Immortal Warrior (10 page)

“By Saint Peter and Saint Paul. I know I’m well and truly married. Why cannot the rest of the world be satisfied of it?”

“Because you are a lady and he is a lord, and there can be no doubts, nor any excuse for him to claim the marriage is not true.” Bôte opened the cupboard and pulled out a fresh chainse and a squirrel-lined robe to go over it. “Come, lamb. You know they must see the sheets, as they would even if he were at your side.”

“But he is not.” Bitterness tinged Alaida’s voice. “What sort of man leaves his wife the very morning he weds her?”

“Lord Ivo’s sort,” said Bôte simply. “I wonder that it vexes you so, when you claimed you did not want him.”

Alaida flinched as her own words came back at her. Was that why he had left her to face this mortification alone? “Want him or not, he is now my husband. His absence dishonors me.”

“Only if you let it. Hold your chin high, my lady. Keep that temper of yours on a leash and show all that it is no concern to you that he is gone, for you know he will be back in your bed tonight. And he will be, mark my word. He’s full of vigor, he is, and ’tis clear he enjoyed lying with you.” She shook out the chainse and held it out to Alaida. “Now, put this on, unless you wish the men to see you in naught but that pelt. I will tie your hair back, and we will comb it out after and get you cleaned up.”

“Bah,” said Alaida, but she crawled out of bed and let Bôte help her dress.

The men were as embarrassed as she when they shuffled in a few moments later. None of them would so much as meet her eye except her husband’s brash young seneschal, and even he went red when Bôte turned the furs back once more.

“Your pardon, my lady. We have seen all we need.” Sir Ari signaled the others to leave, while he stayed behind. “My lady, I—”

“Thrice!” came Wat’s voice, carrying up the stairs over the tread of their boots. “And a bride that fair and still he left her before dawn? The man must have balls of steel and a heart to match.”

Ari whirled toward the door with a snarl. “Braying ass! I will shut that mouth.”

“Hold, steward,” said Alaida sharply. “Let him be.”

“But he—”

She cut off his protest with a flick of her hand. “If I were as foul-tempered of a morning as my nurse claims, I would leave him to your mercies. But I am not, and it is my wedding morning. I am inclined to be generous.” Besides, any insult in the reeve’s comment was to her husband, not her. She rather liked that. “He only says what all of you think. Ah, see his cheeks, Bôte? I am right.”

“Aye. ’Twould appear you are.” Bôte chuckled merrily as chagrin twisted the seneschal’s smile.

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “Nonetheless, you have my apology. After last night, I should have known to select a man with more sense to bring in here.”

“Wat has ample sense where it matters,” said Alaida, stepping closer to the fire to warm herself. She would let manor business distract her a little—manor business and this pleasant young knight, who, she reminded herself, was not responsible for his lord’s behavior. “The harvest and threshing were done in good order last fall, with little waste. Every mare is in foal that should be, and he has seen to the making of enough rope for all we need, with more to sell for profit. Even the walls and ditches are in better repair since he became reeve. The villagers work well for him, and he knows how best to use them. That buys much tolerance from me, as it should from you, if you intend to build this castle.”

“Nevertheless, I will warn him to watch his tongue. The wedding sport is done, and he
will
show respect.” Sir Ari crossed to the window and stood looking out over the open meadow that sloped down to the bridge and the desmesne lands beyond the river. He studied the view for a long while before turning back to her. “You know a great deal about the workings of the manor, my lady.”

“Alnwick has been mine to keep in my grandfather’s absence, though I thought I was keeping it for him and not a husband.”
A filthy dog of a husband.

“I will gladly take whatever advice you would share,” said Ari. “It has been too long since I oversaw either men or lands.”

“My advice will come dearly after your abandonment.”

“My apologies, my lady, but my duties took me away. I returned only in time to come up here.” His glance flickered toward the bed then back to her, and his lips worked as he fought a smile. “I trust you didn’t find it necessary to flee to Rome.”

“Not yet, at the least,” she allowed. “But where were you if I had? You owe me a forfeit for decamping, sir.”

“And the price of this forfeit?”

Alaida thought a moment. “I heard you humming as we walked yesterday. Do you sing? We have not had a
jongleur
come to Alnwick in many months.”

“I am better poet than singer, my lady, and better storyteller than poet. And no poet at all in French.”

“Then you shall tell me a story as your fine. Something with dragons. I greatly enjoy tales with dragons.” She smiled at the way his brows suddenly knit in concentration. “Do not look so pained, steward. You needn’t pay your debt today. I will wait a little.

“As to the advice, it is simple,” she continued. “We have good officials at Alnwick. Put your trust in them and you will not go far wrong. But not too much trust. A careful eye to the accounts will serve you well, for all that Wat keeps his with marks cut on sticks.”

“I know the method well, my lady.” He grinned widely, his straight white teeth flashing in his comely face. “We will get by.”

It struck Alaida that her husband and his men were all fairer than most. She had not seen them all side by side yet, but Ari clearly bore the finest features of the three, so well formed he was almost pretty—especially when he smiled, as he did so much of the time. Towering Brand, despite his untrimmed hair and beard and the scar marking his cheek, had a sparkle in his sky blue eyes that could make a maid sigh. And Ivo, of course, bore that chiseled face, all angles except for the curve of his full lips.

Desire crackled through her body at the thought of those lips and where they had traveled, an echo of the spasms that had racked her as he put his mouth to her. Dismay followed close behind, followed by anger at herself. What was she, that even in her humiliation her body warmed for him?

“I will take my leave, my lady,” said Ari, drawing her attention back. “I only stayed to say I will be taking Geoffrey and Wat with me to ride the bounds while the weather holds.”

“That is usually done on Saint Mark’s Day,” said Alaida.

“And so the proper riding will be. Today is merely for my knowledge. Also, your lord husband left a message. He says”—he looked up, as though Ivo’s words might be carved into the beams—“ ‘Tell my lady that my absence could not be avoided. Say that I will return soon after sunset, and ask her to wear something pretty tonight at supper, for I have a gift to give her and it would not look well on a nun.’ ”

Tell him he can piss on his gift, for all I care.
The words leapt to Alaida’s tongue, but for once in her life she took Bôte’s good advice, bit them back, and merely smiled. “My thanks,
messire
. Be good enough to send Hadwisa up as you go.”

There was a breath when she thought he would say something more, but he simply nodded. “Yes, my lady. I will put my mind to your dragon. By your leave.”

Bôte turned to her as the door shut, nodding sagely. “See, Lord Ivo is no happier about going than you are at having him gone. He will return as I said he would, and then you will have a gift and all will be aright.”

“
Phfft.
He will not appease me with some bauble. Fetch the soap. I would wash him off me.”

“Proud and stubborn as when you were a babe,” muttered Bôte. “Be careful, lest your anger does you even less honor than his going. A smile would serve you better.”

“I am such a happy bride,” mocked Alaida, fixing a bland smile to her face for a heartbeat before she let it fall away. “The soap.”

By the time Hadwisa turned up, Alaida had washed and dressed and was sitting at the table, picking at the remains of the bread and cheese. Hadwisa quickly untied the ribbon holding back Alaida’s hair and took up the comb.

“I will try not to hurt, my lady, but the rats have made a terrible nest here in the back.”

Bote eyed Alaida mischievously. “Had you thrashin’ a bit, did he?”

“Bôte!” Alaida tried to look stern, but she
had
been thrashing, and more than a bit. Recalled heat flashed through her again and burned up her neck before the flame curled back on itself and settled between her legs.

“You blush, my lady,” said Hadwisa, giggling. “Even your ears are red.”

“That, girl, is the color of a well-tupped bride,” said Bôte. Grinning, she tipped Alaida’s face up and peered into it. “Enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed you, I venture. Good. ’Tis how it is meant be.”

“I vow I will get me a
real
waiting woman,” muttered Alaida as she pushed Bôte’s hand aside and pressed her palms to her blazing cheeks. “One who knows her place and when to keep silent.”

Bôte only laughed, but she held her tongue after that and set to work helping Hadwisa. Their hands were deft and gentle despite the tangles, and as they combed and smoothed, Alaida finally had time to consider what Bôte had said. The old woman was right; she would be better served by pretending all was well, at least until she heard what her husband offered as reason for his absence. That decided, she was able to relax under the women’s hands and let her thoughts drift, first to Ivo’s message and then to the messenger. They had begun the long plaits when what the steward had said hit her:
After last night, I should have known . . .
How the devil did he know what Wat said last night?

“What was that, my lady?” asked Hadwisa.

“Hmm? Oh. I must have been thinking aloud.” Alaida would have left it there, but both women had stopped their work and looked at her expectantly. “’Tis nothing. Sir Ari said that after last night, he should have known to pick someone with more sense than Wat to bring as witness. I only wondered how he knew what was said, when he was not here.”

“Men talk,” said Bôte. “Especially about such foolishness as went on last night. They’re all boasting of their wit this morning, even the ones who have none.”

“But when would Sir Ari have heard the tale? He said he had only just returned.” Alaida’s thoughts leapt ahead of themselves. “And if he did just return, how did he come to have a message from my husband?”

“Aye, that is strange,” said Hadwisa. “Lord Ivo was away well before Sir Ari came. Before dawn, Penda said.”

“Hush,” said Bôte sharply. “They must have met in passing, that is all.”

“Oh, of course,” said Alaida as reason finally caught up with her anger-stoked imagination. “My mind is as thick as honey in winter. I must be tired.”

“Tired,” muttered Bôte. “There’s a name for it.” Hadwisa giggled again as color flooded into Alaida’s cheeks, and Bôte joined in the laughter. “Here. Let’s have those ribbons. We must get you off to Mass. Father waits.”

Sweet Mother, thought Alaida as they wove the ribbons into her hair. Mass. Father Theobald. And all while smiling and pretending nothing was amiss. Sweet Mother.

She should have stayed abed.

 

“AND THE CAIRN marks the end, with a straight line back to where we began,” said Geoffrey. He tapped his staff on the pile of rocks then swung it to point back toward the south and east. As he did, a movement overhead caught his eye and he glanced up. His jaw dropped open. “I vow, that eagle has followed us since we left the gate.”

A smile curved Ari’s lips as he twisted to watch the bird carving circles overhead. “Are you certain ’tis the same one?”

“Aye. See the crooked feather in his tail?”

Geoff had good eyes. They had been under Cwen’s curse for years before Ari learned to tell Ivar by that crooked feather. “Perhaps he wants to learn the bounds as well, to know where he may fly.”

“Just so he hunts outside them,” said Geoffrey. “If he starts taking lambs or hens on manor land, an arrow will find him.”

An instant later, the eagle stooped and whisked past Geoffrey’s head, so close they could hear the wind whistle in his feathers. The others ducked and cursed, but Ari only laughed, pleased to know Ivo could hear from that high. A raven’s ears were not quite so keen.

“Tell the men to look to their lord’s shield before they think of killing any eagle,” he said. Understanding dawned on three faces: Ivo’s black shield bore a silver eagle.

“But what if there are losses,
messire
?” asked Wat.

“They will be made good, and if an eagle must be killed, Lord Ivo will assign a man to do it. Now, let us see if I have any kind of memory.” He rattled off the markers they had touched so far, Geoff and Wat nodding as he got them all correct. “We will finish another day. Be on your way. By now Lady Alaida will likely have recalled she wants to see the marriage contract. I will stay here a little to think, then ride out to meet Lord Ivo and Brand as they come in.”

Oswald and Geoffrey started off, but Wat hung back. “I truly did not mean for her to hear me,” he said as soon as the others were out of hearing. “I would not purposely do the lady hurt for all the gold in Christendom.”

“You’ve heard all I have to say, Reeve, and your lady has already forgiven you. Go on.”

Wat opened his mouth as if to say something else, but thought better, snapped it shut, and kicked his fat little pony into a trot that carried him toward home. Perhaps he was learning.

Ari waited until he was well away, then turned to look up at the nearby tree where the eagle settled.

“He saw the three stains on the sheets and said you must have balls of steel and a heart to match. He was out of the room, but she overheard.” He wasn’t certain how much Ivo took in while in the eagle’s form but knew it was something.