Sniffing superciliously, Cormac daintily deposited himself in a chair by the bed, arching his brows. "Do not test my resolve, Finnegan," he said, breezily. "I know you only say such things because you hate to awake at a reasonable hour, but really! That is no way to talk to your lord brother!"
Pouting, he glanced away before, inspired by a sudden idea, Cormac gasped like a school girl and rose up with sudden alacrity. He went to Finn's wardrobe and began rifling through it with a bevy of sighs and hums of disgust and consternation.
"This is shameful, Finnegan! Most shameful! Who dresses like this? Really, I ought to dress you, myself, and burn everything in here! Oh! Oh! Oh, what is this?" he said in horror and then immediately after, with a cry of joy and in delgiht. "Oh! Oh! Oh, what is this?" Tossing Finn's most colorful array of clothing at him, heedless of where they landed, Cormac clapped his hands together with pleasure. "You must look your most handsome, today, dear brother." His expression grew crafty. "I've such a surprise for you!"
"Fiona will gut you with a fish knife before she ever lets you ship her off to that collection of creaking bones.â
Cormac shrieked then, evidently becoming suddenly aware of his lordly dignity, quickly brought the handkerchief to his mouth as if he could retroactively muffle the sound. "You mustn't say such things or give her ideas!" he wailed, beginning to sob. Tears leaked from his eyes. "She is such a terror to me, Finnegan, you cannot begin to comprehend the depth of my suffering! My torment is unending! She deserves a fine little scare, Finnegan, don't try to talk me out of this! You should help me! I've done something so very, very nice for you, too, Finnegan, you ought to be on my side! Besides, if she is going to be playing practical jokes, then why can't I? I'm her brother! It should be me!"
Cormac arched his brows, shrugging a bit as Finn pointed out that Eabha might wed him to two such dashing fellows as Grey or Royce, and sighed despite himself. "I doubt it," declared Cormac, smugly, leaning forward with the air of juicy gossip to share as his voice plunged to a whisper. "Grey is very much in love with Aria. Oh, yes, depend upon it, brother mine!" He nodded knowingly. "I think a winter wedding would suit them very well, don't you? Though, Grey could never wed a bastard, I suppose...And Eabha was never going to get a love match, was she? She has a such an off-putting, mannish character, alas," he sighed dramatically. "Why not wed her to a man in the throes of passion with her dearest friend's sister? He'll suit her just as well as anyone else would. It seems a fine match to me."
Despite bristling at Finn's tone, Cormac magnanimously decided to forgive his brother -- everyone knew that Finn was most decidedly not a morning person, after all. "I am pleased we are in agreement as regards Aine...A wife ought to mourn her husband and such," he said, waving a dismissive hand, less concerned about Padraig than about the excuse he offered. After three years missing, Cormac considered his erstwhile brother-in-law to be extremely dead. He couldn't possibly dream up a reason why any sensible man would choose to wander in the dirty woods and bogs elsewise. Lorcan, itself, was dreadful enough -- at least one could rely on a roof!
"If he is dead, I'm sure he would take great pleasure in haunting you for the rest of your days if you force his wife to marry..."
With a little scream, Cormac recoiled. He hissed a whisper. "You mustn't say such horrific things, Finnegan! You know the dead hear when you say their names aloud! Augh, how positively ghastly. Really, it is a good thing it didn't fall to you to secure your own wife. With a dreadful imagination such as that, you'd never have done us any credit, whatsoever! As like to drunkenly wed a servant, or something equally disgraceful, as not!" he laughed. "Really, what would Lord Malconaire say?" He tilted his head, tsking indulgently.
Gasping indignantly, Cormac shook his head. "You are in a foul mood this morning! And to think I have such news as will have you kissing my feet, presently! I really have been kinder to you than to myself, and this is the thanks I get?" Dramatically throwing the back of his hand up to his brow, he dropped down onto the chair, again, sniffling in an effort to suppress more tears. "Now I hardly feel like telling you! But I know you're just jealous of this extraordinarily handsome hat, and I can hardly blame you for that. Shall I let you wear it to the wedding?" he mused. "I did solemnly promise her to dress you as I would have dressed myself! Very well," he sighed, removing the hat and, with the solemnity of a coronation, laying it amongst the heap of Finn's other clothing with a dramatic self-sacrificial sigh, as if being parted forever from a favorite child.
"All right, Finnegan, sit up and put on your hat. I have two things to tell you, and soon you will thank me. I have been the very best of brothers to you, you know!"
Standing, his face a picture of beatific self-satisfaction, he beamed munificently down at his little sibling. "You are engaged!" he shrieked happily and produced from his pockets handfuls of petals, which he proceeded to toss at Finn as if confetti, but which -- having become pressed together from the ride in his pockets -- remained sad and wilted stuck-together bunches which pelted his brother like a few sad packets, instead. Cormac, however, was much too delighted to notice and, clapping and cheering, proceeded to jump up and down. "We have only the momentous and beautiful task -- nay, privilege! -- ahead of informing His Lordship, the most spectacular and cultured lord in all Astaira -- nay, in all the world! -- of the superb event, and all will be set! Ahhh, to boast such a connection!" It was happy tears which, this time, threatened his sight. "You may be wed almost at once, if you wish! And, indeed...sooner may prove better than later, given the lady's condition..."
Eagerly, Cormac seated himself on Cormac's bed. "You see, best of all, we come to the second point: you need not even bed her when you wed! I have taken care of everything myself!" He turned white, then, and suddenly green. "Oh, not...not that I..." he gagged, pounded his own chest with the flat of his hand, looking much the worse for the wear at the thought, alone. "I...Prince Sebastian has supplied you with your heir, not...not me, fortunately! Thank the god for that!" he tittered nervously. "Now, you there--!" he called, pushing his head out the door and hailing down a passing servant. "Bring breakfast! Bring champagne! Bring the tailor! It is time we celebrate! My brother is about to become a man!"
