Page 9 of Princess of Elm (Warriors of the Fianna #4)

T his was all his fault. She tugged hard on her cream underdress, the neckline doing its best to make a mess of her braids.

Shoving her arms through the sleeves, Astrid reminded herself that she couldn’t best Cormac in a duel, and therefore couldn’t unleash her anger in that specific way.

She doubted any of her men, or even her brother, could beat him, unfortunately.

Sighing in resignation, she pulled on her sage green apron dress and fastened the bronze brooches.

She may not be able to punish him properly for his actions, but Astrid wouldn’t soon forgive the warrior. She had played nice last night to secure his cooperation, but she blamed him entirely for this disastrous turn of events. Even with their bargain, Astrid’s situation remained precarious.

Aye, she had a plan but, as Cormac had pointed out to her, ’twas a faulty one.

On top of the threat of an unwanted marriage, Astrid had dug the hole deeper with regard to her brother’s arranged marriage.

And, as though that weren’t enough, she had to manage the planning of these ridiculous games whilst ensuring that Cormac won.

The potent combination of her worries and responsibilities destroyed any appetite she might’ve had. Instead of breaking her fast in the family’s hall, she hurried over to the guest hall in search of Cormac. She had but a fortnight to turn him into a model Ostman.

When she stepped into the hall from the icy mist, Astrid found it empty, save for Niamh sorting herbs on one of the trestle tables.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, approaching the table and inspecting the array of freshly picked plants. “And whatever are you doing?”

The golden-haired beauty paused in her work. “The men run through the bog every morn, then they train in the yard, then they bathe, then they study. Cormac and Illadan keep them busy, even when they’re at their leisure.”

“Study?” Astrid repeated. The rest she understood, but that hardly sounded like something expected of a warrior.

“The Fianna must be able to play and perform music and poetry,” Niamh explained. “Finn is teaching them the histories of the people, and as a whole they discuss politics and strategy.”

“I see,” Astrid mumbled, still not understanding in the least why that was a concern of warriors. “And these?” She gestured at the plants covering the table between them.

“Dallan told me the games are quite violent, so I’m making extra salves and tinctures. No one’s dying on my watch if I can help it.”

“We have healers, you know,” Astrid smiled, picking up a sprig of greenery and smelling it. Her nose wrinkled at the acrid scent.

“I know.” Niamh caught her gaze. “But I’m better than them.”

Astrid chuckled. “I always liked you.”

As much as she wanted to linger and watch Niamh’s process, she had plenty of her own work waiting. Cormac wouldn’t be available until that evening, so she sought out her mother and brother to get started on this ridiculous leikmót .

They met in the family’s hall, not caring to venture out into the downpour that descended shortly after Astrid left Niamh. Settling into one of the cozy corners, they were left to meet in peace, with naught but the servants passing by on errands.

“I’ve already dispatched messengers to deliver the invitations to the guests,” Sitric began.

“Our focus for the next fortnight must be constructing the leikskálar. I doubt tents will be sufficient protection from the chill this time of the year, so we’ll need to start building the halls as soon as possible to have them ready. ”

Leikskálar, gaming sheds that housed participants much like miniature halls, were the standard for hosting extended games. It took a great deal of both wood and manpower to see them built, and it sounded as though they were building several.

Astrid narrowed her eyes at her brother. “This is going to cost a fortune. Is it really worth spending all this just to try to get rid of me?”

The smile that held permanent residence on Sitric’s bearded face faltered. “You’re cleverer than that, sister,” he said gently. “Don’t let your temper hinder your judgment. You were the one who wanted to move against Brian sooner rather than later, were you not?”

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. How had she missed it? “You mean to buy an army through marriage.”

“As Brian appears intent on preventing my own marriage from accomplishing such a feat, it falls to you.” His smile reappeared, bright as ever. “And the beauty of the games is that it won’t seem to Brian that I am deliberately choosing a man who would ally against him.”

“And what if a man not of your choosing should win?” Astrid’s plans had not changed, not yet at least. But this certainly made a muck into a proper mess.

She did want her brother to escape servitude to Brian and become a king unto himself alone.

Marrying a man who could give them an army would add speed to the long process, but it wouldn’t solve all their problems. And, most importantly, Astrid would still be leaving behind her culture to move to a fully Gaelic kingdom. Alone.

“The only men competing will be those I’ve invited, and all have advantages to our cause, even those who nominally ally with Brian.”

The blood raced through her veins, her mind reaching a conclusion she doubted Cormac would like any more than she did. If Sitric handpicked the men, Cormac would have to convince Sitric to let him join the leikmót .

Keeping her features carefully guarded, Astrid pretended irritation to hide her growing concerns.

They spent the next few hours compiling lists of the rules and games, discussing the logistics of feeding so many guests for so long, and debating whether or not they could even get the housing built in time. Astrid doubted it. Gormla thought they might manage it. Sitric saw no problem whatsoever.

Come dinner, Astrid had more to tell Cormac than she thought could fit into one evening of conversation—especially since she’d have to wait until after dinner to corner him.

And, somehow, she had to work with him and not attack him at every opportunity.

Instead of trying to pull him aside publicly, she decided to retire for the evening and wait for him in his room.

Tonight, she planned to teach him to play hnefatafl , a game of cunning much like chess, and an excellent opportunity to thrash him, as Astrid won nearly every game of it she played.

She moved the small bedside table to the foot of the bed, setting the board and pieces for a match atop it and looking forward to exacting some revenge upon the warrior, small though it may be.

The interlude felt interminable as she sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the gaming and laughter in the main hall. She’d brought some mending to work on while she waited, but she couldn’t sit still.

Just when she worried he may have gone into town with Sitric and some of the men, the door opened and Cormac stopped dead when he spotted her. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

His sea-blue eyes took in the repositioned table and the game board before lifting to meet Astrid’s stare. With a sigh of resignation, he strode to the bed and sat on the edge nearest the other side of the little table. “I’m not doing this every night.”

“You’re doing it until I’m certain you can win.”

His lips tightened into a wicked smirk. “I can win already.” He picked up one of the white wooden warriors from the edge of the board and moved it toward the king in the center.

“You know how to play?” She moved one of the black pieces to better defend the king, her hopes sinking like a rotten longship.

“Have you already forgotten that both your cousins live with us? Dallan and Eva have boards of their own. And Finn and his sister are the children of an Ostman, both of whom live with our number as well.”

“It never occurred to me that they had brought their boards with them,” she grumbled. So much for thrashing him. “That’s just as well. It gives us more time for you to practice other skills.”

In his next two moves, he’d forced her to place one of her warriors into a vulnerable position.

“What other skills will I need?” He didn’t look up from the board, making his next move as he spoke.

“Many.” She countered his move. “Most of which I doubt you have.” She provoked him deliberately, trying to break his concentrated attack on her king. Cormac was trouncing her.

“If you doubt my skills, then why beg for my aid?”

“Beg!” Astrid screeched in protest. Remembering that she sat in a man’s room in secret, she lowered her voice to continue berating his poor word choice. “I do not beg . You were fortunate that I offered you any sort of truce in the first place.”

“Which reminds me,” he added smoothly, as though she hadn’t just lost her temper. “Have you spoken with your brother?”

Astrid tsked at him, as much to buy her time to contemplate her next move in the game as to forestall the conversation. “Of course I spoke with my brother.”

Cormac narrowed his eyes. “About choosing Sláine as his bride?”

“If I change my mind overnight, he’ll be suspicious. We have weeks. Let it sit for a while and then I’ll pretend I’ve gotten to know her better.”

“Or you could actually get to know her better.” His men advanced again, surrounding her king and claiming the victory.

Frowning, Astrid reset the board. Though he’d convinced her that he could play the game, she liked having something to occupy them while they spoke. She took the first turn this time, moving one of the white pieces along the edge toward his king.

He responded with an oddly offensive maneuver for someone defending.

“You still haven’t told me anything of these games,” he pointed out, waiting as she took her turn.

Astrid swallowed, her anger faltering. She needed to tell him that he had to get Sitric’s permission to compete, but she knew he wouldn’t like that one bit.

As much as she disliked working with him, she really did need his cooperation.

Not quite ready to take that risk, she answered his initial question instead.

“They test skills that we value in a man. Many deal with water.” Astrid’s gaze lifted as a thought struck her. “Do you even know how to swim?” If he didn’t, he’d surely be killed.

The hint of a smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I know how to swim,” he whispered with amusement.

“It’s not just swimming. It’s fighting in the water. They’ll try to drown you.”

“Careful, my lady. You almost sound concerned for my welfare.”

Astrid felt her cheeks warm as her anger returned.

“If you die, my plan will fail.” It sounded cold even to her ears, but the last thing she needed was to develop any sort of feelings for the warrior in all of this.

That would ruin far more than just her plan for the games.

And she still hadn’t forgotten that this was entirely his fault.

The least he could do was help her out of the situation he’d created.

“There will be rowing as well, maybe sailing. Have you ever been on a boat?”

“I sailed with your brother not two moons ago,” he replied, his voice unnervingly calm.

It had become something of a game to Astrid since the warrior had come to Dyflin—trying to get him to argue back.

She’d nearly succeeded once, had seen the fire ignite behind his eyes, but his tone had stayed as calm then as it did now.

His unnatural calm concerned her, for how could a man live a true life if he never gave himself over to his emotions now and again?

“There will also be drinking contests.” She leveled a doubtful look at him.

“I drink with the men every night after dinner.”

“Aye, but you’ll be deep in your cups for the contest. And you just don’t seem like the type. Have you ever even been drunk?” she prodded.

“Have you ever considered that mayhap I’m drunk every night, but I’m quiet enough you can’t tell?”

She hadn’t, but she was now. It didn’t matter, so long as he could hold his own in the contest, yet her curiosity got the better of her. “Are you?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Taking her next move, Astrid sighed. “Men die in the contests, Cormac. I need to be certain you understand that you must take this seriously or your life could be in danger.”

“It’s touching that you’re so worried for my safety, but I assure you, I’m familiar with the concept of a violent competition.” As if to drive home the point, he captured one of her men on the board.

A fluttering traveled through her chest as her heartbeat picked up Lifting one of her game pieces, she rolled it around in her fingers as she decided on her next move.

As much as she wanted to continue prodding him—and he’d handed her an excellent opportunity to do just that—she really needed to get the most difficult part of the conversation out of the way before they planned any further.

“Sitric told me something today that is going to complicate our plan,” she began, trying to use some tact instead of simply unleashing her temper. “All the men competing will be men he has chosen and invited, so that he is happy with whomever wins my hand.”

Beside her, Cormac’s arm stilled mid-reach for the board. “Then how do you plan to get me into the competition at all?”

“You’ll have to convince him.” She took a deep breath, bracing herself.