Deirdre (8 page)

“It pains me deeply,” Deirdre admitted, affecting humility as best she could. She’d rather have stomped the captain firmly on his polished instep. “But the captain has graciously offered us quarter on his ship until Orna is well. For that, I’m thankful.” Perhaps God already prepared the way for their escape, although His purpose in their capture and the death of the
Mell’s
crew still eluded her.

“It’s safer than going into town,” Alric informed them, his earlier humor fading. “With all manner of man and nations sailing in and out, the ship is always under guard.”

“You mean even thieves have to be on the watch for thieves?” And the beast might as well take her runaway tongue as well.
Oh, Father, help me, for I cannot help myself.

Alric ignored Deirdre’s peeve. “If you wish, sir, I can have someone ask around to see if any of the vessels are headed farther up or down the coast.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Scanlan assured him. “The Lord God has led us here for a purpose. My calling is to carry the Light to the unlit wick of humanity.”

With a spontaneous laugh, Alric clapped the man on the back. “Then, Father, you have come to the right place, although the breath of decadence may well extinguish your earnest fire before you can fan it. Just look, man.” He pointed to the parapet crowning the ancient stone. “Beyond that tower, lies every temptation flaunted before man. Here thieves parade as merchants, and merchants as thieves, depending on which end of the transaction they are on. The finest and most tawdry of the world passes through those gates. Linger long inside and it can cost you, not just your purse, but your life and your soul.”

He mocked and threatened Scanlan with his eloquent tongue, but the priest was not the least daunted. If anything, the prospect excited him like a meaty bone tossed to a starving hound. “Then I have my road cast before me.”

“The lady will not last.” Alric’s mercurial gaze shifted to Deirdre.
“They will lap her up like wolves with fresh blood. Only the strong survive here, for whatever such survival is worth.”

A thief with contempt for others? What a hypocrite he was. “Then why do you fancy yourself up for such a place, if you find it so depraved?”

Indeed, the man had decked himself in finery. His tunic of brightly bordered linen cost no mean sum. Nor did the girdle, fastened with a silver wolf’s head buckle, its eyes inlaid with garnet. Where his trim, dark trousers left off,
hemmings
skimmed the balance of his long frame. Made from the hind leg skin of a deer, the noble footwear was bound by lacings that were surely as long as Deirdre was tall.

“Because,
my derling lady—
” again came that low, threatening mockery—“I am the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, intent on finding a tasty lamb for my beastly edification.”

Deirdre actually jumped, moving backward with a startled “Oh!” Her dismayed gaze grew wider still as her foot took the too-long cloak up short, jerking her by the neck. Alric caught her by the waist and rolled her into the curve of his arms as if they’d practiced the maneuver for hours.

Off balance, she found no escape from the ravenous lips that consumed her protest. The kiss threatened to draw the life from her body and leave it pleading for its return. Senses foundering in a sea of sensation well over her head, Deirdre closed her eyes, groping blindly at the front of his shirt to keep from sinking beyond retrieval. Somewhere above the whirling dervish of blood racing round her brain, she heard Father Scanlan’s protest, but it was drowned by the wolflike pant that mingled with the panicked shortness of her own breathing.

When the beast returned to its human form, Deirdre lay in the trap of its arms like ravaged prey. With her breath returned enough for her to pull away, she staggered against Scanlan, wiping her lips with the back of her arm as if to erase what had just befallen her.

“That was hardly necessary, sir!” the priest stammered in indignation. “And unbefitting a gentleman of your station.”

Ignoring the priest, Alric moved back, staring at her with something akin to wariness. What on earth had
he
to be wary of? “And
that
,
milady—” he swallowed as if purchasing time for further thought—“that is why
you
will not be safe outside the walls of a holy cluster.” With obvious effort, he forced the raggedness from his breath and turned away. “Wimmer!”

“Aye, sir!” The mate hurried toward them with an embarrassed glance at Deirdre.

“See that food and drink are brought to our guests. They’ve chosen to remain aboard until their companion is well. Since our Frisian friends aren’t in port, there’s no rush regarding the other woman.”

“Aye, sir. And will you be riding to your father’s court at Galstead?”

“Frig’s breath, Wimmer, you’re as worrisome as a wife.” The captain swore, leaping to the rail light as a cat.

Deirdre flinched inwardly. Faith, but he was a dangerous creature—a shape-shifter to be sure, part human, part animal. Perhaps he was a wizard as well.

“Sorry, sir. I meant no harm.”

Alric capped the volatile rise of his aggravation with the contrite second mate. “Only our guests and the watch are to remain on board until further orders,” he instructed with forced patience.

“Consider it done, sir. I’ll see to the guests personally.”

With a curt nod, Alric started down the planking that had been raised against the side of the ship. Once on the beach, he spoke with the two of his crew who had not already left the shore and then headed up the narrow strip of sand toward the town and who knew what depredation.

Deirdre unfastened the soft, woolen cloak and, with a shudder, wadded it in a ball. “Here, Wimmer. I don’t need this now.”

She handed the dark blue garment over to the mate and wiped her sore hands against her hips, as if to rid herself of the devastation its owner had wreaked upon her sensibilities. He had pushed her beyond annoyance to something that made her feel … what? Tarnished? No man had ever handled her so roughly, nor exercised such dangerous work upon her defenses. While steady on the outside, she trembled inwardly, vulnerable in a way that defied words.

“I’ll be putting it back in the captain’s trunk then. Just ask if you
need it.” Wimmer shook out the garment. “I reckon I’ve never seen the captain wear this before.”

Sooner than dignify her curiosity as to where Alric headed upon reaching the shore, Deirdre decided to help Wimmer. As she smoothed out the other end of the cloak, a strangely familiar embroidery caught her eye. In disbelief, she stared at the image of the Gleannmara brooch, embroidered in golden thread and studded with sapphire buttons where the real gems lay. Where on earth could Galstead have come across this?

“But it’s such a fine piece.” She rubbed her fingers over the expert stitches in perplexity. “You say your captain has never worn it?” She recalled how it had been wrapped in a package when he’d retrieved it from the trunk.

“He doesn’t dress so fine on the
Wulfshead,
like he does at his father’s court.” Wimmer shook his head and then grinned widely, exposing his haphazard display of remaining teeth. “But for you women aboard, he would not wear a shirt unless he expects a fight.”

Saints preserve us!
She focused on the mention of the court, unable to recall if Alric had mentioned his father’s name. “His father being …?”

“King Lambert, of course.” The man looked astonished that she didn’t know. “He is lord of all the land you see and more.”

“So the captain is really a prince?”

“More of a prince than Ricbert, I can tell you that.” Wimmer’s emphatic nod tolerated no doubt. “It’s to Galstead’s misfortune that the captain’s mother was a slave and Ricbert’s the queen. When her mother named her after a serpent, ’twas an omen.”

“Praise God!” Scanlan’s chest swelled, most likely with a holy sense of purpose at the challenge that lay before him.

Deirdre shivered, wondering if her fellow countryman had lost his mind. Only a few chosen were equipped to deal with a supernatural enemy. Was Scanlan one?

Regardless, it explained Alric’s almost mystical nature. And if this Ricbert were any more dangerous than his illegitimate brother, heaven help them all.

In the name of Christ, protect us from demons.

Retreating before she babbled like Orna, Deirdre returned to the mystery of the cloak. More than likely it was stolen. But from whom? Deirdre watched the second mate make his way to the compartment where Alric stowed his belongings. Cairell had no such piece.

“I had wondered last evening if we’d ever make landfall,” Father Scanlan remarked, drawing her from her ponderings. “And now God’s hand has been shown to us. It is only fit that we give God praise and glory for our deliverance. Will you join me, milady?”

“We are delivered into the hands of our pagan enemies,” Deirdre reminded him.

“But alive, milady, with a marvelous opportunity to spread the Word.”

“Perhaps
you
have the opportunity, but I have been shown nothing of a kind.” Yet, she was alive, and that revealed a different opportunity. She might escape with Orna and the ransom. Perhaps, that was God’s purpose for her.

“Aye, Father, I will join you in prayer and praise.” Deirdre turned to Orna. The ship’s stillness on shore seemed to have rid her complexion of the sickly green color. She would not be anxious to escape by boat, but the pampered lady-in-waiting was in no shape to affect a journey across a strange land.

Orna nodded, misreading what was really on Deirdre’s mind, and bowed her head.

“Father of all heaven and earth,” Scanlan began, already upon his knees in reverent fervor.

Deirdre knelt beside him, echoing his words in her mind.

“We thank Thee for our deliverance from the storm and for the civil treatment we have received from our enemies.”

Civil?
She stumbled over the thought. Her skin still burned from the scorch of Alric’s unsolicited attention.

“For You have seen to our needs in their midst.”

Aye, they’d been nourished and protected as much as was possible in such foul weather.

“We ask Your continued protection and strength as we struggle to do Thy will in this strange place.”

Father, forgive me for my ingratitude. I don’t mean it. I do appreciate surviving and having our meager needs met.
The slit of her closed eye pried open by the distraction that too often frequented her prayers, and Deirdre spied the
Mell
docked near the village. If Alric intended to let her and Scanlan go as they will—
And forgive me, Lord, for my charade, but it’s to Your purpose of saving your children from slavery—
then the ransom needed to be retrieved before it was discovered.

“Father, lead us as You did Your prophets of old, that we might reveal to the hearts of these people the light of Your Word and in it, the promise of salvation and hope in—”

Deirdre discreetly opened her other eye. There appeared to be only two men on watch. Surely after the scarcity of sleep last night, they’d succumb to it once darkness set in.

“—the precious blood of Your Son. We are not worthy, Lord, but we are willing.”

Willing,
Deirdre prayed, catching up.
Father, I am willing to try. Go with me, please. I cannot do this without Your blessing.
Deirdre made the sign of the cross, sealing her commitment to Cairell and her mission for God.

“Amen,” she said in union with the priest.

Scanlan rose to his feet and Deirdre followed his example, brimming with excitement and a sense of purpose.

“Father,” she announced, vying to keep from appearing too eager, “I have a plan.”

G
od was surely with her. The arrogant pirate prince had inadvertently provided the means for their escape by having Wimmer ask if any boats would be headed to the island monastery off the Welsh coast. A woman who brought them a plain but delicious meal of fresh baked bread, cheese, and honey told him that her husband was taking her neighbor to visit kin at the monastery tomorrow and would be delighted to transport Prince Alric’s holy friends.

While Wimmer had sent the woman away since Deirdre and the priest had decided to stay until Orna was well, Deirdre paid particular attention to which of the small stone-and-thatch huts along the beach the fishwife retired. After all, they could have a change of heart.

“Milady, are you certain this is wise?” Orna studied her, wide-eyed.

“I advise strongly against this,” Scanlan said, reiterating his opinion of her escape plan.

“Father, you are convicted that this is where God has sent you. I am convinced that God sent that fisherman’s wife to aid Orna and me. It’s our lives and Cairell’s at stake.” Deirdre checked the breeches she’d taken from the captain’s trunk to make certain they were secure enough not to hamper her in the water, as the voluminous gray robe had done. While the
Wulfshead
was beached, the
Mell
was not.

“Then let us pray that it’s God’s will you heed and not your own.”

Why was her kinsman being so contrary? She understood his dedication to his mission, so why couldn’t he understand hers? “That is why, if I am not back in time, Orna must leave in my borrowed robe before daylight.”

Earlier, Deirdre had asked the obliging Wimmer if she might fetch Alric’s cloak. Since the mate was still savoring the remainder of his honey-smeared bread and, more important, his flagon of wine, he’d given her leave without suspicion. Aware that she was still within sight,
she’d reached into the trunk and dragged out whatever clothes she could, along with the bundled breeches and a shirt. With her hair braided and tucked inside the collar, she could easily pass as a boy … if she was detected at all.

“Milady, I do not think I can pass for you.”

“Keep the hood over your head and say no more than you must. If you stuff your bedding well enough, it will look as if you are still ill and sleeping, should Wimmer check on you. Remember, it’s this or slavery, Orna. If I do not make it back, you must get back to Gleannmara and tell Father what has happened.”