Chapter 13

Astrid was escorted to the lead table, where she sat without comment beside her mother. Beibhinn was settled in the center of the bench, the same position she'd held while Astrid's father was alive, even surveying those before her as if she were still wife to the ri túaithe. Astrid wanted to rip the woman's pleased expression from her face.

Pádraig had wandered off before they'd even reached the roundhouse, no doubt to follow after the pretty lass who'd kept her eye on him as he'd passed. The woman was from Black Oengus's tribe, and her husband had been killed in the fighting. If she was willing to give Pádraig what her obvious interest implied, Astrid expected him back no time soon. The longer he stayed away, the better.

"Glad I am ye found time to speak with Pádraig. He came to be with ye so ye would not be afeared on yer wedding night."

Beibhinn's words halted Astrid's movements. She could not have heard her mother correctly. "Wedding night?"

"Do not look so shocked, Astrid! This is what we had hoped for."

The woman moved with slow, controlled movements, tipping her head to signal that the food and drink be served.

"That one is a handsome warrior. Ye are lucky to find a man like that interested in ye." Beibhinn kept her eyes on those who sat opposite the head table. "Ye need not thank me. I am yer mother, and I only want what is best for ye."

Gasping in too much air at once, Astrid bent over and coughed in convulsions she couldn't control. Everyone in the room turned to watch her, some standing, some half sitting. Niall brought her his mug of water, setting it before her on the table. She quickly drank it and the spasms eased.

"My thanks, Niall," Astrid said right before clearing her throat yet again.

The lad smiled sheepishly, ducking his head. "The least I could do for ye."

Beibhinn scoffed beside her before turning away. Niall reddened, a look of confusion on his face, and returned to his seat.

"Ye seek attention from every man ye see! Do ye not realize what type of trouble ye can get yerself into?"

Astrid searched her mother's face. Trouble? She had merely said a kind word to Niall. Her mother had encouraged her, nay pressured her, into following Pádraig into the night while they were staying with the Meic Murchadha. More proof that her mother was concerned for her own well-being and not that of her daughter.

Astrid had never quite understood her mother's insistence that going back to the clan of her birth would make her life better. Who was even left of her family? Certainly when Astrid was brave enough to share with her mother what had actually happened, Beibhinn would admit Pádraig was not the man they had believed him to be. She would give up this notion of returning to the Meic Murchadha.

"Mamaídh," Astrid's stomach churned. "I do not want t—"

Beibhinn's eyes widened and her face tightened. "Of course ye do! A better match could not be made."

"But there is anoth—"

"There is another man interested in ye? That has this much power? That is this well connected?"

"Well, no, I do not—"

"Come. Come. Ye cannot be that fickle, Astrid. We've discussed this at great length. We need only get Diarmuid's approval and 'twill be done."

"He is not—"

"He is not what?" Beibhinn's eyes widened in obvious irritation. Astrid could actually feel her stomach tightening into one huge knot.

"I do not wish to marry him."

"Ye do not have a say."

"Why would I not?"

"Because ye have expressed yer interest. Ye've approached him with the idea. He has decided to accept ye as his wife."

Her world seemed to be spinning out of control. Beibhinn made it sound as if it were a signed agreement.

"But Diarmuid has not—"

"Yer brother is of little use to anyone." She shook her head in a display of sheer exasperation. "He is preoccupied with that woman, but—"

"His wife!" Astrid spat the words at her.

Already Beibhinn was speaking ill of the woman who required Diarmuid's time. Astrid feared how her mother would react upon learning Diarmuid's wife was a healer.

When Beibhinn turned her censuring eyes on her, Astrid refused to back down.

"Aednat. Is. His. Wife!" The need to defend the woman became overwhelming. "Did ye not just spend time with her? She's a lovely woman."

"She did not even know I was there, and I do not like this show of disrespect."

"He is not…" Astrid stopped talking when she noticed her mother's suddenly shocked expression. The woman stood, her eyes wide and fixed on a man who'd just entered the roundhouse. He wore dark brown trews and a tunic as green as moss. The gold chain around his waist spoke of great wealth, as did the layers of cloth covering him.

"Fintan?" Beibhinn's lips curled into a huge smile, and she gestured to the fair-haired man. "Fintan, come! Sit beside me. What brings ye here?"

It was not anyone Astrid recognized, but clearly her mother knew him quite well, even hugging his arm when he sat beside her. Her mother was not very demonstrative and to see her behavior now was surprising in the extreme, sending all other concerns from Astrid's mind.

"Beibhinn, it has been too long. I came to rectify that." Their hands were clasped as if they were close friends.

"It has been far too long." The woman nodded, that slow, sad, agreeable nod that always came right before she moved into her lamenting. "Wherever have ye been, my friend?"

Astrid had no patience for her mother's usual discontent. She smiled around the woman. "Fintan, is it? I am called Astrid."

"Ah, Astrid, I remember ye well." The man's face creased with his broad smile. "Not yet a woman when last I saw ye at yer mother's side."

Her mother also laughed. "And so she still remains with me. A good daughter."

Astrid flinched at her mother's assessment. "Would that be when my father still lived?"

Fintan lowered his eyes. "Ah, yer father. Kane was a great man indeed."

Astrid's chest tightened at the sentiment.

Fintan nodded before lifting his gaze to her. "D'ye know he was named for the son-in-law of our árd rí? A mighty warrior! He was aptly named."

Astrid flushed with pride. "Thank ye for sharing that with me. I did not know."

"Enough!" Beibhinn shifted forward, blocking Astrid's view of the man, and raised a hand to those waiting to serve the meal. "Names are seldom prophetic."

Fintan leaned forward just a bit and winked at Astrid before settling back. Astrid turned away to smile. She would need to speak to this man if given the chance. Her mother had such a poor opinion of her father, Astrid sometimes wondered if her own memories of him were true. He had always seemed bigger than life to her, and she still missed him more than she could say.

"Astrid?"

Beibhinn's irritated tone yanked Astrid out of her musings. And now her mother raised her eyebrows, not hiding her annoyance.

"Well? Do ye agree or not?"

"I did not hear—"

"Daydreaming again? I swear, Astrid, ye are going to be the death of me—"

Astrid stopped listening to the tirade she was so familiar with. As was her habit, Beibhinn was no longer speaking to Astrid but about her. Fintan was the polite listener this time, and she had compassion for him. It was no doubt an awkward situation for the man.

The pain that usually settled in her chest when her mother started in on her, the feelings of inadequacy, were surprisingly absent. Astrid swallowed hard, expecting the usual lump to show itself, but it was not there. Instead, the look of love on Marcán's face flashed through her mind. His compliments. His sweet words. All these things filled her mind as she struggled to take a deep breath through the tears stinging her eyes. He found her acceptable. More than acceptable. He desired her, and no one else, for his wife. She had successfully crossed the chasm between belittling and adoration, and her heart soared.

And yet her mother intended to take all that away from her. Well, she wouldn't let it happen! Surely there would be a way around this… this thing Beibhinn had set in motion. Watching Beibhinn's mouth flapping, the lines around her lips tight in her complaints, Astrid wondered why she had ever sought the woman's approval for anything. It had been obvious, even as a little girl, she would never receive it. That sudden revelation was like the sun bursting through on a cloudy day, and Astrid nearly sighed with relief. The woman found everything about Astrid wanting. Her looks. Her manners. Her embroidery. Her voice. As if the goal of a mother was not to encourage her children but to keep ripping them apart and discouraging them from ever believing in themselves… or ever having lives of their own.

Astrid hoped only to shower her children with love and acceptance. Life was brutal, and so many children died before they had a chance to grow. Just as her younger brother, Fergus, had died so young. Did her mother have any regrets about him? One of the last times Astrid had seen her father was when he'd learned of his youngest son's death. He had been devastated, but that had not stopped Beibhinn from laying him low with her mouth, placing all the blame at his feet.

The meal was finishing, and Astrid counted herself lucky on two counts. Her mother had not sought her involvement in their conversation again, and Pádraig had still not arrived. Mayhap he had even returned home. That would be a blessing as far as Astrid was concerned.

As it turned out, Fintan was a fili, a member of an elite class of highly trained and sought-after poets. He traveled from place to place, entertaining his audience with his poems of great conquests and the warriors that fought in them. Once the food was removed, he regaled them with his poems and songs, much like the stories Marcán was so good at sharing. Fintan even used a small stringed instrument to bring some of his words to music. A lovely voice.

The songs Fintan sang were of battles and lost loves. Poignant stories that stirred Astrid's heart and made her wish Marcán would show himself. She would feel more at peace if she could just see him now. Even if he had to keep his distance. He was Diarmuid's second, expected to sit at the head table. Not so when Beibhinn commanded the room. She made no secret of her dislike of him.

The room erupted with clapping when Fintan finished, all those present deeply affected by his words. Though the final song was about unrequited love, Astrid found herself imagining her own Marcán with his long, black hair. Hearing her mother sniffle beside her, Astrid looked more closely and was surprised to see she was indeed crying, as if also touched by the sentimentality of the lovers. These were real tears, which Astrid had long since learned to distinguish from her mother's fake ones.

Fintan bowed low to each side of the room with great ceremony before returning to Beibhinn's side.

"Ah, Fintan!" Beibhinn wiped at her face. "I have missed the sound of yer voice."

He took a long draught from his horn, which was quickly refilled by the many willing attendants surrounding him. Fintan smiled his thanks to them, acknowledging each in turn before they drifted away.

"Glad I am ye enjoyed that, Beibhinn. I sang the last one for ye."

The sight of Beibhinn dropping her face into her hands nearly had Astrid gasping. She tried to remember what it was the man had sung about to cause this depth of emotion.

A handsome warrior with hair dark as night

His bright green eyes twinkling with pleasure at the maiden's sighs.

Astrid looked askance at her mother. Her father's eyes had been dark brown, his hair the blond of his Norse father. Not Kane then. No doubt the song was about the man Beibhinn would have preferred to marry.

"My thanks," Beibhinn said, then her voice became so quiet that Astrid had to shift closer to hear her. "I remember him that way still. Just as ye sang of him."

"Ye speak of him as if he had died in his youth."

"He might as well have."

Fintan sighed, patting her mother's clasped hands. "What happened was for the best. He lived a long, happy life."

Her mother's painful sigh sent chills along Astrid's spine. As did the raspy whisper that followed. "He could have been happier with me! He should have been mine."

Fintan's hand stilled atop her mother's. "Ye found no comfort in his happiness? Would ye have wanted him alone with no family of his own?"

"I wanted him with me."

Sneaking a peek around Beibhinn's head, Astrid searched the man's face. It had darkened and his eyes, directed at her mother, were mere slits of narrowed indignation.

His lips tight over his teeth when he spoke, he said, "Yet he chose another. Ye would have done better to make yer peace with that than to harden yer heart so."

Fintan turned away with such finality, Astrid expected him to rise from the table. Instead, he emptied his horn and asked for another—a request his many enthralled attendees were eager to fulfill.

"Do ye have news from the north?" one young lass asked as she poured the mead into his horn.

Fintan's expression had relaxed with the increased amount of drink, his hand resting on the table in front of him. "I have many tales to tell from both near and far!"

The lass giggled and her friends crowded around, eager to hear something new or exotic.

Astrid smiled, recognizing herself in their enraptured expressions. Ignoring her mother, who now sulked beside her, she addressed the man. "Any news at all would be welcome, of that I am certain."

Her mother flashed her usual disapproving expression, but Astrid merely sighed. Fintan leaned forward now, keeping Astrid within his sight.

"Ah, I have a gruesome tale, if ye're of a mind to hear it."

The young girls glanced at each other, nodding as if they'd been offered something quite delectable.

"That would be very entertaining." It was the first girl who answered him, her eyes wide in anticipation.

Fintan took another long pull from his horn before beginning. "A few villages away, there was a burning. A burning at the stake."

Astrid's stomach tightened.

The girl's giggles died off, but their attention never wavered, their expressions shifting to fear as he continued.

"'Twas the woman that lived the farthest away from the rest, on the land she'd gained from her father as a dowry, though she'd never married. She had been warned before by their ri to keep to her work at the loom and stop dealing in the dark arts. She had been called out as a witch."

"A witch," the first girl repeated, her voice awed.

"She was well known among the villagers, but they kept their distance, of course. The priest himself had warned her about her dealings with the devil, though she had vehemently denied any such wrongdoing." He divided his attention between his avid listeners, pausing for effect.

"On the full moon last, she had told the woodman to be weary of the coming rains, that his wood should be moved lest the flooding send it all downstream." Fintan searched the faces intent on him for a long, quiet moment before speaking again. "There had been no sign of rain that day."

The first girl turned to her friends. "Do ye remember? There was such a dry spell? Right before Diarmuid and his men went off in search of his wife?"

"A terrible rain."

Fintan smiled when they turned their attention back to him. "They said the rain came without warning. That only a Seer in league with the devil could have known it would come."

Astrid gulped, her hand on her silver goblet, unable to bring the drink closer to her mouth. Unable to move at all.

"They burned her at the stake like a witch." The man turned his gaze from one to the next of those sitting closest to him. Astrid had been so intent on his story, she had not noticed the crowd that had gathered around them, four and five deep. "And like a witch, a Seer cannot be allowed to live."

"Did ye watch the entire thing? Her flesh bursting into flames? Her screams?" It was the first girl again, but it became obvious she was asking what they all wanted to know with their wagging heads and wild, staring eyes.

Fintan shrugged, sipping from his horn again, feigning a disinterest that Astrid questioned the sincerity of. Surely a man with such a heart for these tender stories would feel the pain of so horrendous a death.

"I have seen many burned alive," Fintan said. "'Tis not pleasant."

"A terrible punishment!" Astrid said.

"Well-deserved!" Beibhinn chimed in, her voice ringing with indignation. "And the scriptures clearly state we cannot suffer a witch to live."

"I believe the scriptures also say any sinner is no better than a witch." Astrid said, turning her wide, blue eyes on the man. Compelled to speak despite the strong sense of foreboding filling her, she ignored her mother's censuring glare. "…and certainly we are all of us sinners."

"True. We are all sinners," Fintan replied.

"Do we all deserve to be burned alive?" Astrid asked.

"Ah, Astrid, yer father often spoke of yer kind heart," Fintan said. "Always caring for the downtrodden."

"As we are all called to do." She had to force the words out, but the man's expression was gentle. Not at all like he had taken offense.

"And so we are." Fintan leaned back, rubbing his neck, his expression weary. "The punishment was not objected to by any of the villagers."

The lasses had their bit of gossip and wondered off, chattering among themselves, until Joan dispersed them to see to their duties. The celebration, subdued as it was, would continue for many hours yet.

"Mother, shall I see Fintan settled?" She turned to him. "Ye may return to the festivities if ye desire."

Beibhinn seemed far away, and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on her daughter. "A fine thing for ye to see to, Astrid."

Astrid stood along with Fintan.

"I need very little. A pallet would suffice." He followed her through the door but stopped to look up at the star-filled skies. "A lovely night."

Glancing up, she nodded. "A night sky without a single cloud is very good indeed."

"Ye sound as if ye're pronouncing an omen."

She scoffed. "I do not believe in such things."

He glanced back at the roundhouse. "And if I remember yer mother, 'tis a good thing ye do not. Is she still so bent on ferreting out wrongdoers?"

"She believes she alone is capable of it, and if the priest concurs? So be it. But if he does not, he too may receive an earful."

Astrid led the way to a small roundhouse opposite the large one, seldom used and hidden among the overgrown trees. A place of honor for visiting fili. A king's reputation could be made or broken by the words of a man such as this. And those words would be repeated far and wide. His opinion mattered, so he was always well treated.

When Fintan reached the closed door, he turned toward Astrid. "I do not mean any disrespect to yer mother, but ye do realize her views are quite contrary?"

His eyes were intent, their brightness reflecting the moon hanging just behind her.

Astrid shrugged. "It matters not what others believe as long as we cater to what she believes."

"It cannot be an easy thing to sit beside her, and ye with such a tender nature. Have ye never considered speaking to her about her baleful behavior?"

Astrid would have laughed at such an outrageous question but for the pang it caused in her heart. "She has little respect for me or my opinion. Diarmuid has managed to keep her from doing too much harm."

"Yer father always considered ye his brightest child."

Her chest tightened. "He did?"

Fintan cupped her cheek, staring at her with a gentle expression. "He thought the world of ye and only wanted the best for his only lass."

"Would that he had seen to a betrothal for me when last he was here, I would no longer be under Beibhinn's thumb."

"He tried. Repeatedly. Yer mother refused her consent, and even though he could have forced his will, as was his right, he was tired of the constant bickering. Like ye, he preferred peace in his own home."

Fintan averted his gaze, but Astrid knew he wanted to say more. She had a prick of a memory of him as a younger man, his hair less gray. Her father had been there, and the two men had been speaking so seriously that Astrid had felt the need to break the tension and approached them with her freshly collected wildflowers.

"I will miss seeing this one most of all."

Astrid closed her eyes against the painful memory. Certainly, she must be remembering it incorrectly… When she opened her eyes, Fintan's sad, expressive gaze was on her.

"Ye remember his leaving, don't ye?" he asked.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she nodded.

"He did not want to leave ye here, but he could not remain and be subjected to her nastiness."

She sniffled, wiping the dampness from her cheeks before speaking. "I remember my father as a wonderful man. Why was she so unhappy with him?"

Fintan shook his head, his expression shifting to anger. "Yer mother believed she was meant for another, and she would never let it go."

"A-Astrid?"

So intent on their conversation, they were startled to be interrupted by Faolán, who stopped a few feet away.

"Y-yer mother i-is not feeling w-well. She w-wants ye beside h-her."

Fintan's brows arched as if in disbelief, but he said nothing.

"Is there anything else ye need?" Astrid asked the fili.

He glanced over at Faolán, who had kept his distance, before taking her hand and moving in close. "Beware, Astrid. Remember yer father's kind thoughts on ye. He was a wise man and knew of what he spoke."

Astrid swallowed, withdrew her hand, and forced a smile for Faolán's benefit. "I enjoyed our talk. I will see ye on the morrow."

Moving away from the man without a backward glance was a hard thing to do, but she did not wish for Faolán to know of her interest in the fili. She had so many questions for Fintan. He seemed to know all the secrets of her parents' lives, and there was so much she wanted to understand.

"A-as I-I said, ye are a-a good daughter." Faolán walked abreast of her, but Astrid refused to turn toward him and instead picked up her pace.

"Certainly I am." It was not as if she had a choice.

"There i-is o-one thing, I-I w-wish to w-warn ye a-abo—"

Astrid stopped dead in the doorway of the roundhouse. Her mother was flanked by Pádraig, who stood to her left, and Daimhin, who stood on her right. Beibhinn had never looked happier.

"Pádraig i-is w-with yer mother," Faolán's voice was very quiet.

Tight-lipped, she turned to confront him. "It would have been a kindness to give me some warning."

"I-I-I tried."

Her nostrils flared. "Not hard enough!"

"There ye are." Her mother called to her. "Astrid, come! See who is here to entertain us with more stories."

Grinding her teeth, Astrid searched her mind for a way to escape, but there was no help for it. Unless she was willing to confront the man in front of half the clan, she could not leave. And confronting him now would no doubt make some wonder why she had waited so long to speak up. Faolán's intent expression reminded her that all eyes were on her, waiting for the good daughter to return to her mother's side. Her shoulders rounded, Astrid struggled against a defeated sigh that threatened to escape and walked toward the head table. It felt as if she were headed to a death sentence.

Pádraig's leering gaze made her want to scream. Daimhin's genuine smile of encouragement, however, surprised her. Could the other woman know what inner turmoil this visit was causing her? When Astrid looked to her mother, she felt like she'd been punched in the gut. Beibhinn's look of triumph, her nose in the air, was an arrow firing right through her heart.

While Diarmuid remained in seclusion with Aednat, all were subject to their mother's inclinations. If Beibhinn invited Pádraig and his sister to stay, there was nothing Astrid could do about it.

Pádraig turned his attention to Beibhinn, and that was fine with Astrid.

"'Tis good to see ye," Daimhin said to Astrid.

"Have ye only just arrived?" Astrid asked.

"I came with Pádraig. He said he wished to spend time with ye."

Astrid could think of nothing to say in return, so she did not respond, which didn't seem to bother Daimhin.

"My father was very pleased with the idea of ye joining with my brother." Daimhin's eyes roved the many people before her as she spoke. "He said it would be a wonderful match."

Swallowing a retort, Astrid waited until Daimhin looked at her again before responding. "I am not so inclined. Mayhap there is another yer father would prefer to me?"

"Oh no!" Daimhin laughed in an awkward way, as if Astrid had mentioned something totally unheard of. "There will be no dropping the issue with him now. He is bent on having ye in our clan, and the sooner the better. And yer mother, of course."

Well, the Meic Murchadha was about to become very disappointed. The dark-haired lass turned away again, her eyes still intent on the crowd.

"Is there someone in particular ye seek?"

"I thought I might see Marcán. Is he about?"

The memory of this woman straddling Marcán's lap came back in full force. Now Astrid could see it was an attempt at seducing him. She'd probably whispered a promise of it in his ear. Astrid wished she'd thought to question him.

Daimhin's breasts—she could hear Marcán's voice describing how they hung "like heavy fruit"—were crowned with a thick gold chain. It was suddenly difficult to string two thoughts together, but Astrid managed to pry her jaw loose. "I do not believe he has much idle time."

Daimhin merely glanced at Astrid. Beibhinn, however, hadn't missed Astrid's flat tone. Turning to her, she asked, "Is aught amiss?"

Astrid was not about to even try to respond, her hands clenching into fists on her lap.

Daimhin smiled at Beibhinn. "I had just asked on Marcán. Is he about?"

"Oh, yes, Daimhin! Do go and locate the man." Pádraig said, his wide, innocent eyes barely pausing on Astrid before continuing to his sister, but Astrid did not miss it. He was being intentionally cruel. "Sure I am that the man will be more than pleased to tarry with ye."

Daimhin stood. "I wish to rekindle our friendship."

He laughed. A loud, attention-getting bark. Like a seal. Astrid tightened her jaw, the image of ripping her nails down the man's face, drawing blood, relieving some of her ire.

"Rekindle what ye like," he said. "Ye've yet to find a suitable man. Mayhap he is the one."

It took every ounce of Astrid's control to not jump up and shove the woman as hard as she could, knocking her flat on her arse. But taking her ire out on Daimhin would not satisfy her—if she relented to the violent wish, she would then want to throw herself at Pádraig with fists flailing.

"Mayhap." Daimhin nodded and went off through the throng of people, a sweet smile for everyone she passed.

Astrid counted to five before she stood herself.

"Where are ye off to?" Beibhinn asked.

"Ye seem fine. I will make sure Fintan is set for the night."

Pádraig started to stand, but Astrid impaled him with her look. "Do not!"

Her mother frowned.

Astrid adjusted her tone. "Ye can stay and enjoy yerself here. I will be back anon."

With a yank of her léine from beneath the table, Astrid strode across the hall toward the door, looking neither left nor right. There was not a chance she would be returning. Everyone in her path parted once they saw the expression on her face, but she did not care what they thought of her. There was no way Daimhin was going to get close to Marcán. Not if Astrid had anything to say about it.