Page 5 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)

“T hey’re here!” The shout rang up from the guards posted at the gates of their holding, drawing Astrid reluctantly out into the rain.

It had been raining for four days now. Day or night, it made no difference, and the deluge showed no signs of stopping.

Pulling her ermine-lined cloak over her head, she stepped out of her brother’s hall far enough to be within shouting range of the guards. “How long?” she yelled.

“Under an hour!” he called back.

Retreating to the warm hall—one of two in their holding—Astrid ordered hot baths drawn for their guests. She may not want anything to do with Brian or his Fianna or his parade of brides, but as one of the ladies of this house it fell to her to host them properly.

Unfortunately.

Astrid had just returned from relaying the news of their companions’ return to the Fianna who had remained in Dyflin when the travelers arrived. Looking quite a bit worse for wear.

The door to the main hall burst open, the sound of rain and wind drowning out all else. Cormac stepped through first, covered in dirt and soaked to the bone, and Astrid’s blood pounded in her veins. That man drove her insane.

When first he’d come to Dyflin weeks ago, his striking figure and handsome face took her breath away.

Then she’d had the displeasure of spending time with him.

He was too quiet. Too calculating. Utterly unnerving.

The man did naught but watch everyone else, deciding his next move in eerie silence.

And Astrid knew, beyond a doubt, that he was the one who had the best chance at making a fool of her brother.

Behind him were four women, two dressed like nobles of éire and two in plainer clothes. The taller of the two nobles had hair the color of a good ale—a deep, rich golden brown. A jewel-encrusted circlet sat upon her brow, the emerald gems matching her sodden dress.

The other noble looked more child than woman.

Astrid doubted she had sixteen summers if she had one.

She wore a wine-red dress—a hue that Astrid could never wear with her own aggressively red hair.

The woman’s ebony locks and sharp features seemed familiar to Astrid, but she couldn’t decide why.

She’d certainly never seen any of the women before.

Past the women, three more Fianna—Diarmid, Illadan, and Finn—stepped inside and pulled the door hastily closed.

Sitric stood from where he’d been waiting near the hearth, striding with a wide grin to greet them all. “Welcome, welcome!” His booming voice carried across the crowded hall. “I take it your quest went well?” He tilted his head questioningly toward Diarmid.

That particular Fianna, her brother’s favorite for their similar dispositions, had stolen Cara, the first bride sent by Brian, from her brother. As Sitric wasn’t keen on marrying in the first place, and his good friend deeply loved the woman, they had managed to move past it.

But her brother’s betrothal wasn’t simply a gesture; it was a requirement. And Diarmid had ruined Brian’s proposed match, forcing him to make the journey back to Caiseal and deliver the news to his king in person.

“Well enough,” Diarmid grinned, pulling Sitric into an enthusiastic embrace.

Astrid shook her head at their antics, but couldn’t keep the ghost of a smile from her lips. At least they lived their lives in joy.

“We have more news,” Cormac added, scanning the room. When his gaze found hers, he turned back to Sitric as though he’d been burned.

Normally, such a reaction would insult Astrid. In Cormac, however, it gave her a smug satisfaction at the notion that perhaps she intimidated him. That man needed to be put in his place anyway.

Sitric waved away Cormac’s statement. “We have time enough to speak of business. Get cleaned up, get settled, and then we shall speak further.”

Cormac’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue with her brother. Instead he nodded, stepped to the side, and gestured at the woman in the green gown with hair the color of the ash tree’s heartwood.

“We bring with us Sláine ingen Briain, Princess of Mumhain,” his hand moved to the raven-haired girl, “and Catrin, Princess of Thurles.”

Astrid smiled inwardly. That was why the girl looked familiar—she was the younger sister of Cara, of whom she’d grown fond in these past weeks.

Her brother smiled outwardly, his grin somehow growing to engulf his entire face. “You are my dearest Cara’s sister, are you not?” He stepped toward Catrin, hugging her and then Sláine in turn. “You are both most welcome in Dyflin.”

Poor Catrin nodded, clearly unsure how to proceed.

She was rescued by the appearance of Cara from the back of the hall, who hurried to greet her sister.

Unlike Sitric, Cara did not pull her sodden sibling into an exuberant hug.

Instead, she helped fix the stray locks of dark hair that had fallen out of place, fussing like a mother hen over the girl’s general state of disarray.

The journey must have been arduous indeed, for two princesses to appear thusly for presentation to a king. Though Cormac hadn’t yet said as much, Astrid was no fool. She knew these women were Brian’s next attempt to see her brother wed.

As Astrid watched her brother play nice with their new guests, exchanging smiles and laughs, tossing compliments about like ships on the sea, the room closed in around her.

She felt the world tilt and spin, as though she alone were trapped in this horrific fantasy and no matter how loud she yelled, no one tried to stop it.

Her brother could not marry either of these women.

Catrin was but a child, and heir to land that Sitric already owned.

It would serve no purpose whatsoever. Sláine would bind her brother irrevocably to Brian.

Wedding Brian’s own daughter was as good as climbing into his lap like a hound and begging for scraps. Nay, neither woman would do.

The problem identified, Astrid now required a solution. She could speak with her brother, but she’d tried that a few days ago on the longship and he’d been wholly unreceptive to her concerns.

Or, she could speak with Cormac and try to cut the head off the snake. Maybe she could scare him off before the negotiations began. It felt an insurmountable task, but she had to try something. And Astrid never backed down from a challenge.

If her brother wanted her to make the best of being trapped in a foreign kingdom, Astrid would begin by dealing with this wife problem.

She intercepted Cormac on his way down the hall toward his room, starting right in before he could run off. “What are you doing here with those women?”

“Why must you plague me, woman? I have seven other companions you could torment instead.” The look of resignation on his strong features was almost endearing.

“You’re the one in charge.”

“Illadan is the one in charge,” he corrected. “I am his second.”

“Illadan is the one in charge of the men.” She pointed a finger at him. “You’re the one in charge of the decisions. The quietest men are the ones doing the plotting.”

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling loudly. “So you’re harassing me because I keep to myself? That hardly seems a fair assessment.”

“I’m harassing you because I know you’re trouble.”

“You and I have different ideas of trouble.” He made to step around her.

Astrid intercepted him again. “He’s not going to marry either of them.”

“That choice lays with Sitric.”

“You’re wasting your time,” she insisted, hoping the vehemence in her tone would convince him of the truth of her words.

“Are you not in charge of the household, sister?” Her brother appeared beside them, though she hadn’t noticed his approach. “These men look weary. We should let them rest before we battle them, else the fight will not be fair and the victory hollow at best.”

“Of course,” she acquiesced tightly. Plastering on a smile dripping with irritation, she turned to Cormac. “Allow me to take you to the baths.”

It took every ounce of her will to do as her brother bid her, leading the guests to their waiting baths and showing the ladies to their rooms.

When she stepped away from delivering Cormac, he blocked her path as she had his. Piercing azure eyes burned right through her, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he growled, “but I’m not going to give up because of some meddlesome woman.” He leaned down toward her, so that she felt the warmth of his face before her. “I’m going to win.”