Chapter 15

Astrid scanned the area around her for Marcán, as had become her habit these last days. Between overseeing the hostages and taking on some of Diarmuid's other responsibilities so he could be available to the ri túath, he had been constantly occupied and she had seen little of him since his late-night visit to the hut. That he had not yet approached Diarmuid about his desire to take her to wife seemed apparent since no congratulations had come her way. A devastating disappointment.

True, there had been many distractions to fill her own days. Aednat was up and about, which felt like a blessing to everyone in their clan, and their overking, Sean, had arrived for a visit. Astrid's eyes had teared up upon witnessing the reunion between Sean and Aednat. The cousins were extremely close. Even so, she had not been able to stop thinking about Marcán. What had kept him from speaking with her brother the other night?

Astrid knew there would be an explanation, but it was hard to remain patient. She'd seen Pádraig outside the roundhouse just a few minutes ago with his warband, telling Sean his father had passed the night before, which had made her trepidation increase threefold. He'd even mentioned to Sean and Diarmuid that he hoped to take her to wife!

"Aednat does not seem very happy here." Joan's observation brought her out of her meanderings.

They were preparing the meal, the meats well underway. Joan stirred a mix intended for the hearth with skilled speed as she spoke, balancing the wooden bowl on her hip, while Astrid chopped the vegetables.

"She's just recovering from a long illness. Give her a chance to get the color back in her cheeks."

No longer able to sit still, Astrid was setting the iron cooking tools aside when Marcán ran in from the direction of the hostages, his face a mask of anger. She moved out of his path, unnoticed.

Joan set her bowl down. "There is aught amiss now!"

Merewyn, who had been shucking peas by the fire with the other slaves, came to stand beside Astrid. The remaining women headed out the door, eager not to miss any of the excitement. Even Joan left.

"Is Marcán hurt?" Merewyn asked.

Astrid's heart leapt into her throat. "He didn't seem to be hurt."

Yelling could be heard outside, and crowds ran past the open door toward the hostages. Her sense of dread only increased. Merewyn took her hand and smiled at her, a reassuring smile. "I am certain he would have shared that with ye if it were so."

Nodding, Astrid tried to smile back, but feared it came out as more of a grimace. What she really wanted to do was to stay inside. She preferred to hide from whatever catastrophe was unfolding and definitely did not wish to witness whatever was causing the commotion with the hostages.

"I believe it was Gréagóir who was guarding them." Merewyn said, as if reading her troubled thoughts. "He is a good man."

Merewyn settled on the bench, urging Astrid to sit beside her, but she sensed the other woman's tension. The roundhouse was empty now except for the two of them. In the silence, the shouting got louder. Astrid found herself straining to hear. Had that been Marcán's voice? She turned to her slave. Suddenly it seemed worse not to know what was happening.

Astrid stood. "I must see what is amiss."

Merewyn stood, her smile tight. "The winds of change."

Astrid glanced around to be sure her mother wasn't nearby. Merewyn might be trying to lighten Astrid's fear, but like as not, Beibhinn would take Merewyn's words as a premonition.

Hesitating but a moment, Astrid asked, "Are the winds changing for me?"

"I was speaking of myself." Merewyn's smile quickly dropped into a very somber expression. She lowered her voice. "But yer fear of yer mother is wise indeed. She cares not how ye feel about anyone. Not even Marcán."

The piercing green eyes sent a ripple of fear over Astrid's skin like the warm breeze just before a summer storm. "I do not understand."

"She will stop at nothing to get what she wants, even if it destroys the man ye love."

Diarmuid's angry voice carried to them. "Ye are headstrong."

Was he speaking to Aednat? As one, she and Merewyn ran toward the crowds gathered out back, behind the roundhouse. They worked their way to the front, Astrid leading the way. There was a dead man on the ground, Marcán's sword in his back, which made her gasp, but the sight of her handsome love made all else around her fade away.

The fear and trepidation that had been steadily working their way up her spine left her, and in their wake she felt a heady sense of relief. The raw need to touch him, to know for certain he was unharmed, caused an ache of longing deep in the recesses of her heart. His anger was undeniable, but it didn't frighten her. Instead, she longed to go to him. Were they betrothed, it would be an acceptable gesture, even expected at times of upheaval, as this gave all the signs of being.

Astrid turned her attention to the scene before her, trying to make sense of the chaos. People yelling. Diarmuid standing beside Aednat, his expression fierce. She appeared quite pale. Thomasina was with them, as well as Sean and Marcán. Astrid gave up the struggle and turned her eyes back to Marcán. So distressed. He didn't see her, too intent on whatever was happening.

"She lies!" Merewyn called out, startling Astrid. When the lass's green eyes turned toward her in a silent question, Astrid had no idea what she was asking but saw her desperation. That was something Astrid understood quite well and she nodded her consent. The girl moved toward Sean, but it was Marcán who again caught Astrid's eye.

From the crowd, she heard murmurings about the hostages' attempted escape. Had Marcán been attacked then? Astrid shifted her gaze back to Marcán, who seemed unharmed and solid as a rock. These hostages were an ongoing problem, and she would be happy when they were gone. When he finally noticed her watching him, his brows dipped low as if in annoyance, and her sigh of relief shifted to concern.

Someone latched onto her elbow a moment later, and Astrid turned to see Pádraig's smiling face. "Ah, ye are a little late for the entertainment."

"Release my arm!" Astrid's breathing sped up at the sight of him despite her show of bravery.

The man merely smiled. A slow, conniving smile meant to intimidate, and it certainly did that.

"Do as she ordered." Marcán's voice held no room for refusal and the sight of him set her heart to soaring. He stopped an arm's distance from them with narrowed eyes and a menacing glare. "If ye've a mind to keep that arm sound, let her go now."

Pádraig released her arm, even taking a step away from her. "Well, aren't ye the hero this day?"

"My thanks, Marcán." Her sigh of relief was cut short when Pádraig turned to her, his immense anger obvious.

"Ye have yer protector still, Astrid? And when will ye be explaining to him the change in my status to ye?"

"Yer status to me? There is no status, hence there is no change!" Astrid's tone was more than firm.

"Ye prefer I tell him? Or mayhap yer mother?" Pádraig turned to Marcán. "Are ye interested in the news?"

Astrid's breath was trapped in her chest.

Marcán crossed his arms in a show of patience, but the height of his brow indicated something different, as did his tone. "The only news that interests me is why ye don't appear as a man mourning the death of his father."

"Pádraig?" a short, red-headed man, one of his warband, called from behind them. Ian was with him as well. "Yer sister has sent word. She needs ye to return posthaste."

Ian moved in closer to Pádraig, barely glancing at Marcán. "They question ye becoming ri túaithe, brother," she overheard. "I am afeared for our safety."

Pádraig snorted, looking back the way the men had come. Ian glanced at Marcán then, trying to catch his gaze, but Marcán's eyes were intent on her. She wished to be anywhere but here.

"Astrid." Pádraig turned his gaze to her, his face surprisingly relaxed for one with such turmoil needing his attention. "I wish ye to visit with Beibhinn and listen well. I will be back anon, and we will speak then."

The words themselves were unremarkable and his tone was calm, but Astrid wanted to scream at him. To tell him to leave her alone and never come back. To tell him it didn't matter what her mother had to say, Astrid would not be marrying him. Ever. But she had no words for him.

Tipping his head, Pádraig acknowledged Marcán and left with the red-headed man.

Marcán was beside her in two strides, a single finger sliding against her cheek, his gaze intently searching her. "What was he about? Did he cause ye trouble? Diarmuid has been as elusive as smoke. Please—"

"Marcán?" It was Ian. He stood a few feet away. "May I have a word with ye?"

The boy's cowering manner sent off alarms in Astrid. His paleness indicated the situation was much worse than Pádraig had said. The lad glanced around nervously when Marcán didn't immediately consent.

"I am fine," Astrid said.

"Are ye certain?" Marcán continued in the same intimate tone.

Ian coughed before he spoke again. "A moment of yer time. I beg of ye."

"Wait for me here, Astrid." Marcán's eyes remained on her, but the concern he'd been hiding came through in his expression. She nodded and then watched as the two stepped away, leaving with the dispersing crowd.

"A-Astrid?" Faolán had come upon her so silently she wasn't prepared for him. Her eyes must have shown her blatant fear of him, because he immediately lowered his gaze. "I-I do not like to see such u-upset i-in those eyes w-when ye look o-on me."

She considered telling him he was wrong but decided against it. "What is amiss?"

"Yer mother w-wishes to see ye."

Astrid glanced again toward Marcán. He and Ian stood off to the side, deep in conversation. She gritted her teeth and turned back to Faolán. "And where shall I find her?"

"C-come this w-way."

Instead of leading her back to the roundhouse, Faolán guided her down the path toward Diarmuid's house. What was he thinking? Her brother was with the group they were quickly leaving behind.

Astrid's chest tightened as she followed Faolán onto an offshoot from the path. Marcán's warning not to go anywhere alone rang in her ears. Was she no longer safe with Faolán? She didn't know for certain, but when they came to a clearing, her mother sat there on a rock as if she'd been awaiting her. Astrid had the feeling she had walked into a trap.

Beibhinn's expression was blank even when she spoke to Faolán. "My thanks."

"Are ye not well?" Astrid asked.

Beibhinn slumped slightly, a sigh escaping her lips. "I am weary to my very bones, daughter."

Astrid moved in closer, placing an arm around her shoulders. "Do ye need help getting back? Faolán can hel—"

"No." Beibhinn's eyes bore into her, but Astrid could not sense if she was vexed or sad. "I need to talk to ye."

Astrid glanced at Faolán. The way he avoided her gaze gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Beibhinn continued. "Faolán has brought me some news that I find quite upsetting."

"Oh has he?" Astrid's jaw tightened.

"He has. He believes ye may have been taken in by a man ye should not trust."

Astrid glared at him, but he squared his shoulders, his nose tipped up.

Beside herself with fury, Astrid barked back a reply without even thinking. "And would that be Pádraig?"

The man's pallor was the only change she saw.

Beibhinn gasped. "There is nothing wrong with Pádraig."

"There is much wrong with that man." Astrid shifted toward Faolán. "Tell my dear mother what ye know of him."

"I know nothing for certain about Pádraig, but my eyes do not deceive me, Astrid."

Heat stole over her face when she remembered the sound of the door. She would not dirty that special moment by discussing it now. "Then surely ye shared how ye came upon Pádraig accosting me."

Beibhinn was only momentarily distracted. She quickly reclaimed control of the situation with her loud, overbearing voice. "Enough, daughter. Do not attack the messenger. I trust his word that he heard ye speak of Marcán to Aednat."

Astrid hesitated. Relief, however brief, washed over her.

"Ye may leave us, Faolán," Beibhinn said, taking advantage of Astrid's distraction. "Sit, Astrid. Hear me."

Astrid did as she bid but refused to acknowledge Faolán's departure, fighting down the unease that churned in her gut.

"I have cared for my children the best way I knew how. Mayhap I have not always done the right thing, but 'twas never for want of trying." She glanced at Astrid, who nodded on cue. "I've loved ye all, and when Fergus died I… I felt as if my heart had been ripped from my chest."

As Beibhinn wiped at the copious tears that seemed so genuine, Astrid's own eyes began to water. She missed her little brother and wondered what kind of man he would have grown to become. Probably very much like Diarmuid. But Beibhinn's voice called Astrid back from her wistful thoughts.

"That was when I knew I would never belong here. Not ever. If I'd had my wish, I'd have remained with my clan and never come to this God-forsaken place. Especially now…"

Astrid knew how much her mother disliked their clan, but she could never agree with her assessment. Her mother's animosity was very hard to understand.

"…when yer brother has married himself a healer."

Astrid had noticed her mother's clipped attitude with Diarmuid's wife. All her talk of Aednat's powerful connections had fallen away. "Aednat is a good woman—"

Beibhinn halted her with her hand. "I cannot abide by such devil worship in my own home. I am happy to say I've found a way back to the clan of my youth, but I need yer help."

The gray eyes that met Astrid's were wide with accusation, and she shriveled up inside at the thought of the confrontation that was finally about to take place.

"Mother, I do not—"

"Ye've always been a good daughter to me. Always. And I know that."

Astrid dare not breathe, though she was certain her eyes were wide with fear.

"I cannot expect ye now to set aside yer own happiness for mine," Beibhinn said.

Astrid sighed, her shoulders rounding with relief. The thought that perhaps her mother did somewhat care for her was comforting.

Her mother continued, "I am an old woman and my life is near done now—"

Astrid fought against her trembling lip. Regardless of how her mother behaved, Astrid would miss her terribly when she passed.

"—Ye are still young with yer life ahead of ye. Certainly yer happiness means more to me than my own. I grant ye that…"

Beibhinn's voice trailed off, and Astrid waited for her to resume. Her confusion had to be apparent on her face, but Beibhinn gave no indication of noticing.

"So I will stay," Beibhinn said, "spending my remaining days here among these people. I will learn to make do."

Astrid's guard slipped, her vulnerability open. "I love ye, mamaídh. I will see that ye are well cared for always."

Beibhinn nodded in a thoughtful way, and Astrid became aware of the guilt growing in her. Guilt for ever having questioned her mother's motives. Guilt for believing her mother would choose her own happiness over that of her daughter. Guilt for a hundred times that she'd wished her mother would leave her alone.

"But I find I cannot stay and be quiet any longer."

And like that, Astrid's need to escape shot high into the air like an arrow seeking a target.

"There is darkness around us."

Astrid became mindful of the air passing into her lungs through parted lips, her jaw slack from disbelief.

"I'm needful of seeing it cast out."

Facing Astrid, her mother's eyes were like twin dark holes piercing into her, their depths unfathomable. "I've called for the priest."

Her breath was trapped in her chest, squeezing her lungs, but Astrid forced the words out. "What are ye saying?"

Beibhinn tipped her head as if speaking to a child. "I cannot stay here among the healers… and the Seers… any longer. They must be punished for their evil works, and if I am the one who must stand by and watch? Then I will see them taken down."

The birds chirped overhead, and the voices of the others in the yard carried to them while Astrid considered her mother's words. It was an ultimatum, no question about that. The exact threat, however, was more vague. Not just Aednat then? But—

A painful gasp ripped from Astrid's throat. "Why are ye so hateful?"

Her mother's eyes narrowed and her lips flattened. "My concern is for the clan I am a part of and none other."

"Who would stop ye from returning to the Meic Murchadha, mother? Who would tell ye no if ye wanted to return to them?"

Beibhinn tipped her nose up. "I left the clan with no standing to come back. My father told me as much."

"Yer father is dead! Certainly ye would be welcomed back into—"

"They will not have me!" Beibhinn screeched the words.

Astrid stood, for the first time in her life afraid of her own mother. "What did ye do?"

The gray-haired woman shook her head. A final answer.

"It must have been bad indeed if they will not accept ye back," Astrid said.

"I have a way back in… but 'tis not acceptable to ye." Her mother's eyes swelled with tears, fat drops sliding down her cheeks. "I will not force my daughter to do what is reprehensible to her."

"Do ye know what kind of man Pádraig is? He tried to force himself on me, mamaídh. Do ye not even care how he treated yer only daughter? Certainly ye cannot be saying I should marry him after that?"

"If ye are one of the lucky ones, ye will not see him often. Ye will not be forced to take him into yer bed but to get with child."

Astrid's jaw went slack, her mouth again hanging open, unable to believe what her mother was saying and unable to respond.

"I would not ask ye to do what I would not do myself."

"What are ye saying?" Surely she must be misunderstanding the implication, but her mother's stoic expression pushed her to be certain. "My father would never have forced himself on ye. Not ever!"

Beibhinn closed her eyes, as if guarding herself against an overpoweringly painful memory. "He was not who I wanted in my bed."

Astrid covered her ears, shaking her head. This could not be true. Her father had been gentle and kind. Pelting hail on her head would have hurt less than this assault of words. Long ago, she had believed her parents had been truly in love, but all her innocence was gone now.

"Is aught amiss?" Diarmuid's voice startled both women.

Astrid jumped, angling away from him to wipe the dampness from her face before turning back. Her mother, silently watching her, made no move to answer her son's question. Astrid's blood ran cold. The woman was leaving it to her to answer him.

Diarmuid turned to her as well. "Astrid?"

The world spun around her, and Astrid struggled with all she had just learned. Her mother didn't care if Pádraig mistreated her daughter. She didn't care if Diarmuid's wife was burned as a witch like that woman in the fili's story. Beibhinn didn't care who she hurt as long as she got what she wanted.

But Astrid did care. She cared about Diarmuid and Aednat's happiness. Her love for Marcán could never allow her to do anything that would cause him harm. The fear she'd felt earlier came back to swamp her, and she realized she'd rather die herself than allow anyone to hurt him. If she had to give him up to know that he was safe, she would do so. She would give her mother what she wanted, rather than have Marcán and Aednat subjected to such an outrage.

Astrid shoved her shoulders back and took a deep breath before responding.

"Mother and I were discussing my betrothal to Pádraig."