Deirdre

by Linda Windsor

  God can use all manner of earthly motivations to accomplish the heavenly …

  Perhaps this was some minute part in a grand heavenly scheme. Regardless, she certainly was not one to judge them.

  Glancing to where Gunnar and Alric drank with the Wulfshead’s crew, she met the dark-haired first mate’s gaze. He smiled, color rising to his face as he acknowledged her, but Deirdre knew he had not been looking to catch her eye. She returned the gesture, somehow reassured that she would have at least two allies in the enemy camp besides sweet Abina.

  A third made himself known later that evening. Lambert, stricken with yet another headache, refused the witan’s medicine and asked Deirdre to sing before he retired. Nervous at first, she took up the harp Hengist gave her. This time the chief musician didn’t seem as offended that the king chose someone else to play for him.

  “Sing more than one,” Lambert encouraged.

  Alric looked up from where he’d been speaking to Gunnar. What he thought about his father’s request was impossible to tell, for he promptly schooled his features to polite interest.

  Deirdre sang the song of Michael the Victorious, drawing a sense of assurance from it herself. The king pressed his head against the small silk pillow a servant brought him and closed his eyes, listening. Some of the thanes at his table continued to speak, but most were content to hear the farmer’s humble plea for heaven’s messenger to protect him and his family and his land.

  “That song speaks to me.” Lambert sighed, never opening his eyes. “You mustn’t take her far away Alric,” he cautioned, half in jest. “She has a gift.”

  Alric yielded to a discerning study of her. “Aye, that she must, but be assured that neither I nor my lady will be so far removed that you cannot avail yourself of our support.” Alric gave Ricbert a pointed look. Like two rival dogs, one watched the other with equal distrust. And like a ringmaster, Lambert egged them on in a game of his own.

  Deirdre wondered that one or the other hadn’t killed his brother by now, for murder haunted Ricbert’s glare, contempt Alric’s, and calculation worked in their father’s. She began to understand why Alric believed in so little. Nothing was as it seemed in Galstead.

  “Your gifts will put all of Galstead at your feet, milady, including myself,” Alric said later as he walked her back to Abina’s lodge. Admiration filled his voice. It appeared genuine, but this was the Sodom and Gomorrah of deception.

  “You ride as well as any man,” he elaborated. “But for Dustan’s longer gait, you and Ninga would have won the day You sing like an angel …” He stopped before Abina’s door and turned her face so that the moon glow fell upon it. “And you look like one.”

  Leaning toward her, he started to brush her lips, but Deirdre turned away She knew Alric’s suit was born of greed, not love. But if she let him kiss her, what she knew and what she felt would have at each other—and she feared which would prevail.

  “What are you doing?” His brow furrowed as she dropped to her knees on the ground.

  “Praying.”

  “Now?” Crossness added backbone to his demand.

  Hands folded beneath her chin, she looked up at him. “I pray that someday you will believe that we were matched by God’s hand and not that of fate.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “It does to me.” She chewed her bottom lip at the scowl claiming Alric’s brow. “I’m not pretending to be holier than thou. I don’t even know why God chose me to give this gift to, but I know that He did. And so I mustn’t take any risk that would distract me from His will.”

  “And I distract you?” With a cocky air, Alric leaned against the side of the building, arms folded across his chest. “Since our marriage is to be blessed by both His presence and His priest, how is that distracting you from His will?”

  “If your motivation for that marriage is anything but love, it will.”

  “Do you even know what love is, my pampered, virgin princess?”

  “I know there is a difference between love and lust. Lust is temporal. Animals can lust, but they cannot love.”

  “Tell that to Tor.”

  Upon hearing his name, the dog shoved his head against Alric’s thigh.

  Deirdre petted the wolfhound, earning a generous lick. “Love is eternal.”

  “Do you believe in fairies as well?”

  Ignoring the jibe, Deirdre slipped into the past for memories of her mother and father, “Love can overcome anything. It’s strong, able to weather differences and allow for forgiveness, because each one knows the other is not perfect. It’s unselfish, putting another ahead of one’s self … enough to be willing to die for that loved one. It’s unconditional.”

  “You mean like our marriage contract?” Kicking away from the building, Alric mimicked a bow. “Milady I think you’d best consider your own advice before handing it out to others. Good night.”

  Stunned, Deirdre stared after Alric’s retreating figure. “You cannot contract the heart,” she called after him as she recouped her thoughts. But it was too late. The shadows of the buildings swallowed him up as if he’d never existed. She sat back against her legs, deflated with dismay.

  Oh, heavenly Father, he’s making sense to me. Please, please show me what to do. And if that fails, for I know I am thick witted at times, tell Scanlan so that he can explain it to me. Otherwise, I fear my heart and soul are in danger from a golden heathen with a silver tongue.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Aside from fittings, there was little for Deirdre to do in Galstead. Ethlinda insisted on overseeing the wedding plans and, considering the circumstances of the marriage, Deirdre’s input was hardly needed anyway The highlight of her days were the rides she took on Ninga. Helewis, who took to Deirdre as a sister, accompanied her, as well as Gunnar—Alric’s watchdog. Ironically Gunnar’s eyes were more on Helewis than on Deirdre, and vice versa.

  The second week of her stay, Deirdre was astonished to have the king himself join their daily exercise. He vowed that her song accounted for his remarkable recovery from his headaches, although Deirdre suspected his not taking the powders his wife and witan had been giving him was more likely. Regardless, his company proved surprisingly stimulating.

  With Gunnar and Helewis hanging back, allegedly out of respect, Deirdre spoke her mind on many matters, from Galstead’s drought to her views on astrology and Scripture.

  “By thunder, diverting the river to the fields through those ditches makes more sense than just sitting here twiddling our thumbs,” Lambert exclaimed, adding dourly “or sacrificing good livestock to a tree.”

  “Mind you, we cannot possibly irrigate every hide of land in the shire.” She offered him a smile. “Only God, who sends the rain, can save them all.”

  Gunnar’s voice called to them from the rear. “I told Your Majesty that Alric has caught himself a scholar and a beauty.”

  Deirdre didn’t think he was even listening, but then the shy Helewis wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and there was only so much they could discuss in the king’s company without blatantly flaunting their affections for one another.

  “Tell His Majesty of your theory on the sun and stars as the first timepiece.”

  “A timepiece?” Lambert turned to Deirdre for an explanation.

  “When God created heaven and earth and hung the sun and the moon, He made the first measure of time. Their cycles mark off our hours, days, months, and years. By observing them, the earliest of man could mark off time.”

  The king’s brow furrowed. “And this is in the Scriptures you are always referring to?”

  “The creation part is,” Deirdre said, “but the theory of the timepiece is a humble theory of mine as to why He created them so. All things were created for mankind. The Scriptures are written as instructions for us, whether we are kings or peasants, warriors or wives …”

  “Instructions for kings and warriors?” Lambert’s interest was piqued now.

  “The greatest and most-loved warrio
r kings in history followed them. In fact—” Deirdre felt a burst of inspiration not of her own making—“many of them face the same trials you do, Sire, both as a king and a father.”

  Daily afterward, Scanlan was called upon to bless the thanes and shire reeve before they were sent out to supervise the clearing of the ditches and swales. Lambert heard the stories of King David—the problems among his sons, his women, and his court with a new fascination. From what Deirdre could ascertain, Orlaith had shared them from a salvation standpoint but not from the perspective of royal rule and all its pitfalls and glory. While neither the priest nor Deirdre took this as a sign of Lambert’s acceptance of faith, the king’s interest kindled his thanes’ interest—as well as that of his people.

  At the end of the second week, Alric’s ship put in at Chesreton with a sizeable cargo seized from the Dalraidi trade route. While it was only grain, the ship that carried it was the real prize, which would increase the prince’s fleet by one more, once a few repairs were done. Deirdre made certain to look her best in anticipation of her betrothed’s arrival, but instead of coming to Galstead to visit his bride to be, the captain of the Wulfshead put out to sea again for one more venture.

  If he thought to punish Deirdre for spurning his affections, it worked. She called him all manner of names in her mind, and when he did show his face again, she was determined to repay him with as good as he gave. Her days spent with the king and Scanlan were full enough, but during the nightly feasting in the hall, she never felt more alone.

  Gunnar did his best to keep her company, but it was Helewis he truly sought. It was heartbreaking to see the unrequited love light in their gazes doused by one of Ricbert’s snide remarks. It was only Helewis’s pleading looks that kept Gunnar from calling the malicious heir apparent out.

  “My life will never be complete without Lady Helewis, and it is sheer torture to see such a pure, sweet maid so mistreated and maligned,” Gunnar confessed one day as he and Deirdre meandered through their market on the way to visit Scanlan. “What, then, is there to live for? Save the satisfaction of serving Ricbert his noxious tongue on the tip of a blade.” The lovesick pirate drew his dagger and buried it in a tongue of an ox on display in front of the butcher’s shop.

  “I vow, I’ve never felt so hopeless.” He sighed, dismay piling upon dismay and kicked at the straw-strewn ground.

  “God will sustain you, Gunnar.” Deirdre was certain it was true, but uncertain as to how Ahead of them, a thatcher waved from the roof of the chapel. Below, his apprentice trimmed a bundle of thatching straw before handing it up to him. “I have personally seen Him accomplish some impossible things,” she murmured as Scanlan stepped out of the lodge, grinning. He swung the newly hung door back and forth, admiring the handiwork of the carpenter who was fitting the top of an altar table on its base. Deirdre indicated the building before them. “God rebuilds our shattered lives through our faith, even as He has done this little church, one piece at a time.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Scanlan encompassed the whole of Galstead with a sweep of his arms. “We have to assemble on the commons because there is not enough room for my flock here.”

  “Did someone contribute to the chapel?” Deirdre asked. Surely the cost of thatching and repairing the building was no small sum.

  “I spoke on Colossians last week—doing all as one would do for the Lord—and these good men showed up this morning to work for God.” The brightness in Scanlan’s eyes stung Deirdre’s own. “I have seen miracles abound, more than even I believed possible. If ever there was a place ripe for God’s message of hope, it is this one—from the king to the peasant, they thirst for spiritual water as the land does for rain. Had we made our journey uninterrupted—”

  “Pardon me, Father, but could ye have a look at this?” the carpenter called out.

  Scanlan didn’t have to finish. Deirdre knew exactly what he meant. Their capture was no accident but part of a plan. Alric, Gunnar—they were merely unwitting instruments. But what of Cairell? Had Alric found out anything?

  Chances were that he hadn’t, as he’d been at sea practically the entire month. Even now tents were being set up on the common for the arrival of wedding guests. She’d had her last fitting in Helewis’s beautiful gown of lavender damask just that morning.

  “If you don’t mind, milady I saw a lady selling ribbons a while back. I’d like to purchase a blue one to match Helewis’s eyes.”

  It was a sweet thought, no doubt sincere, but Deirdre had not missed the young man’s interest in a friendly wrestling match between some strapping youths near the livestock pens.

  “Go,” Deirdre told Gunnar. When she came to visit the chapel, he was as restless as a dog on a leash. “Why don’t I meet you back at the court? Scanlan can escort me.”

  The young warrior needed no further absolution. He was off in a flash. Left to her own devices, she walked past Scanlan, who was holding a piece of molding in place, and into the chapel.

  Seated on one of the aged benches, Deirdre bowed her head. Father, You have indeed worked miracles these last weeks, and I believe—I have to believe—that You are caring for my brother as You have seen to my needs and comfort. Lead Alric to him, I pray, that at least Cairell might return to Gleannmara and our father I do not think father’s health could bear the loss of our mother and both his children.

  Straw dust from above sprinkling her hair and clothes, Deirdre kept her quiet vigil in the midst of the work going on outside and above her. The enemy who held her captive had faces now—and troubled hearts, where she once thought none beat at all. How inadequate she felt to be chosen to speak to them of God’s love, when, like Jonah, she was prepared to condemn her Nineveh rather than seek to save it.

  Forgive me my pride and prejudice. Perhaps she’d learned as much of God’s love in the last few weeks as those she’d been chosen to teach. Christ’s plea to forgive those who tormented Him because they knew not what they did had never seemed so befitting, not just in Galstead, but in Deirdre herself. So many verses she’d studied had taken on a new light since her captivity.

  “Excuse me, milady.”

  Deirdre turned at Scanlan’s hesitant intrusion.

  “I must go to the common now. Will you come with me or will Gunnar return for you?”

  “I sent him on without me,” she admitted, “but I’d like to remain here for a little while longer, if you don’t mind.” Scanlan usually spoke for an hour to the men and women coming in from the fields near the day’s end. In increasing numbers, they stopped and listened as time or interest afforded. “I’ll wait for you to return.”

  Scanlan pointed to his plain wooden traveling chest. “I’ve books in there, if you wish.”

  “Thank you, dear heart.” She’d known the man a lifetime, yet it was only in the past weeks that she realized just how dear a heart her clansman was. “I’ll take a look, though mostly I’ll just enjoy the quiet.”

  Deirdre closed the door behind him to shut out as much noise as she could. The door no longer creaked in a spine-raking manner on its one hinge but moved silently on two new ones. She was surprised that among her kinsman’s few precious books was a favorite of her own: Mythology of Ancient Man. She chuckled at the idea of a priest fascinated by mythology and she made herself comfortable on the bench against the wall. Aside from being thrown together to work God’s will these last weeks, it seemed they had yet another interest in common.

  Deirdre found one of her favorite myths—on how the changing of the seasons came to be—and began to read by the sunlight pouring through the open window. It was warm on her shoulder and, combined with the solitude, relaxing. Breathing a sigh of contentment, she was drawn into the story of the maid who’d been carried off by her rakish abductor to his dark world. His loneliness and torment in his own kingdom softened her heart toward him, as she softened his, and they fell in love. Deirdre blinked sleepily.

  Love. It was always the one thing in both myth and reality that overcame all obst
acles. If only …

  What startled Deirdre from her inadvertent nap, she had no idea. Perhaps it was the jar of her head as it dropped to her chest. She straightened and folded the book shut. In the midst of a most unladylike yawn, a passing shadow shuttered off the sun outside the window, yet upon listening, she heard nothing. Heavens, how long had she slept?

  “Scanlan?” She jumped to her feet, stirring a cloud of dust in the streaming sunlight.

  Goodness, she was covered in it, Deirdre shook her skirts and brushed her shoulders and arms, walking toward the door. The market must be closed or closing, she thought. No more had her fingers brushed the door when it opened.

  But instead of Scanlan, Ricbert of Galstead stood agape at the entrance.

  “Well, well, if it’s not our perfectly, pious, princess,” he said, with punctuated mockery.

  Alarm snuffed Deirdre’s peace as completely as the man before her blocked the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  There were more shops near the chapel than homes. This late in the day, the market was usually closed, now that Scanlan held services on the common. The stories Helewis shared about Ricbert made Deirdre’s skin crawl, exactly as it was now.

  “I’ve come to be saved.”

  She stepped back as Ricbert ducked under the low header and straightened inside.

  “Well, then, I wish you the best,” Deirdre made to move around him, but he planted his hand against the frame, thwarting her.

  “You’ve used those sweet lips with such heart to save my father,” the man drawled. “Surely you might spare a word—or a taste—for me.”

  “Milord, you will step aside now, please.” The door bumped against the outside wall as Deirdre’s heart struck her throat. How she spoke, she couldn’t imagine, but her voice projected a deadly calm she did not possess.

  Undaunted, Ricbert laughed. “Hah, you seem to forget which court you find yourself in. ’Tis mine, not yours, my feisty little princess, and I have a wedding present for you.”