Free Deirdre by Linda Windsor

but it was drowned by the wolflike pant that mingled with the panicked shortness of her own breathing.
    When the beast returned to its human form, Deirdre lay in the trap of its arms like ravaged prey. With her breath returned enough for her to pull away, she staggered against Scanlan, wiping her lips with the back of her arm as if to erase what had just befallen her.
    “That was hardly necessary, sir!” the priest stammered in indignation. “And unbefitting a gentleman of your station.”
    Ignoring the priest, Alric moved back, staring at her with something akin to wariness. What on earth had
he
to be wary of? “And
that
,milady—” he swallowed as if purchasing time for further thought—“that is why
you
will not be safe outside the walls of a holy cluster.” With obvious effort, he forced the raggedness from his breath and turned away. “Wimmer!”
    “Aye, sir!” The mate hurried toward them with an embarrassed glance at Deirdre.
    “See that food and drink are brought to our guests. They’ve chosen to remain aboard until their companion is well. Since our Frisian friends aren’t in port, there’s no rush regarding the other woman.”
    “Aye, sir. And will you be riding to your father’s court at Galstead?”
    “Frig’s breath, Wimmer, you’re as worrisome as a wife.” The captain swore, leaping to the rail light as a cat.
    Deirdre flinched inwardly. Faith, but he was a dangerous creature—a shape-shifter to be sure, part human, part animal. Perhaps he was a wizard as well.
    “Sorry, sir. I meant no harm.”
    Alric capped the volatile rise of his aggravation with the contrite second mate. “Only our guests and the watch are to remain on board until further orders,” he instructed with forced patience.
    “Consider it done, sir. I’ll see to the guests personally.”
    With a curt nod, Alric started down the planking that had been raised against the side of the ship. Once on the beach, he spoke with the two of his crew who had not already left the shore and then headed up the narrow strip of sand toward the town and who knew what depredation.
    Deirdre unfastened the soft, woolen cloak and, with a shudder, wadded it in a ball. “Here, Wimmer. I don’t need this now.”
    She handed the dark blue garment over to the mate and wiped her sore hands against her hips, as if to rid herself of the devastation its owner had wreaked upon her sensibilities. He had pushed her beyond annoyance to something that made her feel … what? Tarnished? No man had ever handled her so roughly, nor exercised such dangerous work upon her defenses. While steady on the outside, she trembled inwardly, vulnerable in a way that defied words.
    “I’ll be putting it back in the captain’s trunk then. Just ask if youneed it.” Wimmer shook out the garment. “I reckon I’ve never seen the captain wear this before.”
    Sooner than dignify her curiosity as to where Alric headed upon reaching the shore, Deirdre decided to help Wimmer. As she smoothed out the other end of the cloak, a strangely familiar embroidery caught her eye. In disbelief, she stared at the image of the Gleannmara brooch, embroidered in golden thread and studded with sapphire buttons where the real gems lay. Where on earth could Galstead have come across this?
    “But it’s such a fine piece.” She rubbed her fingers over the expert stitches in perplexity. “You say your captain has never worn it?” She recalled how it had been wrapped in a package when he’d retrieved it from the trunk.
    “He doesn’t dress so fine on the
Wulfshead,
like he does at his father’s court.” Wimmer shook his head and then grinned widely, exposing his haphazard display of remaining teeth. “But for you women aboard, he would not wear a shirt unless he expects a fight.”
    Saints preserve us!
She focused on the mention of the court, unable to recall if Alric had mentioned his father’s name. “His father being …?”
    “King Lambert, of course.” The man looked