Chapter Nine
The following morn, Niamh came to Cara’s room at the first sign of light across the horizon to help her get ready for another attempt to win over Sitric. Of course, Cara didn’t mention anything about Diarmid’s late night visit. Niamh was helping her, but that felt too personal a discussion even for her newfound companion.
Cara retrieved her gown from the chest, changing into a fresh shift before Niamh set to lacing the deep blue woolen gown over it.
“Did Dallan have anything helpful to add?”
Niamh tugged on a lace. “He said Sitric is…” She paused, and Cara turned to see a thoroughly uncomfortable look on the healer’s face. “He’s very physical.”
Cara let out a groan of frustration, about to bemoan the singlemindedness with which men apparently lived their lives, when Niamh continued hastily. “Not only with regard to true intimacy,” she clarified. “Dallan said he loves hugs, handshakes, smiles. He likes there to be a warm, tangible presence in those he surrounds himself with. Dallan thought holding his hand and smiling might take you in a better direction.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t so terrible as it sounded initially, and with time to prepare herself beforehand, Cara thought that might be something she could manage. “Thank you. And thank Dallan as well. I’ll take that under advisement.”
She’d had a few ideas of her own, as well. Once Diarmid had hinted that she was too harsh, a ‘cold fish’ as he’d so thoughtfully put it, Cara wondered if behaving in a more feminine way might not help. The women she knew always spoke of gowns and embroidery, topics that to her seemed somewhat frivolous but made them happy all the same. Maybe Sitric expected her to be more like those women.
Deciding that her hair had no effect whatsoever on the outcome, Cara instructed Niamh to help her refresh the plaits and style them, much like they had yesterday. By midmorning, the two women were both dressed and ready for the day, slipping out of the room to find Sitric breaking his fast at one of the long trestle tables. Astrid and Dallan sat with him.
“Good morning,” she greeted them, walking over to the table.
Dallan and Astrid mumbled a sleepy response, but Sitric just looked at her. Cara berated herself for already forgetting to smile. As an afterthought, she plastered a half-hearted grin onto her face.
What was wrong with her, that she couldn’t even smile properly? That was a question for another day. Right now, she needed to focus on the task at hand.
“I had hoped I might persuade you to take me down to the harbor this morning,” she said to Sitric. “I’ve never been to the seashore before, and I’ve heard the view is spectacular.”
Sitric continued looking at her, his eyes narrowed as he no doubt weighed his response.
“You’re not missing much,” Astrid mumbled from beside her brother. “It stinks worse than a cess pit with all those ships and the sweaty men unloading them.”
“I think it’s a fine idea,” Dallan replied, glaring at Astrid. “Go to the tower overlooking the harbor, and you’ll have all of the magic with none of the smell.”
“It still smells of fish,” Astrid added before taking a heaping bite of porridge.
Sitric stood, his mind apparently made. “We will go,” he declared, heading for the door. He didn’t wait for Cara to follow.
They left Sitric’s estate, back through the small palisade separating his home from the rest of Dyflin. Instead of following the log-covered road back down into the heart of town, however, Sitric turned to the right, following a road that skirted the outer embankment. Cara picked up her pace so that she walked beside him.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Very.”
“Do you come look at the harbor often?” she tried again. That was a personal query, right?
He paused thoughtfully. “Not as often as I should. I venture down to inspect many of the shipments that come in, but I rarely wander this way for enjoyment.”
Cara found that odd, considering how much he appeared to enjoy the rest of his activities.
“When I take time for myself, there are many other activities that come to mind first,” he clarified when she didn’t respond.
“Ah, yes. That makes more sense.” Cara took a sidelong look at Sitric. He wasn’t frowning or showing any signs of irritation as he took in the buildings and people they passed. This was her opportunity. “What sorts of activities do you enjoy in your leisure? I myself favor embroidery and sewing.”
His brows furrowed.
Damnit. Cara hoped she didn’t actually cringe when he looked at her. Before she could attempt any further conversation, they arrived at a set of steps leading up to a watchtower. Inhaling deeply, Cara could smell the brine in the air as they climbed to a viewing platform.
It felt as though the whole world opened up beneath her feet, falling away into endless blue. As far as she could see, bands of teal, turquoise, and every shade between reached toward the horizon, the sky barely distinguishable from the sea in the sparkling, crystalline abyss.
The sea carved a jagged line across the nearer shore, creating a sheltered harbor where ships and ferrying vessels drifted in and out. From her perch high above, Cara could see the shallow, sandy bottom beneath the waters. Instead of finding berth, several ships had simply run aground in the shallows.
“Astrid wasn’t far off,” Sitric said, his voice jarring her from her own thoughts. “Were we to venture much nearer, the smell of pine and tar would overwhelm any sense of the sea itself. The shipwrights make repairs from dawn to dusk.”
A row of men moved like ants, hauling boxes and barrels off a ship with bright red sails.
“My father told me once that you get goods all the way from Rome here.”
Sitric nodded, pointing to a ship with bright yellow sails. “They send beautiful, durable tiles that the monasteries and churches like, made of a reddish-brown stone. Porphyry, they call them. I find it to be a strange-sounding word,” he chuckled. “Astrid favors the silks that come from farther east. We don’t keep many, but you’ll see a few about the halls. She’s campaigning for me to buy her enough to make a dress of them.”
“With her hair, it would have to be green or blue,” Cara mused. “Perhaps a shade like topaz.”
“I see you’ve already taken up her cause.” Sitric turned to her, and Cara realized she should probably be smiling. By the time she’d managed it, he’d already turned away.
“Ready to head back?” he asked. The tightness had returned to his voice.
She needed to do something, and quickly.
Recalling the advice that she’d heard over and over, Cara thrust out her hand. He’d wanted to hold it yesterday, so hopefully one day later wasn’t too late. “Yes,” she answered, trying her best to really smile. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He took her hand, and before she knew what was happening, he’d brought his lips down to kiss it. Instinctively, she snatched her hand away.
Again.
Except this time, she knew a simple apology wouldn’t fix the blunder. “I…I’m sorry.” She stumbled over the words, too horrified at her reaction to speak. She hadn’t even wanted to pull her hand away this time!
“I know that it’s difficult,” he began carefully, moving to lean against the side of the tower, staring out at the endless sea, “having to get to know someone quickly whom you’ve only just met. But I have a sense of people, you know?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to say anything yet.
“I don’t think that we are a good fit, you and I. I know that you want this betrothal for your own reasons, and I would love to add Thurles to my holdings, but I don’t think a life of this,” he motioned between the two of them, “is worth it.”
“I didn’t travel all this way for you to give up before you’ve even given me a real chance,” she told him firmly.
“If I’m to be tied to one woman for the rest of my days, she needs to be running into my bed, not away from it. Do you think, after any amount of time here, you could see yourself as that woman?”
No. Absolutely not. She’d never be running into any man’s bed again. Trudging, maybe. Resigned. But certainly not with the enthusiasm Sitric obviously wanted.
“Give me a fortnight. Don’t avoid me, let me keep trying. And I will prove to you that a marriage would work.”
Sitric’s mouth drew into a thin line as he grudgingly agreed. “A fortnight it is.”
Cara hoped that would be enough.