Deirdre (30 page)

What his idealistic bride to be didn’t seem to realize was just how dangerous that could be in a place where a man was always a friend in fair weather, and with the coming of a shower—or the lack of one—he would become just as quickly one’s deadliest enemy This wasn’t her safe haven of Gleannmara, though judging from the panic that drove her round the comer earlier, she’d found that out.

Her fear had become his the moment he saw it, stark and white upon her face. Her torn dress and disheveled state slashed at him like an enemy’s blade, and he reacted accordingly, ready to exact revenge. He had every right to be upset that Gunnar and Deirdre had ignored his orders and worse, that she seemed bent on protecting whoever or whatever had frightened her.

Most of the vendors had gone to their homes for the day and the chapel wedged in their midst seemed abandoned also. He stepped inside and saw nothing but an abandoned book lying on the bench near the window. It was still open, face down, which meant whatever had frightened Deirdre must have interrupted her reading.

He picked it up. Instantly he recognized the myth of Demeter and
Persephone. It had been part of his Latin studies. He supposed Deirdre might well feel like Persephone, carried off by hades’ lord to a dark place. Like his mother, she had to miss her home.

Alric put the book down and shook off his twinge of guilt. He had his reasons, he thought, glancing inadvertently at the cross carved over the altar shelf. Even his mother’s God approved, if Orlaith’s vision was to be believed, and with each passing day he found it more difficult to explain recent events in any other way He heaved a breath of frustration and stepped outside before the quiet sanctuary provoked too many memories of the peace and security he’d felt as a child kneeling beside his mother in that very place. Clearing the blade of grief in his throat, he stepped out into the open air, retreating …

From what?
an inner voice challenged.
From peace and security? Why?

Because it wasn’t real. As he reached back to close the door, he heard a muffled thud inside. Bemused, since there was nowhere to hide in the single room, he glanced back. The book he’d returned to the bench lay on the floor. Ignoring the ripple of awareness tickling his spine, Alric put it back squarely.

Frig’s breath, soon he’d be having visions himself. As he made certain the door was soundly latched behind him, his own observations turned upon him.
There is nowhere to hide … from God.
The sooner this wedding was over and he was out to sea, the better he’d be. Alric brushed off some of the fleck from the new roof, as if to rid himself of something deeper and more troubling, when he saw a crowd approaching from the commons. To his astonishment, his father’s standards flew over it.

Heading out to meet the procession, Alric recognized Lambert walking beside Father Scanlan, both heartily engaged in conversation. His father without a horse and, more incredibly speaking in earnest to a cleric after refusing to hear even Orlaith’s testimony.

“Well, well, the bridegroom cometh.” Lambert’s call was utterly cheerful! The man was never cheerful, unless he was enjoying someone else’s discomfiture. “But it’s too late. All of Galstead has fallen in love with your bride. You may have to fight us all for her.”

Alric’s face grew hot, as though the sun were at its peak rather than completing its downswing for the day Frig’s breath, but she had a tick’s way of working under one’s skin and bleeding him dry of sanity.

“Hah, look at him, Scanlan! He stands on his tongue like a gaping fool.”

That
was more like his father. “Well, this fool has news for you, news that can be verified,” Alric said with a pointed look at Father Scanlan. “I’d speak with you in private.”

It wasn’t wise to discuss affairs of the kingdom in public, but when Lambert insisted that Scanlan accompany him and his thanes to the private chamber of the hall, Alric nearly forgot what he had to tell them. Deirdre obviously was not the only tick on the hound.

“Well, let’s have it,” Lambert instructed, after the men had been served mead.

“One of my captains informed me that the Welsh are gathering forces near the border, more than is needed for one of their cattle raids.”

“How many?” one of the thanes asked.

“Somewhere around five hundred men when he was there. More were en route.”

“Those infernal Welsh are a wart on the hind of the earth.”

Gunnar’s father snorted at Lambert’s vehemence. “I can take my men and fortify Chesreton.”

“And leave Galstead itself short of men, Cedric?” Lambert said.

“Short of men for what?”

Alric turned to spy Ricbert at the entrance to the chamber.

“You call a counsel, Father, and leave me out?”

Alric bore the scorch of his half brother’s look without effect. “The Welsh are gathering an army on the border. We are discussing what to do.”

“Ricbert, what happened to your lip?” Lambert demanded curiously.

“I bit it,” he snapped. “Most annoying.” He took a cup of mead from the maidservant with a smile.

“Most of our army is with Ecfrith,” Lambert said, returning to the
subject at hand. “But thanks to Alric’s wedding, a good number of neighbors will be attending and can supply us with men.”

“If you ask me, you should have paid the Mercians their protection money” Ricbert took a deep draught of the brew.

“I didn’t and I won’t,” the indignant king replied. “Alric, can we count on manpower from your ships to defend Chesreton?”

“Absolutely. There is one ship in port. More are due within the next two weeks.”

“Excellent, Son, excellent.” Lambert rose from the table. “Cedric, you know what you need to do. I’ll send messages to our wedding guests advising them of the situation. If Galstead is threatened, so are they.” Those seated around the council table rose, following the king’s suit, when Lambert stopped them. “Father Scanlan, a prayer, if you will.”

“A prayer?” Ricbert’s words dripped with contempt. “You offend Mother’s gods?” A few of the men at the table mumbled agreement.

“Let it not be said that I am not a fair ruler,” the king said firmly “I will treat no one’s god greater than another.”

Scanlan flinched. It was barely perceptible, but Alric did not miss it. How often he’d seen his mother do the same thing.

“Now, Scanlan, if you will.” Leaning toward Alric, the king whispered in a none-too-quiet voice. “The man has something in his book for every occasion.”

And Lambert was listening to it, Alric marveled. Granted, it was not the whole acceptance required by the Christian God, but just to get the king to listen was a major step. Alric waited, head bowed from an ingrained respect regardless of his belief. A few awkwardly followed his example. Lambert was not one of them. He looked at the priest in anticipation, as if he’d presented the cleric with a test and awaited the answer.

“In the book of Isaiah the Lord says, When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.’ And in the book of Acts, Jesus Himself said of His followers meant to spread the Word of
God, that ‘Ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you: and ye shall be witnesses unto me … unto the uttermost part of the earth.”

Alric glanced around the table through half-lidded eyes. Did these men understand what Scanlan really said? Power certainly appealed to this lot, if nothing else did. They feared weakness more than death itself. And what Scanlan spoke of was a contract, as well constructed as the one the priest had contrived for the wedding. If all went well, it was valid. If not, it would be an excuse for failure.

But whose failure … yours or God’s?

If Alric could lay hands on the voice that crept upon him seemingly from nowhere, he’d squash it as he would an insect.

The hush seemed to intensify as Father Scanlan continued his prayer. “Father, we lean upon Your Word and its truth as You look into our hearts for our earnest confession and belief. These people have not known You long, Lord, and some not at all, but their ears are open to You. They ask that Yours be open to them and their petition for water of the sky and of the living Spirit, that their people might be fed the same. We ask all this in the name of He who sacrificed Himself for us, so no other sacrifice need suffice in His stead. Amen.”

The scent of a summer meadow ablaze with wildflowers filled the lodge as Deirdre stripped and stepped into the wooden tub of water boiled with Abina’s own selection of dried herbs and flowers. Because Lambert’s guests were being attended to at the bathhouse, where a larger tub was in service, her own bath had been delayed, but she didn’t mind. Deirdre asked Abina to tell the king that she would attend his table later. For now, she would enjoy the luxury of the warm, scented water without hurry, even if her legs were drawn up to her chin in its confinement.

Besides, given Alric’s mood, she hardly felt like celebrating her upcoming marriage to the man. How could she possibly have pined for his fiendish humor? It would serve him right to squirm alone at the head table after treating her like one of his underlings. It was a fine line
that separated Alric from his half brother. Both were beasts. One she had no trouble fending off.

Alric, however …

Deirdre furiously worked Abina’s soap into her hair, as though ridding herself of both the snake and the strutting peacock who’d claimed her lips so triumphantly before his men. Had she been able to collect her wits as she had with Ricbert, she’d have at least bitten Alric’s lip.

Eventually her frustrations succumbed to the water’s restful spell as she rinsed her hair and leaned back against the tub, using one of the raised handles as a neck rest. Too soon for her liking, the water became uncomfortably cool, so Deirdre hastily dried off and pulled on a thin, embroidered undershift of fine linen.

Two more days and she’d leave Abina’s cozy little abode and cheerful company to share Alric’s lodge. Tingles of anxiety and excitement raised the gooseflesh on her skin at the thought. Though theirs was not to be an intimate relationship, just being near Alric plunged her into a tizzy of mixed feelings. While he was away, she’d blindly followed her instincts—God’s direction—with the king and the people of Galstead. But with Alric, logic fled, and she became as moon addled as her father with her stepmother.

Deirdre’s hand stopped the hairbrush in midstroke. Heaven forbid, was
that
what was wrong with her?

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

A poke with a hayfork wouldn’t have brought Deirdre to her feet any faster than the male voice behind her. She turned to face the very source of her madness. “You … well … I …” There was not a single coherent thought to emerge from the quagmire of her brain.

“The door was … uh …” Alric pulled his sweeping gaze away from her and pointed to the door. “Ajar,” he said triumphantly.

“Moonlight passion fades in the light of the sun.”
Deirdre’s words to Orna on the deck of the
Mell
flashed back to her.

“I came to see what was keeping you.” Alric’s smile was almost sheepish, out of character but most beguiling. “There are many who would like to meet my bride to be.”

“I sent Abina to explain that I’d be late.” She knew she was immodestly
clothed, yet she could not move … could not think beyond the bum of his gaze.
Father in heaven, spare me this. Help me to remember I’m angry and that it will take more than a winsome smile to …

“And I wanted to speak to you … to apologize … at least explain my behavior earlier.” He turned his gaze away, yet it returned to her seemingly of its own accord. “I’d appreciate it if you put something more on so that I can concentrate on what I need to say instead of the enticing form you present in front of the window.”

Deirdre stood frozen, blank for a moment until the sense of his statement sank in. With a gasp, she scrambled to don the blue dress Abina had laid out on the bed. It fought her at every pull and tug, but eventually afforded her decency. At the same time, Alric turned his back to her.

Faith, if he never said another word, that consideration alone was a winning one. She stared at his wide shoulders, fascinated by the manly taper to the narrow of his waist. “I … um … I’m decent now.” Deirdre smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles of her dress. If her heart beat any faster, it would leave her chest.

Alric cleared his throat and turned, speaking quickly as if he would lose the words if he did not use them immediately “Deirdre, when I saw how frightened you were, I was afraid that someone had threatened or harmed you. If I was unreasonable, it was because of my concern for you.”

Again he cleared his throat. “Everything I have ever had, I’ve had to fight for and then fight to hold on to.” He scuffed aside a wet towel with his foot. “And as for the kiss … well, you challenged my authority in front of my men. I can’t permit that. Frig’s mercy!” He ran his hands through his hair. “You would drive a saint insane, and I am no saint. I used to think I was logical, but no logic I know applies when it comes to you.”

Deirdre’s heart did a dizzy little dance within her chest. “You feel moon addled?”

Alric turned, dumbstruck. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“I also. You bring out the worst in me because I’m not accustomed to it.”

“The very worst.” He stepped up to her and clasped her shoulders with gentle fingers. “And something quite pleasant as well, like a fine wine.”

Leaning over, he caressed her mouth with his. His fingers wound through her damp hair, but Deirdre was too intoxicated by the wine of his affections to notice the pull. His thumbs moved the curls away from her forehead, clearing it for another worshipful brush of his lips.

“Wine treats one well when treated well—” He slipped his hands off her shoulders and swept her into his embrace—“and exacts a terrible vengeance when abused.”

“Like love.” Deirdre nestled her head against his shoulder with a giddy sigh, her face buried in the hollow of his neck. She felt him nuzzle the top of her head.