Page 27 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)
A strid’s nerves reached a breaking point as she took her place beside her brother and Sláine on the side of the tournament field.
She’d laid awake the entire night wrestling with her own fears.
She wanted to accept Cormac’s proposal, but she still hadn’t decided whether she would.
What her heart wanted and what her mind told her was right were two entirely different things, and the battle between them yet persisted.
He’d offered to let her stay in Dyflin—the thing she’d wanted the most, a place that felt like home with people who understood her and welcomed her. But he deserved better than an absent wife and a wasted marriage. He deserved a woman who wanted to go with him, who wanted nothing but him.
The only decision she’d reached was that if she accepted his proposal, she would leave Dyflin with him, which was the source of her entire dilemma.
The point of this farce with Cormac had been to devise a way to keep her at home.
The point of choosing him as her champion had been to keep her in a place where she belonged.
Her greatest fear was moving somewhere she would be eyed with constant suspicion and misunderstanding, expected to turn and attack at any moment as her forebears had done.
She had but one question left to answer: Did she love Cormac enough to leave her home?
“I had an interesting conversation with Cahill last night.” Sitric’s ice blue eyes glittered with mischief as he interrupted her thoughts. “It seems he was told by a certain princess that Teague needn’t even bother competing, as he won’t be winning.”
Astrid scoffed. “That is not what I said.”
Her brother’s eyes narrowed knowingly.
“Well, not in so many words,” she amended. “I suppose it could have been implied.”
Sitric’s grin only broadened. “Does that mean you’ve chosen your champion, then?”
Astrid’s heart thudded in agreement. Gods, yes, she’d chosen him, but her mind and her heart remained at odds. “I leave it to you,” she told him. “Choose the man you believe to be best.”
Her brother would do just that, though it brought a sickening feeling to her stomach that she hadn’t simply elected Cormac outright.
She still had time, too, for the men were only beginning to take up their positions and pair off for the wrestling matches.
As with all of the other events at the tournament, the men who had thrown the smallest stones would compete first, working up to the strongest of her champions, which meant that Cormac would be the last to wrestle in each round.
As the first two men squared off, flicking an arm here and sliding a hand there to taunt the other, someone tapped on Astrid’s shoulder from behind her. Turning, she was surprised to find Cahill.
“I wondered if I might have a word with you, my lady.”
Astrid cast a quick glance at her brother, who was deep in conversation with the beautiful Sláine. Smiling to herself, Astrid rose. At least she’d done something right for Cormac—it looked as though her brother had finally chosen his bride.
As happy as that thought made Astrid, the prospect of a conversation with Cahill soured her mood. She had no love lost for the man who’d clearly wounded Cormac and had sacked her home.
“My brother tells me the truth in my words last night distressed you,” she opened boldly.
Cahill didn’t fluster in the least at her accusation. “My intuition tells me that you intend to wed my son.”
“I’m not marrying Teague,” she replied quickly. Too quickly.
A small, cold smile spread across Cahill’s face. “It is not of Teague that I speak.”
Astrid despised this entire conversation, and it had only just begun. How could he disown Cormac yet continue to claim him as a son? How could he show such support to only half of his children and still show his face to the others, as though he hadn’t wounded them all deeply?
“How must it feel, I wonder, to have your own father reject you, even when you do all in your power to please him?” she mused aloud.
“Betraying an oath would please no man,” he replied coldly, “especially a father.”
“He was a child then, as any adult would understand.”
“You defend him admirably. When your marriage to him fails, you’re welcome to inquire about a union with Teague. I could use someone with your standards of loyalty.”
Astrid took exception to that comment, ignoring his implication that she should wed first one son, then the other. “And why would you assume my marriage to Cormac might fail?” She felt her temper rising, the blood pounding in her veins at an alarming pace.
“My son is loyal to Brian to a fault,” he answered evenly.
“I suspect the same is not true for you, and I also suspect that there is great potential in the future for that to cause some dissent between you. Should your brother and Brian have a falling out, who would you support—your husband or your brother?”
Astrid didn’t like a single word that had left his lips since she’d met him, but these words she despised most of all, for they ignited a fear that had laid dormant within her. Perhaps this was her true hesitation, and she simply hadn’t been able to put the words to it.
“You’re a loving father,” she hissed, “to plant the seeds of doubt in a bride before the wedding.”
“I would hate for you to go through the heartbreak of losing someone you love to Brian,” he remarked. “It’s a sentiment I’ve had to accept over the years, and I’d hate to see the same fate befall you.” He took his leave abruptly, apparently having said what he’d come to say.
Astrid returned to her seat beside Sláine and Sitric.
Even knowing Cahill had set out to drive her and Cormac apart, his words settled in the pit of her stomach.
She’d meant everything she’d said to Cahill.
It filled her with grief and anger on Cormac’s behalf that he’d had to choose between his father and his foster father at such a young and impressionable age.
All she wanted was to see him loved and happy now, as he deserved back then, and to get past all of this nonsense with his father.
Astrid took several deep breaths while the realization sank in. Rather than driving them apart, Cahill’s comments solidified Astrid’s decision. She turned to Sitric, interrupting his conversation with Sláine.
“Cormac,” she told him firmly, her decision made. “You should choose Cormac.”