Page 30 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)
O f all the paths their betrothal negotiations could have taken, beginning with accusations of treachery and ending in a duel was not one that had crossed his wildest imaginings.
Cormac only hoped it wasn’t too late to convince Astrid that this still could work, that it needn’t drive a wedge between them, and that their divided loyalties could be conquered.
He held no doubt in his mind that together they could find some way for this to work.
How, he still hadn’t determined, but it was a question to which he desperately sought the answer.
The look of betrayal on her face concerned him far more than the threat of fighting in any duel. He knew how to best an opponent with his sword, but he couldn’t fathom how to convince Astrid that his loyalty to Brian needn’t be the end of their relationship.
They left the hall en masse, Brian and Sitric leading the way out toward the field where the Fianna trained every afternoon.
The betrothal hung in the air, unfinished in the face of the argument that had just broken out.
Cormac was not surprised that Brian took exception to Cahill’s presence in Dyflin, nor was he surprised that Sitric took exception to Brian’s belligerent choice of words.
Both men had tempers. Both lived their lives to the fullest in every way, including defending their own honor.
In some ways, the two kings were more alike than they appeared at a glance.
Sitric’s men fetched a cloak measuring three meters and laid it in the center of the training field.
They hammered hazel staves into the corners, three feet further out.
While Cormac had never witnessed a duel in the Ostman manner, he was familiar enough with the concept of a duel to recognize that they set up the field of combat.
As he stood there watching, he spied Astrid’s blazing hair, the same scarlet red as the paint on the shields the men now laid at each end of the square.
She stormed over to him, her honey eyes lit like amber torches, her expression beautiful and furious all at once.
“Astrid, let me explain,” he began.
“Swear to me that you won’t kill my brother,” she interrupted.
He took a breath, long and deep. He couldn’t have a conversation with her while she worried over her brother’s life, and so first he addressed the fear he heard in her voice. “The combat is to the surrender, not the death,” he assured her. “Your brother’s life is safe.”
“I don’t just mean today.”
Cormac took a step back, her words sinking like a stone in his gut.
He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t. He wanted to assure her that he would never harm her family.
But he knew, especially after today, that if Brian battled Sitric again, there was a good chance he would face the King of Dyflin across the battlefield.
And as much as he wanted to ease all of her worries, he also wouldn’t make a vow that he knew he couldn’t keep.
Instead, he replied with his own request.
“Swear to me he won’t betray Brian.”
Astrid’s bluster fell away, her silence engulfing the narrow space between them.
Astrid didn’t often fall silent. More than anyone he’d ever met, she always had something to say, always had a word to get in.
That fire was one of the things he loved so much about her, and its absence now was surely a bad sign.
“I don’t want to fight Sitric,” he told her. He took a step toward her, hoping to close the distance physically if he couldn’t bridge the gap with his words.
Astrid retreated. “I can’t betray my brother,” she whispered. “I can’t marry someone who would destroy my family.” She turned on her heels and walked over to join the gathering onlookers.
His gut roiled, his stomach threatening to evict what little he’d eaten so far that day. A burning pain filled the back of his throat, making it difficult to swallow as he watched her walk away from him.
She’d left him.
Cormac grappled with the reality of her words, with how quickly she’d discarded him.
Perhaps she never really loved him at all.
He’d been a fool for imagining she could.
Hadn’t that been their bargain from the beginning, that their marriage would never happen?
His feelings for her were doomed from the start, yet he’d been too blinded by his attraction to her.
He made his way to one end of the square, numbness overtaking him. He could hardly hold two thoughts together, and he could think of little but the pain he felt at her loss. As Sitric took his place opposite Cormac, one of the guardsmen of Dyflin stepped toward them, addressing the crowd at large.
“The challenger defends first,” he announced, gesturing to Sitric. “When the shields are gone, the men have only their swords to defend themselves. The fight continues until one man yields. The first man to yield loses the duel and owes the honor price of three marks of silver to the winner.”
Sitric grabbed the first of his three shields from beside the square, drawing his sword and facing Cormac with a grim nod.
It was one of the few times Cormac had ever seen his face without a smile—a sentiment he well understood, for he felt much the same.
He wanted to battle Sitric as much as he wanted to fight his own brother.
But Brian was the reason that he was here.
Brian was the reason that he had any family at all.
He was the reason that Cormac knew what it meant to be a man of honor, and he wasn’t going to let him down, no matter how deeply it wounded him.
Gritting his teeth against the ache in his chest, Cormac picked up a shield and drew his sword, charging the King of Dyflin.