“That said, good fellows and ladies,” Alric recovered after clearing his throat, “I personally have found this God and His Son to be just and reasonable. And I ask Father Scanlan as Their representative, to perform the water ceremony, that I might pledge my life to studying and following Their example to the best of my ability for I could not promise more. Is that fair, priest?”
The water ceremony? Alric wished to be baptized? Deirdre could scarce wrap her mind around the miracle, for it was surely that.
“Aye, milord, it’s fair and welcome in the eyes of the Lord, but …” Scanlan glanced at the stream, shrunken by drought in its wide-cracked bed. “There’s hardly enough water to baptize you properly.”
At that moment, a loud crack of thunder echoed above them. As startled as the others, Deirdre looked up at the sunlit sky. Incredibly, a droplet of water struck her face, then two, then more. From out of nowhere, a smattering of soft gray clouds stole upon them like late arrivals to God’s chapel. Rimmed in gilt by the sun, they gently shed their water on the thirsty meadow below.
Scanlan’s bellowing laugh rivaled the thunder itself as he looked up, arms reaching toward the heavens. His loose sleeves fell away from them, revealing a sinew that belied a calling of words alone. “Never mind, lad. I see God Himself has decided to baptize, not only you, but the entire assembly, ready or nay No water I bless could ever be so holy as that straight from heaven’s hand.”
Alric dismounted and approached the spot where the priest stood. “Then let’s be about it, man, before the ladies stampede in distress at wetting their lovely gowns and hair.” Suddenly, as if by second thought, he turned to Lambert. “Milord, would you care to join your son in the Christian God’s own baptism?”
Amazed as she was by what was unfolding before her very eyes, Deirdre felt sorry for hesitant Lambert. The king was truly beside himself as to what to do.
“Perhaps the king is not ready,” she suggested. “This must be a decision he reaches in his own heart, not because you prompt it. You, Alric, have had time to deliberate.”
“Orlaith waits for you, milord.” Abina’s brightness took wrinkles from her aged face. “She waits for you to be with her again.”
Ethlinda dragged the older nurse away from the king and slung her aside. “Be gone, you babbling old fool!”
Like quicksilver, Alric caught Abina before she fell, glaring over her head at his stepmother. “Royal or nay, I will cut off the hand that harms one hair of this lady’s head,” he growled.
The wolf had not completely surrendered to the lamb, Deirdre mused, but surely the Lord used His wolf to protect His own.
Whether it was to please Alric’s late mother or to vex the queen, Lambert came to a decision. “Very well then, but let it be known that I bow only to the bretwalda of Northumbria and the Christian God in the heavens, no other.”
The soft rain that dropped upon their shoulders as Scanlan sang the baptismal rite in Saxon created a havoc of joy rather than distress. As father and son knelt to be blessed by the priest, only those closest heard their confession and commitment to Christ. Deirdre struggled between laughter and tears when her husband to be rose along with the king, forgiven and free of their past transgressions. Truly all things were possible in God’s name, for had someone foreseen this, she would have disbelieved, even disdained the idea.
And if this was possible, then her brother was not yet lost.
The only black cloud in their midst hovered over the queen and her guests, who drew away as if fearful that whatever madness had affected the king and his son might be catching. Indeed, Ethlinda’s lips never ceased to move as Lambert and Alric admitted to being sinners and lost in this world. It was as though she sought to undermine what was taking place, but the rain—the glorious, prayed for rain—would not allow it.
“Milady,” Alric asked upon rising, “will you take me as your husband here, before God and all nature, before that darkening on the horizon sets upon us?”
Deirdre was struck by the sun that shone straight from the silvery bright mirror of his soul. Or was it the Son? At that moment, there was no one else in the universe but the three of them and a truth she could scarce credit: God had used her in this miracle. She could not doubt it. And she could not doubt that this was not the only surprise she would know this day.
“But it’s raining.” Once again Alric had won Lambert’s favor and Ricbert’s whine did little to belie the unadulterated hatred he bore toward his fairer sibling.
“I’ll not stand here like a gaping turkey and drown in the rain.” Queen Ethlinda swirled her cloak about her shoulders, enshrouding her humiliation at Lambert’s betrayal, and marched off toward the gate.
Some of the guests followed, more ladies than men, and nearly all of the queen’s countrymen. The rest surged forward, besieging Scanlan with questions and requests for the same absolution. Both men and women, noble and poor, had listened attentively to Alric’s declarations and agreed with the prince that if God was willing to accept them with their faults, that they were willing to accept Him.
The rain—so long denied—was a sign no one could ignore. Surely this God was not only real and reasonable, but He answered prayer.
“Wait your turn, good people!”
Alric’s exuberance was enough to lift him off his feet. He was weightless, if human words could possibly describe how he felt. He was drunk, intoxicated with a joy he’d not know since the innocence of childhood. So often he’d heard his mother say that he needed to lay his burdens down at the Lord’s feet, and it had made no sense to him … until now. He glanced at his father, wondering—hoping—that Lambert knew the same carefree exhilaration, as if he could slay dragons with laughter.
“I am sure the priest would tell you more, but please, my wedding first. I’d have it done before the weather, or my bride’s mind, changes.”
Surrounded by an unprecedented and nearly crushing gaiety for Galstead, Lambert, his most trusted thanes, and the main of Alric’s men from the Wulfshead formed a barrier to protect the bride and groom from being overrun by good intentions.
“Now this is more to my liking,” Gunnar whispered none too quietly to his friend. “The old crow and her flock have flown.”
Alric gave Gunnar a hearty pat on the back as he stepped up beside the lady Helewis. Clad in her gown of rose, the shy princess bloomed in the radiance of the young seaman’s smile. Alric owed Gunnar much for staying behind with Deirdre, knowing how it tortured him to see Helewis at Ricbert’s mercy Gunnar deserved his own ship and a chance to make his own fortune as Alric had. The ship they’d taken a few weeks ago was exactly what Alric had in mind for his best friend.
Although wealth was not everything, he thought with a twinge of pity for his friend as Scanlan placed Deirdre’s hand in his. Joy struck Alric again, so fresh he nearly laughed out loud. Time was, it was himself he’d pitied.
His mother was right yet again: Love changes everything. He felt giddy as a wet-eared pup.
He loved Deirdre. The certainty removed more weight from him rather than adding to his earthly burdens. And he loved her God. It did not weaken him as he’d believed it might but gave him strength. More strength than any mortal could wield.
God’s strength.
“Dearly beloved—” the priest looked about them, eyes both solemn and joyful—“our prince has declared this day not only his love for his bride, but for our Lord. Be there any man or woman among you who has reason that these two, Alric of Galstead and Deirdre of Gleannmara, should not be wed?”
“No one would dare,” Lambert blustered, casting a hawklike gaze around him. Taking their example from Galstead’s king, Gunnar’s father, Cedric, whose troops now fortified Chesreton, and the other thanes did the same.
“Very well then,” Scanlan resolved, turning to Alric. “Alric of Galstead, wilt thou take Deirdre of Gleannmara as your lawfully wedded wife before God and these witnesses, keeping only unto her, wilt thou honor, protect, and love her as Christ lov
ed the church, unconditionally till death do you part?”
Alric delved into Deirdre’s upturned gaze with his own. “I said as much before and state it again now. Yea, I will.” Deirdre would be like Orlaith was to Lambert, but with all the honor that Alric could afford her. “And should I die first, I will wait for you, for to live without love is to exist like the earth without rain.”
Without the priest’s blessing, Alric lifted her hand to his lips. Her own quivered as he spoke against it. “May I never take you for granted, lest I discover what it is to be without you again.”
He’d taken his mother for granted. Not until he met Deirdre and saw Orlaith’s goodness reflected in her had he realized how much he missed that good in his life. Like the creek bed, he’d shriveled spiritually and emotionally And as he’d talked to the priest and then taken up Orlaith’s books of Scripture, it all flooded back. Why God cared enough about a cynical pirate to send Deirdre and the priest into his path had to be part of that unconditional love.
“I, Deirdre of Gleannmara, promise you, Alric of Galstead, to keep only unto you, to love, honor, and obey you as my lord and husband in every sense …” Deirdre paused, as if torn between surprise that she uttered the promise she’d thought to withhold and sudden certainty that she meant it. The smile that lit her features was like God’s own sun shining forth from the heavens. “According to God’s Word, until death do us part.”
Alric felt the promise at the core of his senses. His undoubted physical desire for Deirdre had given way to spiritual attraction in the course of the last day or so of soul-searching, but now it blindsided him like a traitorous dog. Body flushing and tensing all at once, Alric hardly heard Scanlan’s prayer above the cacophony within himself. His breath was short and mouth too dry to add his “amen.” Were her words just a turn of phrase, or did she mean …?
“You may kiss the bride.”
Although the priest spoke passable Saxon, Alric stared at Scanlan, trying to make out the meaning of his words.
“Well, go on, Son! We’re not getting any drier!” Lambert waved his arm. “Tis a curious time for shyness now.”
It wasn’t until Deirdre snickered beside him that Alric’s wits returned, riding high on a wave of embarrassment.
“Her chatter will bring you delight.”
With a perfectly wicked quirk of his lips, Alric gathered his precocious bride in his arms. Ignoring the heady sway of her figure against him, he steeled himself for his attack. First a feign, a brush of lips to belie the desire she’d stirred …
A disjointed cheer rose around them.
Then a peck on the forehead where her gold-threaded veil folded back.
The cheer gained voice again, only to fade as Alric bestowed another and another, first on one cheek, then the other. As he eyed her chin, it hung uncertainly in the air. Gently, he left a peck of homage there as well.
Deirdre’s eyes were wide open, swimming with uneasiness and anticipation. Surrounded by a collective holding of breath, Alric swept in and laid his claim upon her lips. When he at last offered her reprieve, she gasped with shortened breath, and he grinned at her flushed cheeks and dazed demeanor.
For the moment, he’d caught her off balance—but a lifetime lay ahead of them in which she would undoubtedly even the score.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The first son to produce a grandson will become my heir,” Lambert proclaimed, lifting his goblet first to Alric and then Ricbert. The red wine sloshed over the king’s fingers, but well into his cups, he was beyond caring. He not only celebrated Alric’s wedding, but the fact that Alric finally accepted his wedding gift—the villa in Chesreton.
It wasn’t the first time it had been offered, but, until now, Alric needed no home, nor the ties that went hand in hand with such a gift. But a proper bridegroom prepared a house for his bride, and Alric was determined to be that, despite his reluctance to be beholden to anyone, particularly his father. Much as Alric tried to love the king, Lambert’s penchant for stirring strife, especially between his two sons, troubled him. While Alric could fend well enough for himself with Ethlinda and her offspring, he now had a wife to be concerned about—one who’d been separated from him by the endless stream of well-wishers.
He looked to where Deirdre sat next to Helewis, her cheeks as flushed as the other woman’s were pale—like a red rose and a white one. Frig’s breath, had this new faith made a poet of him?
“The sooner we leave this place, the better.” The grumbled comment came from Gunnar to his left. Rather than the mischief it spawned in Lambert, the heath fruit worked a morose spell on his friend. “I’ll not bear it another moment, knowing your weasel of a half brother is back in her bed after that little announcement.”
It would suit Ricbert’s nature to drag poor Helewis off on the instant, but Gunner’s familiarity with the loneliness of the princess’s bed set Alric on his heels. “Back?”
Gunnar apparently pulled his wits together and cleared his throat. “Everyone knows your dear brother prefers any bed but that of his wife. Until now, at least things were tolerable.”
This was all Alric needed—his best friend drinking himself into a confrontation with his half brother over a woman lost to him.
“Lambert just toys with our minds,” Alric disdained. “Ricbert is heir, always was, always will be.”
He would not allow himself to even entertain the thought that he might become ruler of Galstead in lieu of his half brother Although a second thought niggled. If Gleannmara—with its present king on the throne and its heir still alive somewhere between Britain and Rome—was not to be his kingdom, that left only one other to fulfill Orlaith’s vision.
Not that even kingdoms mattered to Alric’s love-besotted mind. It had to be love. What else could turn a man’s head so that he hardly knew himself? He had wealth enough accumulated to live with his bride in ease, even if he never made another trip to sea.
“Unless the heir should happen to topple off a cliff,” Gunnar mumbled under his breath.
The wistful remark brought Alric’s wandering thoughts back to the present. Thankfully, the merriment threatening to raise the roof from its planked walls kept Gunnar’s words from carrying. Alric was in full sympathy, knowing, perhaps for the first time, just how deeply his friend felt about Helewis. Were their positions reversed, he’d have made off with Ricbert’s bride before—
He caught himself. He hadn’t exactly rushed into this union with Deirdre. He allowed that it was his mother’s prayers and God’s grace that moved him in time to keep from losing her forever.
“You ask too much of me.” Gunnar laid his head upon folded arms on the table.
Aye, Alric commiserated with his friend’s plight, but Deirdre came first. Gunnar was needed here with her, while Alric followed up on Hinderk’s lead regarding Cairell of Gleannmara.
Just where the prince was depended on which source one believed. A short conversation and a tidy reward of gold revealed that Deirdre’s brother had been taken to Gaul—or he’d escaped—either one conveniently at the moment Hinderk began his discreet inquiries around the bretwalda’s court. There was no doubt in Alric’s mind now that the bretwalda knew nothing about Cairell, for Ecfrith would hide nothing. One of his thanes had been bitten by greed and now hastened to cover his subterfuge. Regardless, Alric was obliged to at least try to find Cairell.
“You ask too much of me.” Clearly, Gunnar was too far gone on heath fruit to know he repeated himself.
“I know, but—” Alric broke off and nudged his dazed companion. With a short nod, he motioned to where Ricbert and Ethlinda spoke in dead earnest with the Mercian envoy and several thanes, mostly relatives. Alric suffered their company on too many occasions. For all its benefits, the kingship carried curse as well.
“Snakes like to coil and huddle together.”
“I thought Hinderk’s companion had left for the Mercian court upon our refusal to pay their blood protection.” It was bad enough having his stepmother’s r
elatives slithering about …
“Another toast to the cap’n,” Wimmer chortled from his table with Wulfshead’s crew a few yards away “Come on over, ye lucky dog, and have a last drink with us as a free man.”
“More likely he sent a messenger. That way he can keep an eye on us.” Gunnar rose unsteadily and, seizing Alric’s arm, steered him toward the Wulfshead’s faction.
Alric dismissed the notion that something was amiss. The queen and her son always kept to their own at such occasions. It was normal to gather with long-missed kin.
Instinctively, he cast a protective eye to Deirdre’s last whereabouts and was vexed to see that the princess was no longer at the head table. But then, neither was Helewis, he noted, taking a measure of comfort in the notion that the two women had retired momentarily from the king’s hospitality. Females never left in solitary number but in packs. He supposed it was either because they were schooled by their mothers to take comfort in numbers, being the weaker sex, or nature mysteriously called them by instinct all at once.
The imported ale glittering in the sterling and gilt goblets Lambert had specially crafted for the bride and groom was no better for taste, nor for the way it settled in Alric’s gullet. He suffered an uneasiness that would not abate, yet he could not pinpoint the source.
He endured his crew’s jibes and more serious comments, processing them on a separate track of attention from which he focused on his bride’s whereabouts. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, Deirdre of Gleannmara had commandeered a permanent block of his attention that none other could erase. She was with him, wherever he was, if not in physical presence, certainly in his mind.
Some of the guests got up to indulge in a dance, which kindled a plan in Alric’s mind. He’d suffered court etiquette enough to try the patience of a saint, much less that of a bridegroom. He’d have his bride to himself with no more of this nonsense.
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