Chapter 6

Aednat had gone to fetch some eggs and Astrid, tired after a long night, had fallen asleep. Neither of them had thought of the danger.

Astrid awakened to a nightmare. Her new sister had been stolen by the men whose pursuit of Aednat had led to her marriage to Diarmuid. Astrid was flooded with guilt as she stood beside her brother and the men preparing to hunt down whomever had stolen his wife.

"And what of Marcán?" Astrid asked.

"It was as I said. They had passed out in a cave, though he swears they were not drunk. They will be here anon. Our mother as well. Marcán especially desires to speak with ye." Diarmuid mounted his horse and signaled the others to fall in line with him. "Have them follow me. I will track her down."

Astrid shivered, afraid to think of what Marcán wanted to say to her. "I did not know I needed to watch out for her, brother."

"Wheesht now, Astrid! I will find her. Do as I said!"

By the time she made it to the roundhouse, the horses coming from the west could be heard. Her chest squeezed the louder they got. When she caught sight of Marcán and the few men with him, relief soared within her. The feeling caught her unguarded, and she was struck by how much she had feared for him.

If he knew Pádraig had taken her home, he also knew she'd only pretended to retire for the night. That she had left the hut behind his back. He might have even confronted Pádraig for not seeking his permission as he should have. Marcán had clearly shown she was under his protection.

Dark and foreboding, Marcán sat high in his saddle, scanning the people who'd gathered around them until his gaze came to rest on her. The force of his attention made it hard for her to take a breath. He was menacing in the extreme and he had her in his sights—jumping from the horse before the beast had come to a complete stop, striding toward her.

His face lined with concern, he studied her. His hand came up and she thought he might touch her, but then it dropped back to his side. "What is amiss?"

Astrid swallowed the lump in her throat. "Aednat has been taken."

Stepping back as if he'd been struck, he quickly became livid. "When?"

His sharp tone made her jump. Her vision blurring with tears, she confessed her guilt. "While I slept on their bed!"

His expression softened, but he was frowning. "I do not understand."

"Diarmuid left to find out what was amiss with ye when I told him ye'd not returned. He said nothing to me about keeping her hidden or protecting her. She went for eggs and never came back."

"And now the fresh casks of mead being poisoned makes sense." He spoke as if to himself before focusing again on her. "Black Oengus and his men had hoped to knock us all on our arses so taking Aednat would be that much easier."

"Diarmuid has gone to track down those who took her. He wants ye to follow him."

Marcán shouted orders over his shoulder, sending each of the men in a different direction to see to gathering enough supplies and horses, but he did not walk away. Instead, he stepped closer, leaning in, his eyes searching her.

Some inner turmoil twisted inside her that she couldn't name. His musky scent surrounded her and her pulse quickened. Not fear exactly. She would never fear Marcán. Excitement?

Then he closed down his expression and moved back. "Now will ye tell me what has happened to ye?"

Shocked that he could read her so well, she took a moment to respond. Hoping to distract him from whatever else he thought he knew, she said, "I am concerned for Diarmuid's wife! 'Tis my fault she was taken."

"If Diarmuid did not tell ye, ye could not have known." Marcán shook his head, his gaze still assessing her. "'Tis something else. Ye tell me. Now!"

How could he know? He couldn't. And she couldn't tell him. She still feared what Faolán would do, but Marcán was sure to hunt Pádraig down if he knew the truth. "Nothing, Marcán."

"Is it Pádraig?" His eyes narrowed even as the words came out. The man was far too perceptive. Mayhap he was a Seer after all, just as her mother always said.

"Pádraig?" She scoffed, attempting a nonchalance she did not feel.

His expression changed as soon as she said the man's name. It hardened into fierce anger, different from how he'd reacted to the news about Aednat. His men came toward him, mounted on fresh horses, and one on a lead for him.

"I am not finished with ye, Astrid. Ye will tell me."

When he turned toward the field, she was certain he was not seeing the animals. He swallowed, almost as if attempting to get himself under control.

Then he mounted but turned his horse back to her. "Which way did Diarmuid go?"

With a heavy sigh of relief, she pointed them in the right direction.

He spoke to his men, his voice low and commanding. "Go on. I will catch up."

Astrid gulped, shocked by his order. Marcán never sent his men ahead. He always led them. He stepped aside for no one but Diarmuid.

When he turned back to her, his expression was black.

"Ye will tell me what that ravening wolf has done to ye." His words were laced with unbending resolve. "And if ye hope to protect him by not telling me? Rest assured, I'll happily rip him apart piece by piece until I hear the truth from his mouth."

His horse was racing toward the trees before her jaw fell all the way open. Astrid covered her mouth, her gaze dropping. She'd said nothing to indicate Pádraig had mistreated her.

How could he know?

What if he truly was a Seer? But Astrid could not believe that. He would never practice the dark arts.

She looked up to see Faolán emerging from the roundhouse.

"W-was that Marcán?" he asked, coming straight toward her.

She nodded.

He scratched his cheek before narrowing his gaze on her. "A-and ye?"

His words were packed with meaning, but she gave him a sad smile and met him halfway. "I am fine. Just concerned for Diarmuid's wife."

Faolán glanced off the way the men had gone. "But w-we have our o-own p-problems, ye a-and I."

His level gaze was unrelenting and heat rose in her face. She needed to stop this. When she began to push past him, Faolán grabbed her arm. While not a harsh action, it was not at all like Faolán.

"Y-ye lied to m-me about Pádraig."

"I did not! And ye've no reason to believe that."

He pointed a finger at the crook of her neck. "I-I do not know of a-any other way a w-woman can get a m-mark like that e-except by a man's mouth, suckling her hard. U-usually w-while he takes his fill of her."

Astrid immediately covered the place where he'd been looking. She met his gaze while her mind worked frantically to come up with a reasonable explanation. Damn her for not checking herself. Then again, she wouldn't even know what such a mark would look like, but Marcán would. He must have seen it as well.

The door to the roundhouse slammed open and her mother came out, a beaming smile on her face. "Astrid!"

Faolán stood his ground, lowering his voice. "If the man returns while I am in charge, Astrid, there will be blood."

Her eyes rounded.

"Astrid! Come hither!"

Astrid yanked her arm from him and hurried toward the roundhouse, turning the marked side of her neck away. Faolán followed close behind.

"Well? How was yer ride with the handsome warrior?" Her mother's eyes were bright with anticipation.

"Handsome w-warrior? Pádraig?" Faolán frowned.

"The most handsome," Beibhinn gushed. "A wonderful match."

He searched Beibhinn's face, and Astrid could almost feel the wind changing around them. "Y-ye would have a m-match with the man?"

The woman held up her hand, glancing around in a secretive way before speaking. "Ye must not say a word! Diarmuid has much on his mind, so I will see to my daughter."

Faolán nodded, his face an unreadable mask. "Y-ye w-would want this for yer daughter?"

Beibhinn's brows slashed down. "Are ye daft, man? I have said as much. Go! Go… see to the fence."

Now in a huff, she gave him her back. Faolán wandered toward the ráth. Placing an arm around Astrid's shoulder, Beibhinn turned her toward the roundhouse.

"How was yer ride?"

"Not as I had expected."

Beibhinn's expression was immediately filled with an emotion with which Astrid had become achingly familiar. Disappointment. "Oh, Astrid! Ye did not offend him, did ye?"

Astrid nearly choked on the very idea. "I did not offend him."

Pádraig's angry expression flashed through her mind. He had not liked being refused.

"Good. We do not want to do that. Pádraig has always been good to me, and that's all I can go by."

"I do not see Diarmuid working on any special alliances with them. Surely there is nothing that clan has that we would need."

Beibhinn gave her a bland smile. Her mother's belief that Astrid knew nothing was quite apparent. "Diarmuid is a warrior. He thinks like a warrior. He does not have civility and foresight—"

"Foresight?" Astrid's shocked tone had her mother studying her. "That sounds very much like a Seer."

Beibhinn's mouth dropped openbefore twisting into a tight smile. "And ye know I do not abide by such things. 'Tis merely the difference between men and women." She gazed off in the distance. "A man sees only a pretty face and a handsome figure, while a woman will see the children to come of the union. I can see the union will be a blessing for our clan."

Astrid could not be certain to which clan her mother referred—she'd made no secret of her preference for the Meic Murchadha—but the determined set of her jaw was troublesome.

"Their clan is very different from ours," Astrid said.

Beibhinn turned a sharp eye on her. "Of what do ye speak?"

"They are very… free with… their women. Not protective like us."

"I do not understand."

"The fathers of our children are always known because of the protection given us. Women."

"What are ye saying?"

"They are not as protective of their women as our men try to be."

"Ah, our men!" She laughed, a quiet, belittling sound. "Ye refer to Faolán?"

Astrid swallowed.

"Faolán mentioned to me that he helped ye with Pádraig."

"He did?"

"No doubt Pádraig was exhausted from the demanding ride. I believe Faolán only wanted me to know that the man had seen ye safely to our border."

Astrid scoffed.

"I am well pleased by that." Beibhinn heaved a great sigh. "Ye may not be able to understand this, but I have felt very much alone since I came to this clan. With yer father gone, I wish to return to my home. It would give me great pleasure to have my daughter by my side when I did that."

"Certainly I can understand that." And she did. But it was not reason enough for her to marry a man who would treat her badly.

Her mother tipped her head as if she were not convinced. "No matter. I will do what I can for ye."

"But—"

Her mother's piercing gaze halted her words. "Ye were not going to speak ill of Pádraig, were ye? He is of great stock. Ye will have healthy babies as often as ye can stand him coming to ye."

The heat rose in Astrid's cheeks. Her mother had never before spoken so blatantly about the intimacy of the marriage bed. Beibhinn had borne only three children—Diarmuid, Astrid, and Fergus—which might mean her husband had not come to her often.

With that, Beibhinn went back inside.

The kind gray eyes of Astrid's father came to her mind. She could again see her mother stepping away from his embrace, a common sight. Astrid had never shrunk away from her father. He'd always known how to make her feel special. He'd always thought she was good enough. He used to smile down at her and smooth her hair. "Ye are a sweet thing, my Astrid," he'd say.

Astrid became overwhelmed with sadness. She needed time to think. Rounding the main house, she continued on toward the small buildings behind it. She ducked into the first one. A small room. Her refuge. She slid to the floor, tucking herself between the new barrels stacked two high, and lowered her head into her hands and sobbed.