Page 31 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)

A strid couldn’t take her eyes off the horrific sight before her: the man she loved fighting the brother she loved.

She didn’t want to watch either man fall, but she couldn’t look away.

Even in duels to the first blood, men could be maimed or killed.

In a fight to the yield, the risk of serious injury only grew.

Beside her, Brian gripped the narrow arms of the chair that had been brought for him, his knuckles white as he watched the men. On his other side next to Dunla, his daughter Sláine sat, looking similarly conflicted.

Cormac struck first as the defender of Brian’s honor.

His sword came down on Sitric’s shield, shattering it in one mighty blow.

Splinters painted the color of blood flew across the field, scattering at the men’s feet.

Cormac backed up, lifting his own shield to prepare for the blow that would follow from Sitric.

Astrid thought she might be sick. She knew in her heart that Cormac was the greater warrior, but that thought did little to comfort her. Instead, it only increased her concern for her brother. Cormac was a good man and wouldn’t deliberately hurt Sitric, but accidents happened.

Sitric fought admirably, striking back and breaking Cormac’s shield in turn.

How could she love both of these men? She scooted to the edge of her seat.

How could this ever work? She felt ripped in two as she watched Cormac break another of Sitric’s shields, the two men she loved most in the world battling before her.

Back and forth they went, broken shield after broken shield littering the ground with red.

When finally Sitric ran out of shields, he defended a blow from Cormac with his sword, but it glanced off at an odd angle, cutting into his shoulder and causing him to cry out.

Astrid turned to grab her mother, who no doubt suffered alongside her, but her mother wasn’t there. Why would she not be at this duel? She’d gone to the hall with Duncan. Astrid grew more and more confused as she considered her mother’s whereabouts.

She tore her gaze from the duel long enough to scour the crowd. Eva and Finn stood behind her and Brian, as did Dallan and Niamh. Cara and Diarmid stood beside Conan, all three of their faces stricken with concern as they watched.

“Have you seen my mother?” she asked Eva over her shoulder.

Her cousin frowned, searching the crowd herself. “I haven’t. Not since we arrived.”

Brian turned, listening to their conversation.

“I’ll go look for her,” Niamh offered, her golden braids swaying as she hurried back toward the halls.

Out of the corner of her eye, Astrid saw Brian cast a frantic gaze about the field—not at the duel, but at the onlookers.

He turned toward her, his eyes wild, his face paler than normal. “Cahill isn’t here,” he said under his breath. “Neither is Teague.”

Astrid’s stomach lurched as realization settled. “Duncan,” she breathed. “Duncan isn’t here either.”

Niamh raced toward them, panting and shaking her head. She’d apparently sprinted the entire way. “I can’t find her,” she heaved. “I checked the whole estate.”

Sitric cried out when Cormac’s blade bit his skin.

Astrid leapt from her seat. “Stop!”

Their swords met again and again. They hadn’t heard her.

Cormac raised his sword.

“Hold! Stop!” She screamed, running toward them.

Cormac and Sitric both froze midswing.

“Halt!” Brian called, following Astrid across the field.

Upon hearing Brian’s command, Cormac nodded to Sitric, who returned the gesture. They lowered their weapons to the ground.

Astrid’s heart hammered painfully as she and Brian closed the distance to the men.

“What’s happened?” Sitric asked, his brows knitting in concern.

“Astrid, what’s wrong?” Cormac looked from Brian to Astrid. His blue eyes pierced straight through her.

“They’re gone,” she choked.

“Who?” The word left his lips like a thunderclap.

“Duncan and Gormla,” Brian supplied. “They can’t be found.”

Sitric stepped forward, joining the conversation. “Perhaps she took him to see the ships at the harbor—”

“Cahill and Teague are gone,” Astrid interrupted. “Mother isn’t at fault, Sitric. She’s in danger.”

Cormac motioned to the Fianna, drawing them over to join the conversation. Brian called his guards to him while Cormac explained the situation to the Fianna.

Astrid paced, her mind racing and her hands clenching in frustration. She felt so helpless. What could she possibly do?

“Find your weapons and bring my horse,” Brian ordered the guards.

“Lord,” Cormac protested.

Brian held a hand out, silencing him. “I will never be too old to protect my children.”

Astrid’s attention snapped to the aged king. She hated Brian for subjugating her brother, for taking Duncan from her mother, for sacking Dyflin. For so many things.

She would never love him. She probably wouldn’t even like him, no matter how much she grew to know him.

But in that moment, Astrid respected him.

“Guards!” Sitric called. His men came over as well, the dueling square now filled with warriors. “Who was watching the gates?”

The men looked from one to another, a few shuffling their feet.

“Well?” Sitric demanded.

Harald, his captain, stepped forward. “I believe the men were all watching the duel.”

Her brother’s nostrils flared dangerously, his eyes blazing. Astrid would wager someone was going to be whipped for abandoning their post.

“The gate’s open!” another of his men called from the front of the estate.

“She was going to take him to the harbor,” Astrid told them. “I heard her talk of ships.”

“Then that’s where we go,” Brian declared, turning his horse and taking off for the gates.

The Fianna rode ahead at a full gallop. The rest of Brian’s and Sitric’s men followed their kings on foot. Astrid joined them, desperate to help her mother and step-brother however she could. The rows of buildings and curious townsfolk turned to a blur in her haste to reach the harbor.

She smelled it before she saw it, the acrid, citrusy scent of pine and pitch mixing with the briny smell of the sea.

The sounds came next: the shrieking cries of gulls, the clanking of boards and hammering of nails, orders being shouted from a dozen ships as they made berth in the largest port on this side of éire.

Masts and sails bobbed above the rooftops of the city, drawing Astrid like a beacon toward Dyflin’s teeming shores.

Every sailor and craftsman in sight stood still when they entered the harbor with so great a number of warriors. Upon seeing Sitric and Astrid, most went back to their work with only a few curious glances as their party swept up and down the shoreline in search of Gormla and Duncan.

“Ratner!” Astrid called out to one of the captains who frequented the port. “Have you seen my mother?”

Ratner, a tall, thin man with a balding pate, pointed south. “She passed by a while ago with a young lad, looking at all the ships.”

Astrid thanked him, following the herd of warriors who now rushed southward through the harbor. They found her shortly after that.

Gagged and tied to a large piece of driftwood, she sat alone, hidden behind a large boulder. Sitric pulled the gag from her mouth while his men cut her bonds.

“He took him!” she screeched. “Cahill took him! I tried to stop him, and Duncan fought them so well,” her words grew more frantic as she went, her composure dissolving.

“Where did they go?” Brian demanded sharply.

Her mother’s sky-blue eyes snapped to the king. “They’re up there.” She pointed even further south, to the white-faced cliffs that guarded the shore.

Sure enough, figures were visible even from this distance, moving about on top of them.

“He wants your oath, Brian,” Gormla hissed. “And you’d better bring me back my son.”

“What will you do?” Sitric asked. “Will you swear to Malachy for my brother’s life? For your son’s life?”

A debate broke out between the three of them, but it faded into the back of her thoughts as Astrid groped for a plan.

Brian would never swear. She knew it, and she could hardly blame him for it, either.

She despised the man, yes, but he’d risked everything to get to this point in his life, so close to uniting the kingdoms under his rule.

He wasn’t cruel, but he was pragmatic, and Astrid knew he’d do everything in his power to avoid swearing to Malachy.

Her eyes scanned the harbor, from the cliff where her half-brother was being held hostage to the far northern horizon filled with masts and sails. The wind blew hard, whipping the sails against their ropes, the ships swaying in their berths.

And then it hit her.

Striding in between her bickering family, Astrid hushed them all. “I have an idea,” she announced. “But it’s risky.”