, and instead of forcing him to fetch her, she excused herself from her brother and mother and met him toward the back of the crowd.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, her brows knitted.

Cormac took a deep breath. He didn’t want to ask, but he needed an answer. “Do you want me to let him win?”

Astrid’s brows only furrowed further, her eyes narrowing. “What?”

“I thought,” he hesitated, choosing his words with care. “He’s the closest you’ll find to the husband that you wanted. If you desire it, I will allow him to win so that you can have your Ostman husband.”

Astrid’s mouth fell open. Clearly, he’d taken her by surprise. That she hadn’t even been considering such a thing gave him some small hope. Her mouth opened and closed several times, as though slowly collecting her answer with each motion before she could finally get it out.

Before she managed an answer, Cormac was called to the field for his turn.

“Good luck.” Her whispered words followed him all the way to the rope.

It was, in keeping with Astrid’s manner, the least helpful answer to his question.

Cairell picked up the far end of the thick rope.

Cormac went to the near end and did the same.

The rope was heavy, as thick as the palm of his hands, which made it more difficult to grip.

It reminded Cormac of a ship’s rope, as though Sitric had taken a spare from the harbor.

The ends of it were rough and fraying from the friction of the other men’s grips.

Between Cormac and Cairell, beneath the center of the rope, a bed of red hot coals crackled.

The first man to place his feet in the coals lost.

“Pull!” Sitric’s man shouted once Cormac and Cairell were in position.

And pull they did.

Cormac’s hands tightened about the rope, his legs standing firm as he leaned backward.

He knew that he could win, but if anyone here could beat him, it was Cairell.

Cormac needed to watch for an opportunity to overpower him or to outlast him.

Fixing his eyes on Cairell, Cormac tugged at the rope with all his might, taking one shaky step backward.

With a guttural cry, Cairell stumbled one step closer to the crackling coals. He pulled hard on the rope, digging in his heels and throwing his back into the movement.

Cormac’s muscles strained against the pull, but excitement rushed through him in spite of the discomfort. Cairell had faltered in his form sooner than Cormac expected. Once more, Cormac tugged the rope forcefully. This time, he put all his weight into jogging backwards.

Cairell flew forward, his feet flying across the hot coals and his oath echoing across the field.

Cheering broke across the crowd like a crashing wave.

He’d done it. For better or for worse, Cormac had bested Cairell. Dropping the rope, he hurried to help the poor man out of the bed of coals. Then he headed straight for Finn, though the rest of the Fianna waylaid him en route, congratulating him just as heartily as they always did.

“Well done.” Finn grabbed his elbow, pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you.” Cormac leaned nearer. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything,” Finn told him.

Cormac wetted his lips, looking around at the crowd and lowering his voice. “I’d like you to teach me the Ostman tongue.”

Finn’s eyes went wide, a smile overtaking his face. “Any particular reason?

Cormac shook his head. He could barely admit the reason to himself. He’d certainly not speak with anyone else about it, not even his closest friends. Not yet. Eventually, though, he’d have to tell them the decision he’d reached. He didn’t just want to win the tournament.

He wanted to win Astrid’s heart as well.