Chapter Twenty-Five
He was going straight to hell.
And it was absolutely worth it.
Diarmid struggled through the meal, unable to think of anything except the way Cara tasted on his lips, so sweet and feminine.
The way she sounded as she cried out his name while he pleasured her.
The way she felt as she came apart in his arms.
Oh, he was going to hell alright. But he’d be grinning like a fool on his way there.
Cara made a point of looking everywhere but at Diarmid. He knew this because, God help him, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d been with more women than he cared to count, and not one of them had captured him so completely. Though they’d all been enjoyable, not a single one had been unforgettable. But he hadn’t even bedded Cara and he knew he’d never forget her.
Cormac spoke to her, forcing her to look in Diarmid’s direction. Her eyes went to him only briefly, but it was enough to send streaks of pink bursting to her cheeks. No doubt because her mind strayed to the same place his had been residing.
They agreed to meet before everyone left the hall, since fewer people would be milling about outside while the games were happening. After eating only a portion of her plate, Cara excused herself, retreating to her room. When dinner was finished, Diarmid admitted to being too tired for games that night, leaving the hall and sneaking to Cara’s window to help her out of it.
They rushed through the narrow patch of grass separating the halls, the light long gone now that they’d entered the dark half of the year. With her hand held tightly in his, Diarmid threw open the back door to the guest hall.
To find Finn standing just inside the front entrance, staring straight at them. Finn shut the door behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well,” he sighed, “I certainly wish I’d remembered my harp.” He strode over to the hearth in the center of the room, waiting. “Diarmid, a word?”
Cara dropped Diarmid’s hand like it had caught fire, all but running to his room and shutting the door. A sinking feeling settled into the pit of Diarmid’s stomach as he joined Finn near the hearth.
“I don’t want to know the details,” Finn began, “and I’m not going to even ask if you’ve lost the wager, because you’re buying me a drink either way. But I am going to need you to tell me what the hell is going on, since I swore to Brian that the woman in your bedroom would marry Sitric.”
Seeing no way around it, at Finn’s insistence Diarmid told him the entire tale, from the day they’d arrived in Dyflin. Leaving out, also at Finn’s insistence, all of the intimate details.
Finn fell into a chair beside the glittering embers. “As it happens, I know a thing or two about sneaking around with a woman, and I’m going to give you some advice whether you want it or not.”
Diarmid thought that entirely fair, given the situation. “Please.” He sat in the fur-laden chair across from Finn.
“You need to decide what this really is,” Finn told him. “Are you in love with her? Is she in love with you? Are you starved for companionship and using this obsession to compensate? You need to discuss this with Cara and be brutally honest. Because if you really do love each other, and she refuses to marry Sitric, then you need to go tell him you’ve been bedding her.”
“I haven’t been—”
“Close enough,” Finn interrupted. “But trust me when I tell you, the very worst thing in this situation would be for Sitric to find out from anyone other than you. As uncomfortable as you imagine that discussion may be, anything else will be catastrophic, and not just for you.”
Diarmid remembered what happened when Dallan discovered that Finn had been sneaking around with his sister. Everyone did. It had nearly destroyed their friendship. For a time, Diarmid believed that it had.
“I wish that it were just an obsession,” Diarmid admitted quietly.
“But you love her.”
Diarmid let out a breath. “I don’t want to ruin this entire mission. And I consider Sitric a friend, odd though that may seem.”
“If you value his friendship, confront him about this. If he’s a true friend, he’ll understand. He may punch you in the face,” Finn added with a wry smile, “but he’ll come around eventually.”
“What of Brian?” Diarmid asked. It was the one question he’d not dared to pose even to himself, not until he had no choice but to consider it.
Finn shrugged. “I couldn’t begin to guess. He’s always been a bit of a romantic, but he’s a shrewd politician. If you go through with this, you need to decide how much you’re willing to give up for her. Will you risk losing your place among the Fianna? Will she risk losing her land and title?”
It struck Diarmid then that no matter what decision he made, he would be disappointing someone. Yet again.
“Don’t do what I did,” Finn advised, rising and placing a hand on Diarmid’s shoulder. “Be prepared for the consequences before you take the action.”
“Thank you,” Diarmid called as Finn hurried to get the harp from his room. “Truly, I appreciate it.”
“You owe me a drink tomorrow,” Finn reminded him on his way out of the hall.
Diarmid owed his friend a lot more than a drink. He stood there alone, staring into the dying embers of the hearth, collecting his thoughts. In the distance, cheers erupted as an expertly plied harp filled the night with a heartrending tune. As Finn’s strong, steady voice took up the melody, Diarmid made his decision.
He walked toward his room, gathering his courage for the conversation that awaited him.