Chapter Eleven
Cara ventured into the main hall for her midday meal while she waited for Diarmid to bathe. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she held when she poked her head into the building to find Sitric nowhere in sight. She wasn’t frightened of him—not in the least. But she wanted her next interaction with him to go well, and for that to happen she needed to work with Diarmid first.
She was just finishing up when Diarmid wandered in to retrieve her, smelling faintly of sage, his wild, chestnut waves still damp. He wore a fresh shirt and trews, both of which fitted him tightly enough to display the mountains of muscle that lay beneath. They returned to the guest hall, where they were assured of privacy while the Fianna trained.
“Alright,” Diarmid began cheerily, rubbing his hands together, “I propose we begin with hand-holding.”
“I’m going to need you to clarify—” Cara thought for a moment, “Well, every part of that statement, actually.”
“You told me that you wanted to let Sitric hold your hand, but that you kept pulling it away because it made you uncomfortable. Is that right?”
Cara nodded.
“I suggest that, as I practice with sword and spear, you practice whatever challenges you until it becomes second nature. So,” Diarmid sat in one of the small seating areas, at a bench that could fit them both, and offered her his hand. “I’m going to be needing that hand of yours.”
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. In spite of her protest, Cara sat beside him, placing her hand in his. Aside from the debacle with Sitric over the past two days, this was the first time she’d let anyone so close. Diarmid’s hand, rough from hours of training, dwarfed her own. She felt the heat from his body, could sense the space he consumed beside her, could hear his steady breath.
“We could play a game,” he suggested.
“Absolutely not.”
“There’s a child’s game that involves moving your hands out of the way before—”
“Let’s start with this for now,” Cara insisted. Some long-lost part of her, the soul of the child she’d once been, screamed at her for being such a bore.
Diarmid nodded his head, but his feet began wiggling. Cara noted that he looked everywhere except at her.
“Are you incapable of sitting still?” she asked, sounding more irritated than she intended.
Diarmid turned to give her a brooding look. Except, Diarmid couldn’t really look brooding, and Cara found it was more adorable than anything. “Alright, no games for now,” he conceded. “But instead, we’ll be talking.”
Something in his tone told Cara that she wouldn’t like the topic of discussion. “About?”
“Feelings.” He grinned at her, that same, devious grin that normally caused a slight tightening in her belly. She didn’t know whether it was the fact that she held his hand or sat so near to him, but this time a swarm of butterflies materialized somewhere in her middle. A feeling she’d not had since Torna. A feeling she’d not wanted again after. But here, next to Diarmid in the warm, quiet hall, Cara thought it wasn’t as bad as she remembered.
“Have you always had trouble getting close to people?” he asked.
“Why should that matter?”
Diarmid squeezed her hand as he explained. “Look, you don’t have to tell me all your darkest secrets, but I’m wholly invested in making this alliance work. And there is clearly something that made you averse to things like this.” He gave her hand a jiggle for emphasis.
He was right, though she wasn’t about to tell him that. Cara realized not long after Torna left that something inside her had broken, and she’d not had any interest in repairing it. She had far more important duties to tend to than forcing herself through her discomfort. “I haven’t always had trouble with this,” she replied, shaking his hand in return. “But I don’t care to talk about it any more than that.”
Diarmid’s eyes narrowed. Cara could see that he desperately wanted to press her on the matter, that he deliberated doing just that. She was grateful when he changed the topic instead.
“My father is a stubborn ass,” he said, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it. “He had no interest in us as children, and expected blind obedience the day we were old enough to carry a sword. That’s why it was so easy for the three of us—Cormac, Conan, and I—to walk away. We respect Brian, and so we follow him.”
Cara gave his strong hand a gentle squeeze. “My father was much the same,” she admitted. “And my mother and I were never terribly close either.”
“What of your sister?”
“Catrin and I were close when we were young.” But once Cara withdrew into herself, they’d grown further and further apart. “I still love her dearly, of course.”
“I know.” Diarmid looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You’d not be here otherwise.”
Cara wondered if perhaps she’d misjudged Diarmid. Not entirely, for there was no denying his roguish tendencies. But he did seem capable of taking some things seriously.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, his gold-flecked eyes staring straight through her.
“That perhaps you’re not as irritating as I thought.”
That grin again, as her insides fluttered and her heart picked up its pace. “I shall have to try harder, then.” Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, he slowly lifted her hand.
She jerked hers but managed not to pull it away entirely. “What are you doing?”
“You said he attempted to kiss your hand, did you not?” He resumed lifting her hand, his eyes lit like the hearth glowing from the center of the room. When Diarmid’s full attention fell on her, it felt as though the sun itself shone down, hot and bright and blinding. For an instant, Cara was put in mind of Torna. He wasn’t anywhere near as charismatic as Diarmid, but his attention had made her glow all the same.
But as Diarmid’s lips brushed the inside of her hand, any thoughts of Torna fell right out of her head. The man in front of her demanded all of her attention. His lips, firm and silky smooth, pressed a hot kiss in the center of her palm. A shiver coursed through her, one she knew he’d noticed.
“Do you know what I think, princess?” he purred.
Cara’s core melted into a puddle of heat every time he called her that, a sensation she was not prepared to revisit.
“I think that behind that icy fortress you’ve built around yourself, is a fire that you can’t quite contain. And it terrifies you.” He spoke into her hand, his hot breath igniting the sensitive spot where his lips had been.
“And I think you’re terribly full of yourself,” she shot back, hating how defensive she sounded.
He kissed her hand again, her treacherous body preening at his attention even as her heart warned her to stay far away. “One does not preclude the other, princess.” His hooded eyes issued a silent dare.
He knew what he was doing. Of course, he knew what he was doing. This man had bedded more women than Cara had owned dresses, she’d wager her life on it. He recognized the reactions he was getting from her.
“Why are you doing that?” she whispered.
“So you admit, it’s doing something.” He lowered her hand in his, resting them on the bench between them. “How do you feel about Sitric holding your hand now?”
She felt a lot better about Diarmid holding her hand, though she wasn’t entirely certain that was a good thing. “Better,” she decided quietly. “But that’s not…I don’t think that’s how he was trying to kiss me.”
“If it wasn’t, then he’s either a coward or a fool.” The corners of his lips curved into a playful smile. “You should be more prepared, either way. Is there anything else that you felt uncomfortable with? We don’t have much time before the bell for dinner, and you’re going to need to make one hell of an impression.”
Cara didn’t much care for his reminder. “Conversation,” she replied, determined to make the most of his help. “I never seem to say the right things. I’ve tried everything I can think of.”
“Do you ever think things, then not say them?”
Cara rolled her eyes. “Of course, I do. If everything that went through my mind came out my mouth, then I’d sound ridiculous.”
“You don’t have to say everything, but try to say more things.”
“That is not even a little bit helpful.”
The door into the hall flew open as the Fianna returned from their training, smelling a good deal like the swamp they’d ridden through yesterday morn, and not looking much better. Hopefully they were on their way to bathe before dinner. Cara pulled her hand back into her own lap.
“Just tell him something about you, or answer a question that you’d normally ignore. Offer up some part of yourself so he can see you’re trying.”
Cara nodded, rising to go get ready for dinner. “Thank you.”
The Fianna hurried back out to bathe, having grabbed clean garments from their rooms. Cara was grateful they’d been quick about it. Their stench alone would have sent their enemies running.
Diarmid grabbed her hand, grinning in approval when she didn’t flinch. “Wear your hair down.”
“I tried, it didn’t work.”
“You didn’t let all of it down. No braids, or I can’t promise we’re going to get anywhere.”
Cara glared at him. “Fine. No braids.”
“I’ll see you at dinner, princess.”