Deirdre (39 page)

“Scanlan is in good hands.” Obviously Alric mistook the green direction of her thoughts for a pious wariness. “I’ve never seen her mutter chants, much less conjure more than tea or a poultice from the herbs she collects and dries year round.”

Before Deirdre could reply, the door to the villa opened and Doda rushed outside, beaming enough to make up for the lack of sunlight. “Milady Lord Alric, welcome home!”

“Thank you, Doda,” Deirdre managed, ashamed of herself for doubting the strength of her husband’s vows. Even as a pirate, he honored his word. “It’s good to be home.”

Alric slid off the stallion and lifted Deirdre down. “Surely, you jest, milady.”

What pain she heard in his murmured words. Deirdre framed his face with her hands, as though to assuage it with her touch, indeed her very soul. “I am with you, Alric. Wherever you are, it is my home, and I’m glad to be there.”

He heard and digested her words, but the somber mask of his features gave none of his thoughts away, save that he was as drained by the long, wet journey and lack of sleep as she. Suddenly, as though pulling upon resources from the very tip of his reach, the warrior rallied and she, too, took heart.

“Doda,” Alric said in a brighter tone, “see to my wife. And Belrap,” he added, cutting off Deirdre’s protest, “see what can be done to feed and lodge these good people. Use what you must, spare nothing, for these people have spared nothing in my support.”

“Yes, milord.” With a respectful dip, Doda put her arm around Deirdre. “Come, milady, you can tell me all about it whilst we dry out your wet clothes.”

“I’ll help with the guests,” Deirdre informed her out of Alric’s earshot.

“If you do, ’twill be in dry clothes, or I’ll not budge.”

“Pauls, have some of the boys find lodgings for those we cannot accommodate and spread the word that we will have a meeting in two hours.” Alric set his shoulders. “If ever we needed to pull together as one people, ’tis now.”

As the shadows of the day became shadows of the night, flaming cressets were raised in addition to the usual lanterns outside the villa and in the courtyard. Smoke from the baskets of wood and pitch atop the poles thickened the damp air. Alric’s request that the people of the seaside shire come together with their displaced neighbors as one had already resulted in ample food and provisions. Vendors emptied their shelves, and homes opened their stores. The courtyard that had filled with travelers that afternoon as Scanlan was carried into one of the guest rooms emptied, family by family.

Dwarfed in some of Alric’s spare clothes, while her wedding dress—now her only dress—dried by the hearth in the master bedchamber, Deirdre left Aelfled tending Scanlan to join her husband and Cairell in the courtyard. Merchants and craftsmen stood with Falk and his men in the courtyard of the villa as Alric gave them what details that could be pieced together regarding the massacre at Galstead.

The latest news had come from a servant who’d made his way to Chesreton on one of the horses Alric’s men scattered before leaving. When the man regained consciousness from the drugged wine, the burgh was fully occupied by the queen’s brothers and their troops. All pretense of a Welsh raid had been abandoned. The servant heard one Mercian guard bragging that a second army was on its way. All the while, bodies were being tossed onto a bonfire on the common, including those of Lambert and Ricbert. The man had not seen the queen but admitted he was more concerned with escaping than with determining Her Majesty’s whereabouts.

“By now you know my father and his loyal thanes have been murdered. Of the traitors, Ricbert and a few careless guards are dead. The queen and her Mercian relatives are in control. Had we not been forewarned in the middle of the night, Deirdre and I might lie upon a pile of burning corpses with our throats slit as well.”

Even though the tale of what had transpired swept through the city with the speed of a flame, shock still prevailed among the listeners. “From all accounts, their plan to blame the Welsh for the bloodbath was ruined by our escape.” Alric’s gaze met Deirdre’s. “Word will get to Ecfrith that the Mercians he’d have us pay tribute to for protection were the ones we needed protection from.”

The news that the bretwalda expected tribute-paying shires of his kingdom to pay for protection over and again to known enemies raised the level of emotions riding high over the assembly The citizens were no more amenable to it than Alric and Lambert had been.

“So do you think the bretwalda will send troops to take Galstead back?” the mayor of Chesreton inquired.

Alric shook his head. “I cannot speak for Ecfrith, but I do know his forces are concentrated to keep the Scots and the Picts at bay Even Galstead has soldiers with him. If the bretwalda would win back Galstead, it will not be a priority.”

“Then what of Chesreton?”

“Aye, what of us?” Another wail joined in with the mayor’s cry.

Alric waited until the questioning died down. “Chesreton will survive as it always has, under whatever rule exists at the time. The sea and ships are your holdings. The merchants who live here are the lifeblood of its prosperity. Your tariffs and fees will continue to go to whoever rules Galstead, unless you can raise a sufficient force to take the shire back yourselves.”

“Or unless you lead us.”

At the familiar voice from the rear of the crowd, Alric paled. When the people finally gave the speaker up, a whole and hearty Gunnar marched up to his friend. Seizing the stunned leader’s hand, the mate raised it above his head.

“Long live Alric, the
rightful
king of Galstead!”

At that, Alric came to life. “What in Thunor’s—”

The crowd picked up the cry cutting off Alric’s oath. Amid the roar, the two friends embraced, and Deirdre’s eyes stung at the joy on her husband’s face.

“Thank God you are alive,” Alric said, as they broke away.

Deirdre laid her hand on Gunnar’s arm. “Have you seen Helewis?”

“She’s well, and now safe from her demon of a husband,” Gunnar replied.

The people rallied around Alric, drowning out anything he might want to say. A group of men tried to raise him on their shoulders, but he threw off their well-intentioned efforts. After herding Deirdre to the safety of Cairell’s company he leaped up on the wall of the fountain as though to battle the overwhelming tide single-handedly. The slash of his arms through the air hacked the noise to a more manageable level.

“No, and I say again,
no
!”

The place fell quiet, as though death itself had swept through their number. Every muscle in Alric’s arms and chest flexed with the simmering emotions tearing at his face, quivering in his jaw, pumping fast and furious through the veins that stood out with the taut chords of his neck.

“I am a soldier of the sea,” he shouted in the wake of the loud and sudden hush.

“But a soldier is a soldier,” the mayor objected.

“Aye, and as such, I know when it’s time to fight and when it’s time to retreat.”

“I never thought I’d see Alric of Galstead turn coward.”

The look Alric gave the official withered the man, forcing him back among his fellow townsmen. Divided opinions broke rampant throughout the enclosure. “You are entitled to your opinion, sir,” Alric acknowledged.

The noisy crowd must have felt the rumble of the wolf’s low growl, for it quieted at once.

“And you, sir, are welcome to lead these good people.” Alric lifted his finger in warning. “But good people must not be mistaken for good fighting men. Look about you. I do not see more than a handful of men who I would lead into battle—and none that I will lead to their deaths. You are merchants, craftsmen, sailors, and fishermen.”

“Then what would you have us do?” the mayor demanded.

“
You
are the official leader of this shire, Edgar.”

“But you are king of Galstead.”

“There is no kingdom, man!” Though clothed in anger for the crowd, Alric’s howl of desolation tore at Deirdre’s heart. “And if it’s my advice you seek, then hear it.” He paced his words, as though each were meticulously chosen and executed. “You will do the same as your fathers before you have done. You will survive. You can pay tribute to one lord as easily as to another and, believe me,” he sneered, “the Mercians are no fools. They will only cut off the hand that meets theirs with a weapon, not with coin.”

“And what of us who’ve left our means of living behind?” one of the refugees called. “The people of Chesreton won’t keep us forever. Is that the cost we have to pay for following you and accepting this Christian God?”

Alric looked as if the king stone of ancient Tara had descended upon his shoulders, heavier than he could bear. Jaw clenched, he shook his head. “These are mad times. Christians pretending to be Christians persecute their brethren. Sons betray their fathers,” Alric pointed to the chamber where Scanlan had been taken. “A good man, who risked his life to bring the hope of God’s Word to you, lies beaten within a breath of life … scalped with the tonsure of Rome by my
unbelieving
stepmother. I am no seer or prophet. I cannot explain it all.”

“I can.” Deirdre reached up and took Alric’s hand. “Good and evil are always at war, and we are the victims. How we survive depends on our faith … or lack of it. We mustn’t despair.”

Alric helped her up onto the thick fountain wall beside him. She stood tall beside her husband.

“The Christian God has done something no other god has. He has given us a book of instructions and truths to guide us. ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the L
ORD
, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’” Her Saxon was flawless. “I personally know this to be true. My brother was kidnapped during Ecfrith’s raid on Ireland, and I sailed with the ransom to save him. Instead of saving him, I was captured, and my faith was sorely tested. My future looked no blacker than yours appears now, and yet I stand here, rewarded by love and the safety of my brother because the God I believe in never abandoned me … and He will not abandon me—or you—now.”

Several in the gathering spoke, but none ventured to speak above the general murmurs to each other. Her heart in her throat, she stumbled on. “My heart aches for you. You’ve left your homes behind and have no idea what tomorrow will bring. There was another group of people who did the same thing, and God delivered them to a new land and new beginning. Their way was not easy but the hardship was like a smith’s fire, it purified their faith like gold and made them strong as steel.”

“Where will we go? Has this God provided a place for us?”

Deirdre hesitated. “He has plans for you, plans for you to prosper, to give you hope and a future.”
Father, even I who have known You all my life struggled to believe this. Help me convince them of the truth of Thy Word.

“With what fortune my ships have earned, I will purchase the land for any who choose to follow me.” Alric took her hand in his. “I give my word.”

Deirdre met his gaze and was embraced by it. He knew no more than she as to the how or the why, but he was willing to take the risk … the leap of faith.

“And where will you find our land?” one of the men called out skeptically “Buy it back from Mercians and have them steal it again?”

“I don’t know,” Alric admitted. “I will have to search—”

“He’ll find it in Ireland.”

Wondering if her ears played tricks upon her, Deirdre looked to Cairell. So did others, but instead of seeing the prince of Gleannmara, all they saw was a young man in peasant garb.

A man close to Cairell sneered. “And I’m supposin’ you’ll be him that sells it?” Deirdre recognized the thatcher who’d put a new roof on Scanlan’s chapel.

Cairell flashed a wide grin. “Aye, sir, that I will, and be the first to welcome you to your new home.”

Rumbles of disdain and disbelief echoed from all around. “The beggar’s crazy as a swineherd!”

“Who in thunder does that dimwit think he is?”

Alric held up his hand, waving down the uproar. “Allow me, good fellows, to introduce my brother by law, both God’s and man’s, to
whom I owe my life … and loyalty Prince Cairell of Gleannmara.”

Wary blue eyes met wary gray as Alric offered Cairell an arm up onto the wall beside him. But the moment their hands locked, all the apprehension in their gazes melded into one sense of purpose. Deirdre’s heart soared at the unspoken truce between the two men she loved. Nothing had worked out as she’d planned, but
God
’s plan had proved so much better. And so it would for the people before her. She knew it, both in her heart and her soul.

W
hen last of the villa’s visitors left, only lanterns were left to carry the vigil of light until morning. Alric wearily embraced Gunnar and bid him good night. Dismissing Belrap for the evening, the prince of a disintegrating kingdom meandered into the courtyard. Each step was leaden—with fatigue, with disappointment, with confusion, and self-doubt. Questions and answers were a muddle in his mind, one hardly discernible from the other. He sat on the edge of the thick, stone basin, senses numb to the night.

The graceful nymphs of the old fountain tirelessly poured an unending stream of water into its bed. It was here, in the wee hours of the night, that he often came as a child, seeking the ready company of the stone maidens—and of God. It was here that he later hurled his prayers upward as a youth, demanding to know why his mother and he were outcasts of the court. And it was here that he cursed God when he and his mother returned from her homeland, rejected and disdained.

And now what? Was this his punishment for his rebellion, his
reward
for returning to God, as the thatcher from Galstead had accused earlier? Alric had no answer. Despite the promise Deirdre championed so convincingly, he
felt
wounded, betrayed like the new Christians who’d followed him in panic to avoid Mercian retribution. Would that he had the strength of her belief, for with it the captured became the conqueror, not just of his heart but of those who heard her.