Deirdre

by Linda Windsor

  Ethlinda sauntered up to him and traced the sharp line of his trimmed beard to the point of his chin. Ricbert watched her tongue as she moistened her lips, savoring her undoubtedly craven thoughts. No ordinary female could make molten fire run through his veins like this—certainly not his bride, who’d pled another of her endless stream of headaches. He ought to despise his mother for spoiling him for other women, but he couldn’t. He worshiped her.

  “I’ve had your father removed to his lodge. I shall revive him enough for a private farewell.” Her laugh shattered the air like icicles upon stone, but to Ricbert’s ear, it was nothing short of music. “Then we’ll visit the lovebirds’ nest.” As quickly as it came, the fancy in his mother’s voice gave way to harshness. “Now take your uncles’ men to the armory so that they can arm our ‘attackers’ with Welsh weapons. The sooner our work is done, the sooner we can play.”

  When the servants who’d not been killed outright came to their senses amid the bloodbath and discovered the foul play too late to defend their lords, they’d rally only to find Ricbert and his uncles driving the Welsh assassins off. The Welsh army conveniently camped at Chesreton’s gates provided the perfect scapegoat. The few banners and weapons captured from Saxon retaliatory raids across the border would add weight to the survivors’ story of the surprise attack during the wedding feast.

  Ecfrith would expect no less, what with Lambert ignoring the bretwalda’s suggestion that they pay the wergild for Mercian protection. Galsted was his at last, and the lords who would help him keep it were Ethlinda’s kin.

  “But the sooner we are prepared for the morning, the sooner we can toy with that whore’s whelp and the pious little virgin he vows to die for.”

  Ricbert felt as if the same heat that drew Ethlinda’s lips to a ruby smile now drew fast every muscle in his body.

  “Now off with you, while I break the news to Lambert that his first-born isn’t even his.”

  “You can wake him?”

  “I saw to his drink personally I want him to feel every prick and quiver of my revenge.”

  “And if that doesn’t finish him?”

  Mesmerized, Ricbert watched as his mother dabbed an idle finger in the blood that had congealed on the blade of her dagger and rubbed it over her lips like a pomade of me. Slanting her painted eyes at him, she smiled.

  “Then, my pet,” she said, slowly drawing it across his mouth, “I will.”

  In mortal form or nay, Alric had glimpsed heaven with the woman in his arms, and the journey took its sweet toll. He wanted to pray, to thank the God who’d blessed their union and set Deirdre aside for him in Orlaith’s vision. No more had he begun when a sweet lethargy dragged him into a deep sleep, a dreamless one, for no dream could rival the glory of the reality he’d shared with Deirdre.

  So sound was its hold on him that not even the cold, lethal press of metal against his neck could penetrate it at first. Only when the serene thrum of his pulse echoed against the blade did the possessive slumber shatter. Each muscle, one by one, tensed as awareness of danger swept through him, moving him to action’s edge and no further. If the intruder meant to kill him outright, the deed would have been done by now.

  Cracking his eyelids open without so much as missing a breath, Alric barely made out the figure of a man crouched by the side of the bed.

  “I know you are awake, Galstead.”

  The intruder’s broken Saxon burst like hot thunder in Alric’s ear, increasing the pressure of the blade until its edge stung, a heartbeat from Alric’s life’s blood.

  “I would have you know who your executioner is before you die.”

  Roused by the angry rumble, Deirdre lifted her head from the cradle of Alric’s shoulder and rose on one arm. “Alric?” she queried sleepily.

  His other arm freed, Alric took advantage of the distraction and seized the wrist of the hand about the handle of the dagger, twisting it away from his neck and kicking at the intruder.

  “Alric!”

  The man fell back off his haunches, and Alric threw himself after him.

  “Run, wo—” He grunted as his opponent caught him full in the stomach with a ready boot. Confused and unprepared, he should have rolled away and regrouped, but that would give the brigand time to harm Deirdre. Alric grappled instinctively for the man, catching a foot with a vicious twist.

  “Get out—” Dark as the room was, a white light burst in Alric’s vision as the villain’s other foot caught him on the side of the head.

  “No, wait!” The intruder spoke to Deirdre, scrambling next to Alric.

  Alric willed himself to block the man, but his limbs refused to obey. With an angry growl, he rolled to his feet when a loud crack resounded.

  “Deirdre?” he rasped, heart stilling at the sound of a body striking the hard floor.

  “Alric, I got him.” The triumph in Deirdre’s voice wavered as she added, “I think.”

  Alric crawled blindly toward the groans of his dazed assailant when his knee came down on the handle of the man’s dagger. With a curse, he seized it.

  Deirdre rushed past, the fold of her voluminous nightshift fanning the scent of her perfume in her wake. “I’ll light a candle.”

  “Who the devil are you?” Alric demanded, as he found the intruder’s neck with the weapon.

  The man moaned unintelligibly, but Alric was in no humor for compassion. “Speak now, or I’ll slit your throat and pull your tongue through it.”

  Behind him, a light flickered from the hearth, growing stronger with each quiver until it drove the pitch from the room. Alric had never seen the senseless man sprawled beneath him, although the split flesh on his forehead masked his features in blood. While peasant by his dress, he had the build of a warrior. Had Deirdre not intervened, the element of surprise might have delivered the upper hand to the villain.

  Alric’s shield dragging in one hand, Deirdre approached her fallen foe, a candle raised. Eyes still fierce with the fight and hair falling in a wild tangle over her shoulders, she reminded Alric of the northman’s Valkrie. Frig’s mercy he’d married a harem of women in this one creature, and each incarnation stirred him more than the last.

  “Milady I owe—”

  The stricken look that suddenly claimed Deirdre’s face silenced him.

  “Oh, heavenly Father!” She threw aside his shield and dropped to her knees in a puff of linen.

  Thinking her on the verge of a swoon, Alric tried to catch her with his free hand, but to his astonishment, she stuck the candle in it, very much in command of herself. Before he could react, she tugged the knife away from the stunned man’s throat, as though to protect him.

  “Oh, Alric, we’ve killed my brother!”

  “What?”

  No more cognizant of what had happened, much less how Cairell came to be here in the bedchamber, Deirdre gathered her brother’s head into her lap and wiped frantically at the blood covering his face.

  “Get some water … quick!” She pried at the wound where a stud on Alric’s shield had split Cairell’s forehead. “And for heaven’s sake, put on some clothes.”

  A thousand questions mingled with the stark fear that she might have seriously injured, if not killed, the brother she’d tried so hard to rescue. Cairell moved and moaned, but he was far from coherent. Deirdre raised his hand to her lips.

  “I’m so sorry, love!” She sniffed, turning impatiently to where a disconcerted Alric struggled into his trousers, “Water, Alric. I need water.”

  “You call him love, when he attacks me with a dagger?” Glowering, her husband hopped over to the wash table and grabbed the pitcher. Laces still undone from an earlier urgency, he marched to where Deirdre held her brother and slung the full contents in Cairell’s face.

  “Alric!” She cradled her brother as he struggled upright, caught somewhere between shock and awareness. “Cairell, it’s me … Deirdre,” she said, as her brother fumbled for the empty sheath at his belt. “You’re safe.”

  “He’s
lucky you got to him before I did. ’Tis he who is the villain here, milady, not I.”

  “Dee.” Cairell winced, as though the mention of her name pained him, “I … I came as soon as I could.”

  Deirdre tried to help him sit up, but his weight was all but dead in her arms. “Alric, help me put him on the bed.”

  “No …” Cairell protested, seemingly repelled by the idea.

  “No!” Alric jerked the laces of his trousers tight and secured them, never taking his gaze from the man on the floor. “Not till he explains himself.”

  “I thought you were trying to kill us,” Deirdre apologized. “I never—”

  “I was trying to kill that—”

  Deirdre clamped her hand over Cairell’s mouth, but the vile name he called Alric had already struck its mark.

  “Alric, no—”

  Seizing Cairell by the shoulders, Alric hauled the young prince upright and slung him on the bed. “That’s where you wanted him, wasn’t it?” His glare challenged Deirdre.

  Cairell caught himself and bounced back, swinging clumsily Before the two men could clash, Deirdre shoved the shield between them. The force of their punches wrung it from her tenuous hold and sent it crashing to the floor. Singed by oaths of accusation from both sides, she climbed to her feet and wiped her hands on her bloodied nightshift.

  “Stop it!” She stepped between the two angry bucks before they went at each other again. “I’ll not let either of you harm someone I love.”

  “Love?” Cairell cast a grudging look at Alric over her shoulder. “Him?”

  “Aye, him! He’s my husband, Cairell. Why wouldn’t I love him?”

  “You willingly married this Saxon—”

  “Sure, I’ll strike you again if you say it!” Deirdre drew back her fist.

  Cairell knew her well enough not to call her bluff. With a grimace, he dropped down on the edge of the bed and mopped his head with the back of his arm.

  Assuaged by her defense, Alric snorted. “A fine way to treat a man who’s spent a small fortune trying to save your thankless hide.”

  “I’ll bite off my tongue before I thank the man who abducted my sister and forced her to marry him against her will.”

  Deirdre gaped in surprise. “How … who told you that?”

  “It’s true isn’t it?”

  “It was—” Deirdre felt the heat of her blush as she glanced at Alric—“but it isn’t now. At first I only married him so that he’d help me rescue you, but … but he does have this certain irascible charm.”

  Faith, if she grew any warmer, her gown would catch fire. When Alric stepped up beside her and claimed her waist with a possessive arm, she leaned into him.

  “I’ve had people searching for your whereabouts since our banns were posted. Where have you been?”

  Cairell shoved his hair off his face and behind his ears, as if that might clear away some of the confusion. “It’s a long story one neither of us have time for. As we speak, this place crawls with Mercian assassins, and a small army gathers outside. I sneaked into the city to rescue my sister before they attack at dawn and found no guards at the walls and a bloodbath in the hall—everyone is either drugged, dead, or drinking till their comrades arrive with the sun.”

  With an oath, Alric pulled away and marched to where his scramasax hung. “Then you must take Deirdre away from here and quickly,” he said as he strapped the belt on.

  She reeled with the implication of his words. “What are you going to do?”

  “Get dressed.” Ignoring her question, he turned to Cairell with a skeptical arch of his brow. Indeed, her brother was ghastly pale. “Are you up to the task?”

  “Only because my sister didn’t get her hands on that.” Her brother pointed to the short but lethal length of sword. “But even that will only kill so many before they get you.”

  Seemingly undaunted, Alric took up a strip of stocking and handed it to him. “Wrap this about that wound for now. It won’t do to have you blinded.”

  This couldn’t be happening, Deirdre told herself, as Cairell took the wide linen strip and secured it around his forehead. This was all some horrible dream and any moment she’d awaken in her new husband’s arms, safe and secure.

  “All I ask is that you take my old nurse with you,” Alric went on. “Tell her to show you the druid’s cave I used to play in when I was a lad. It will take you out of Galstead without detection. As often as Abina hunted me down there, she’ll remember where it is.”

  “No.”

  Startled by Deirdre’s flat denial, both men turned to her.

  “I’m not leaving, Alric.” Dream or not, she wasn’t about to stand by and have her future decided as if she weren’t even there.

  Alric frowned but said nothing as he handed Cairell his dagger and marched to a tapestried wall. With a jerk, he tore away the artful covering, revealing weapons of all manner, from spears to axes and swords to knives.

  “I don’t care if you’re an expert with every one of those,” Cairell observed, “you’re outnumbered.”

  “I marked exactly how many villains supped at my wedding table,” Alric answered, donning a leather vest from the wall. “But ’twas no more than had shared my father’s hospitality in the past. God forgive me, I ignored my instincts.”

  Alric’s contrition was enough to break her heart.

  Cairell turned to Deirdre. “If you care anything about the fool, you’ll come with me.”

  Resolute as her husband, Deirdre grabbed her wedding dress. “I pledged till death do us part,” she said, stepping into it. “And I meant it.”

  She hauled it up over her bloodied gown. Facing the wall, she slipped the nightshift off and finished putting the dress on. By the time she finished lacing it and turned back to the men, Alric the pirate straightened from pulling on his boots. Blades of all description nested handily in the leather trappings of his vest. The handle of the ax on his back was equally within easy reach.

  “Frig’s breath, woman, stop your gawking and put on your slippers while I see if the way is clear.”

  Jarred from her stupor, Deirdre hurriedly found her shoes and laced them on.

  “A few walk about in twos and threes,” Cairell volunteered. “Obviously, they’re pretty sure of their control.” He glanced from Deirdre to Alric. “Look, I’m not inviting your company, but she’s not going to go with me if you don’t.”

  Given what her brother had told them, Cairell did speak sense.

  “Alric, please,” Deirdre said.

  He pierced Cairell with his gaze. “Would you leave in my stead?”

  Her heart sunk as Cairell answered honestly with a shake of his head. Men and their confounded honor at all cost! “There is no dishonor in retreating against insurmountable odds to fight another day.”

  “I’m no fool, sir,” Alric assured him, turning to Deirdre. “That is what I hope to do … but I have to see to any survivors—my father, my men—”

  “But Cairell says they’re dead.”

  “If they are in the hall,” Alric pointed out. “And what of Helewis and Scanlan? Would you have me leave them, wondering if I could have saved them? Sweetling, I am trusting Abina to you and your brother. Those I find, I will send to the safety of the cave.” He took her by the shoulders gently “Trust me.”

  The very same words he’d used a few ecstatic hours past loomed even larger this time. Yet he’d yielded better than his promise.

  “Deirdre, I will take no unnecessary risk that will keep me from you, I swear before God. Do you understand?”

  She did. She didn’t want to, but she did. Still, she couldn’t say it. All she could do was nod. His face—his grim, ever-so-handsome face—blurred before her.

  Relief rode high in his voice as he went on. “There’s a forest to cloak your escape. If by some chance, I do not join you by dawn, make for the Chesreton road to Wales. I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Promise me,” she said.

  “I promise.” Alric sei
zed her and sealed the vow most convincingly with a kiss.

  THIRTY

  It was eerily silent, save for the occasional bark of a wary hound. No birdsong or insect chorus—not even the air stirred around the glow of the lanterns that had been placed around and about for the guests. Even Tor seemed to sense the urgency, for it was unlike him not to answer one of his own, much less be led away from Alric without protest. The wolfhound would be protection, as well as a keen pair of ears, should trouble approach.

  Alric held the troubled gaze Deirdre cast over her shoulder as she followed Abina and her brother until the heavy mist swallowed them all. He knew now beyond a doubt that he and his wife were one, for he ached as though part of him had been wrenched from his chest when she pulled away from his parting embrace. It was as though all that was good and righteous left with her.

  The rest, this terrible blackness that filled the void, his enemies would have to deal with.

  “Don’t let your taste for revenge keep you from your bride and birthright, Son.”

  Abina’s parting caution surfaced and sank like a graze of oil upon a sea of emotion. He could taste the blood he would spill, not that of many but that of anyone who stood between him and the two serpents responsible for this. They’d bitten both him and his father soundly in the Achilles’ heel, seizing upon Alric’s love-smitten distraction and Lambert’s predilection for showing off to friends and kin.

  The shadowy cover worked like a partner in his mission, making it easy to sneak up on the guards drinking outside the hall. A slash to one’s throat with a dagger and a blow to the other with his scramasax silenced them before they could sound an alarm. As a precaution, Alric donned one of their bright tunics. An enemy close enough to tell he was not one of them would not live long enough to share his knowledge.

  Steeled as he was for battle, Alric was not prepared for the senseless carnage that met him inside the great hall. His stomach pitched at the sight of his guests lying in their makeshift beds on the rush-strewn floor, their blankets and clothes soaked in blood. Servants lay where they fell. Mostly men, he noticed, as he stepped over and around the bodies, had been slaughtered like swine, throats slashed from ear to ear.