Deirdre

by Linda Windsor

  Dare she cry out for help? No, that might provoke the beast. Suddenly the bed shook with the full weight of the animal. His feet brushed against Deirdre as he picked his way to her other side. She flinched as a wet nose pried under her elbow, as if to ease under the pillow in a stubborn yet surprisingly gentle manner. When that didn’t work, the dog whined and pawed at it. Remembering the sight of his snarling teeth, Deirdre held it fast.

  Perhaps if she remained still long enough, he’d lose interest and leave her alone. The thought had barely formed, when the wolfhound plopped down and stretched out lazily against her. Ever so slowly, Deirdre lifted one corner of the pillow to see exactly what the situation was and came face-to-face with a gray furry muzzle. As Tor raised his head, she pulled the pillow over her face again.

  Heavenly Father, she prayed, afraid to so much as breathe until the beast rearranged himself and settled once more. His big paw brushed against her rib and suddenly the weight of his head dropped upon her stomach. She could not suppress a pitiful whine of her own.

  It was going to be a long, long night.

  ELEVEN

  Alric, the night is yet young. You have had much on your mind.”

  “Don’t touch me, woman.” Alric pulled away from Aelfled’s touch and sprang from the bed, but his humiliation followed. Never had he failed to pleasure a female, not even his first, much less an enchantress like Aelfled.

  She wrapped a sheet about her and padded across the straw-covered dirt floor toward him. “If you will only listen, I think I can explain why—”

  “Which time, out at the pool or just now?” he growled as he pulled on his clothes. At her patient silence, he acquiesced. He certainly had no idea what was wrong and he was desperate for answers. “Is this permanent?”

  “Don’t be absurd. It is not the natural order, only a temporary disturbance designed, perhaps, to get the attention of a bull-headed man.”

  “Disturbance?” Alric raised a finger at her. “Aelfled, I am more than disturbed.”

  “You belong to another, one of golden hair and blue eyes—”

  Alric shook his head. “She belongs to me. Besides, you heard that from the Frisian’s wife.” He pulled his shirt over his shoulders. Women and their self-proclaimed ability to know and see all.

  “You love her.”

  “Hah! If this is what love does to a man, I might as well be gelded.”

  “Your destinies are matched by fate … or your mother’s God.” Aelfled put her hand on his arm and motioned him to the bench at her table. “Now sit, and I will share my vision.”

  He stiffened. ‘What you’ve actually seen, or the gossip carried on the wind of the Frisian’s wife?”

  Aelfled took up a small bag of smooth, flat stones from the table and cast them before Alric. “Choose.”

  “All?”

  “I will tell you when to stop.”

  Alric swept half aside with his hand. “There. Satisfied?”

  “Put three back.”

  When he’d shoved the first three closest to the remainder aside, she began to turn his chosen stones, one at a time. “I saw her in the water at the pool. She wore a blue gown with golden braid and seeds of pearl, fit for a princess, because she is royal. Her throne is not ripe and when it becomes so, it comes with a blight.”

  “Do you talk thrones or apples?” Still, Aelfled had his interest.

  “It is a throne protected by a sword.” She continued to turn over the rune stones. “A king’s sword.”

  His elfinlike friend was very good at her craft, but whether her vision was real craft or simply conjecture eluded him. “Do you see the sword in those stones?”

  “I saw it in the water, a long blade with a hilt of gold inlaid with silver and jewels … sapphires and three small, red stones.” She flipped three stones. “A scholar, a warrior, and a priest.”

  “And the sapphires?”

  “Thanes, I think, who support the king of the sword.” She smiled. “A wealthy king.”

  Anyone could have described Deirdre, but few had seen the sword close enough to describe it in such detail. Still … “Do you also see that the king is alive and has an heir?”

  Aelfled shook her head. “I only saw the blight on the water, like evil fingers tearing your destiny apart. Not only yours, but hers.”

  Alric laughed. “Galstead is filled with evil fingers, complete with hands and arms and bodies to back them.”

  “Her kindness will make many enemies.”

  “I am not familiar with any kind streak in her.”

  “Because you have not looked beyond her physical attributes.”

  “I didn’t need to. They flew at me like a swarm of bees, stinging my pride, my purse, and—” he held up his wounded hand—“my hide.”

  “I speak of her heart.”

  “She cloaks it in deceit.”

  Aelfled gathered up the stones and returned them to her pouch. “I will be glad to help you and your lady when the time comes.” Her tone clearly pronounced the session finished. “The stones and water agree with your mother. Believe them or not, it is your destiny not mine.”

  Alric stood, spurred by frustration, and strode to the door. Destiny indeed!

  “Do not hesitate to send for me when the time is right. Even a stubborn mule as you will know when,” she called as he reached the doorway.

  Alric turned. He didn’t want to hurt Aelfled. She was the only refuge he had, but if she was so intuitive, surely she knew how he suffered this very moment. He knew neither his mind nor his body.

  “Go to her, Alric.” A smile warm and sweet as a summer morn lighted on her lips … but it wasn’t Aelfled who spoke. It was Orlaith.

  Alric blinked in disbelief and looked again. Nay, his mind vied with his body for fiendish trickery It was Aelfled—small, beautiful, and more seductive than he’d ever seen her. And to his horror, he felt nothing. He fled from the place that had always been his refuge as though driven by Woden’s own fire.

  Although Aelfled’s glen was tucked into the forested landscape a good walk from Chesreton, Alric had no idea of the time when he greeted the night watchman at the royal villa’s gate. The opening of the iron hinges split the quiet of the night with a hair-raising creak. No foe would ever slip quietly through this entrance.

  “We wasn’t expecting you back tonight, milord,” one of the men told him.

  Neither was he, Alric thought morosely. He started across the courtyard, making straight for his quarters, his thoughts tumbling like a rockslide into a bottomless pit of indecision and bewilderment. Even if his heart had chosen another path, what connection did this destiny of love women were so enamored with have with his inability to satiate his desire? Desire and love need not go hand in hand. It would take more than a pile of stones to convince him he was in love, much less the visions his friend told him about.

  Granted, it did seem as if all the gods, Christian and pagan alike, had sent Deirdre to him. A sign from one or the other was one matter, but the same sign from both was enough to make even the most skeptical of cynics pay heed. The king’s sword with its stones was intriguing, but this talk of scholars, warriors, priests and black fingers … Frig’s breath, it made no sense! All he knew was that both mind and body now failed him. He knew not what to think of the first and the second was unbearable. What good was a king who could not sire an heir? This was no disturbance, as Aelfled had said, but a disaster. He was no longer a man. Perhaps he was ill.

  Alric paused by the fountain in the courtyard of the villa. His hands were steady His skin was cool to the touch. His stomach was satisfied by the food and ale from Aelfled’s table. All he felt was frustration, nay panic, that his body had failed him with no excuse.

  A faint light slipping through the cracked door of his room drew Alric’s attention from himself. Surely that woman had not escaped again. And where the blazes was Tor?

  A myriad of curses vied for expression as Alric reached the door … and spied both the female and the dog
on the bed. Tor’s head bobbed up from the flat of Deirdre’s abdomen. Tail wagging proudly, he barked.

  The still figure beside the dog cringed. The toes of her bare feet curled tight against their pink soles, and her arms clutched the pillow over her face even tighter.

  Alric had forgotten that the old latch to his quarters was no match for the wolfhound. If he wanted to keep Tor out, he had to use the bolt on the inside. Given the trouble the wench had caused him, Tor’s mischief was well deserved. A slow smile came to Alric’s face.

  Tor gave another short bark as Alric approached the bed. Shushing the dog, Alric leaned over the bench at the foot of the bed and ran a finger up the center of Deirdre’s foot. Predictably, she recoiled. Put out that it was not he receiving Alric’s attention. Tor climbed to his feet and rubbed against Alric’s arm. As Alric ran his finger up the center of Deirdre’s other foot, the dog began to lap at his hand, as well as the sole of Deirdre’s foot.

  With a shriek, she rolled off the bed, pillow and all. Tor would have bounded after her, if not for Alric’s restraining hand on his collar. By the time the animal was in check, Alric caught a glimpse of a night shift disappearing under the bed.

  “Ho, Tor. Easy, boy,” Alric cooed, settling the excited animal. “You can come out, milady.” He laughed shortly “This playful beast is under control.”

  Silence was his only answer at first. Then a dainty foot ventured out. Wriggle by wriggle, the rest of his captive appeared, her shift twisted about the curves of her feminine figure. As she gathered herself to her feet, she still hugged the pillow in front of her. Modestly shaking out her garment, Deirdre raised her face to him.

  Guilt edged out Alric’s humor at the sight of her tear-ravaged eyes, now shifting in wide terror to the dog. The proud chin that had given him thunder trembled above the edge of the pillow. Fear of the dog had broken her spirit where neither he nor a hold full of rats could. He was not the least gratified by the victory.

  “Tor won’t harm you, I promise,” he said softly.

  As if to prove Alric right, Tor barked, wagging his tail. With a jump, Deirdre backed against the wall. “I hate you for leaving me with that beast,” she cried into the pillow drawn over her face. “I hate you for ruining my life and my brother’s chances of freedom. I hate you.”

  Her utter despair clawed at Alric’s conscience, and her avowal of hatred unaccountably ripped at his pride just as her fingers did at the last barrier of defense between them. Alric caught Tor’s eye and motioned the dog out of the room with a jerk of his head. When that didn’t work, he snapped at the wolfhound. “Out, Tor. Now!”

  At the last command, the dog leaped off the bed and ran into the courtyard as Alric closed the door and bolted it from the inside.

  He removed his sword belt and hung it on a large peg near the large bed, then turned toward Deirdre, who was still quivering in the comer. The guilt that assaulted him suited him less than his previous humiliation with Aelfled. Women, it seemed, were a ripe source for both. “I am sorry about your brother.” He drew a deep breath, searching for some words of comfort. “I guess I’d hate me, too, if I were in your shoes.”

  Frig’s mercy, how could he make her understand his side of this when he wasn’t certain himself? It behooved him to have the brother out of the way, although he was loathe to benefit from Ecfrith’s brief madness. Brotherly love was something he’d never known. He’d been raised on brotherly rivalry and outright dislike, if not hate.

  “I let my father and Cairell—all of Gleannmara down.” She sniffed wretchedly into the pillow.

  But it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t intentionally set out to ruin this young woman’s life. “Why in blazes did they send a woman in the first place?”

  Deirdre rallied brokenly, glaring over the pillow. “My father is ill. Time was of the essence and … and I don’t have to explain anything to you! I was perfectly capable of negotiating the exchange. I am a princess. I have been trained for such things.”

  “Then why are you here in this situation now?”

  “Because I was trained to deal with honorable men, not scoundrels.”

  The broken blade in her voice cut Alric in two. A nobler part of him wanted to throttle his lesser self and protect her from himself. But what was done was done. He couldn’t undo it. This was war. Deirdre and her brother were casualties.

  “Maybe I can ask around to see what might have become of your brother—”

  “Prince Cairell of Gleannmara.”

  “I’ll see what can be done.” Alric had no idea what exactly that was, but the brightening of hope in her gaze peeping over the pillow’s edge might just be worth the effort. At least one of them would have some relief. He certainly preferred the role of comforter to that of scoundrel.

  “You don’t need this now,” he told her, gently taking the pillow from her.

  Childlike in her fear, she drew in a fragile breath, “I thought the dog would—”

  “I know” Alric put his finger to her lips. “I’d forgotten how Tor could open a latch when it suited him. I’m sorry, but he’d never hurt you.”

  She shook her head as if to contradict him.

  “He only threatened you at first because he thought you intended me harm.” Alric kept his tone gentle. “Frankly, I am surprised he didn’t try to roll you out of the bed, since you were in his rightful place. He’s pushed me out before, during a sound sleep.”

  Doubt reined in her gaze, but a slight twitch of her mouth encouraged him to go on. He couldn’t help but run coaxing hands down the cold flesh of her arms, moving her stiff body into the intended comfort of his embrace. She neither resisted nor cooperated. “Come here, sweetling. I promise you are safe now.”

  Her breath was warm against the front of his shirt as he pressed her face to his chest. It was uneven, riddled with the terror that had held her at bay for the last few hours. Alric could well imagine the warrior queen he’d seen brandish a sword against Gunnar struggling with the terrified child within. The first would draw his blood; the latter, his compassion. He inhaled the scent of the golden hair falling in disarray about her shoulders. His soap had never been so appealing. For all its masculinity, it could not detract from Deirdre’s softness. If anything, it enhanced his awareness of her femininity, stirring instincts that had failed him earlier.

  Alric’s mind and body reeled. Was there merit to Aelfled’s talk about love and his mother’s musings of his destiny? Everything stacked like a cromlech upon his mind.

  “Come, let’s put you to bed before you take a chill.” With sheer will he turned her toward the bed, breaking the close contact between them before his body betrayed him. The renewal was sheer relief and pure torture at the same time.

  Alric tugged back the covers and held them as Deirdre obediently slipped between them. Gathering them in her hands, she pulled them tightly under her chin, watching him warily.

  “You will have to move over, milady I sleep on this side, next to my sword.”

  He watched as she absorbed his meaning.

  “Here?” Her voice was little more than a rasp.

  “There’s no other bed in the room.” Alric’s pragmatism was not shared.

  “There’s the bench at the end.”

  The plea in her eyes was almost impossible to ignore. Besides, Alric was too tired and weary for another confrontation. It was easier to drag the bench around to the side on which he customarily slept, grab a pillow and blanket from it, and settle on the thin cushion.

  She watched him, doubt furrowing her brow. “What about Tor?”

  “I bolted the door so that he will not join us,” he said gruffly

  Us. The concept ran through Alric like a bolt of lightning, but he weathered it behind a mask of reassurance. Despite the distance between them, the room itself made her nearness inescapable. Desire played havoc with him, denying him a female he might enjoy with a free mind and placing him with one his conscience forbade him to touch in intimacy. His mother had been such
a maid of privilege, snatched from her home and thrown into the bed of her captor.

  Alric shuddered inwardly turning away from the bed. Why after all these years, he wondered as he stripped off his shirt, did he ponder such things? He’d accepted his parents’ relationship as it was, never thinking of how it came to be … until now.

  As he reached for the laces of his breeches, he heard a small gasp behind him. With a pull of a smile, he turned out the lamp before he finished undressing and settled in on the bench. He’d slept on harder surfaces, but not with a large, plump mattress and a warm wench a turn away.

  “You are still abed, aren’t you?” he said, tugging the blanket up to his shoulders. She’d grown so quiet, it sounded as though he were alone.

  “I … I have nowhere to go.”

  Alric flinched as though the doleful words had been hurled like barbed arrows and almost wished they had. Fighting her defiance had been far easier than resisting the compelling lure of her vulnerability He tried to shed his conscience—and any other finer emotions she had the knack of bringing out in him. He was a prince and a warrior doing his duty in taking the Mell and its passengers. It was his right and her misfortune. All in all, he’d been gracious and honest toward her, which was more than he could say on her part. And if he kept her, he would not do what his father had done. She would be his wife, not a slave. That should count for something, shouldn’t it?

  He caught his breath as the thought settled like a blanket upon his confusion. Had this many advantages pointed toward claiming a prize ship, he’d have taken it by now and cursed the risk. It was a tactical decision. In doing so, he gained not just the prospect of his birthright, but his manhood as well, for he was suddenly overripe with it in her presence. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes.

  Surely this was the beginning assault of the dark powers Aelfled warned him about. If indeed Deirdre was his destiny, it was so close—and yet too far away.