Immortal Warrior

by Lisa Hendrix

  Alaida’s heart raced in alarm. If she angered this man, he could destroy her, her grandfather, her uncle, her husband, Alnwick, all with one word to the king. Lord Robert read her hesitation as consent and quickly snaked his free hand behind her head. She pulled back, but he was fit and strong, and short of falling out of the saddle, there was nowhere to go. He drew her to him easily. His lips touched her cheek, cool and dry.

  “Imagine lying beneath me, feeling our bodies meld,” he murmured against her skin. “Send your women elsewhere tonight. I will come to you in that lonely bed of yours and make your body sing.”

  “I am a faithful wife and will remain so, monseigneur.” Her voice was low and even as she gathered herself to fight if she must. “Release me.”

  “One kiss first, to show you how it can be.”

  His mouth covered hers, greedy and hard, his tongue stabbing into her lips as he sought entrance to her mouth. She brought her crop back, ready to lash his face, king’s emissary or no.

  Something fell from the sky before she had to make that choice, a screaming storm of wings and talons that shrieked past them inches overhead. Lord Robert was jerked away, cursing, as his horse reared in fright. Freed, Lark skittered backward, Alaida clutching at the saddle for balance. The eagle streaked past her again to hit Lord Robert like an arrow. Robert howled in pain as the bird pounded off with his coif and a chunk of his scalp. Blood poured down his face.

  Alaida put her heels to Lark and left Robert to bleed, pelting down the hill before he could regain his wits. Below, Edric or one of the others saw her flight, and the Alnwick men raced back with Lord Robert’s men hard on their heels. Ari was first to her.

  “Lord Robert is injured. See to him,” she shouted, barely slowing. Ari snapped a few quick orders and the other men closed around her. They pushed the horses hard, whipping into the village past startled cottagers, not stopping until she was safe within Alnwick walls.

  “UGLY WOUND THAT,” said Bôte as she entered the solar carrying her box of salves and herbs. “’Tis clean, so it will heal well, but he’ll not grow hair there again.”

  “How unfortunate,” said Alaida, thinking the opposite. She had not said a word about their guest’s attempt at seduction, not even to Bôte, instead letting them all think she had fled from the eagle. Unless he was a fool, Lord Robert would tell the same lie, at least in front of others—and there would be others every moment from here forward, Alaida vowed to herself, if she had to order the entire village into the hall to ensure it. She had no less than ten women with her right now.

  “I wonder what demon got into that eagle, to make him go after Lord Robert like that,” said Bôte as she busied herself lighting more candles.

  “No demon but the fur on his lordship’s coif,” said Alaida, blessing the coif, the fur, and the eagle all in one silent prayer between words. “The poor creature likely thought he was getting an easy meal.”

  “Poor creature?” said Hadwisa doubtfully.

  “How would you feel, if you thought you were to have squirrel for supper and got only boiled wool and hair?”

  They all laughed, but Bôte said, “Well, he had better enjoy whatever meal he finds today, for Lord Robert vows to put an arrow through him on the morrow.”

  “He cannot. He has no right to hunt on Alnwick land without leave.”

  “But the bird attacked him, my lady.”

  “It attacked a cap. I will not have it killed for that.”

  “I thought you were frightened of it, my lady,” said Rohesia, in for another day’s spinning. “Edric says you rode like Satan himself was after you.”

  “The suddenness of the attack startled me, that’s all. And all that blood.”

  That last made Bôte turn and give her a hard look. Blood had never bothered Alaida, even as a child, and Bôte well knew it. Her lips pursed and unpursed thoughtfully. “Thomas, go tell Lord Robert that my lady does not want the eagle killed.”

  Tom popped up from his stool in the corner and disappeared. He slipped back in a few moments later. “Lord Robert says he would hear your reasons from your own lips, my lady, and that he will sup with you in the solar in order to discuss it.”

  “He will not,” said Alaida, so firmly that Bôte gave her another hard look. “Call Sir Ari to attend me.”

  “He’s gone, my lady,” said Tom.

  “Is it so late already?”

  “Aye, they carry out the trestles for supper now. Geoffrey calls for Mildryth and the others to come.”

  The women who had duty in the hall rose to go, but Alaida held up a hand to keep them. “Geoffrey will have to do without you tonight. Thomas, how many of Alnwick’s men are in the hall so far, and how many of Lord Robert’s?”

  “All of Lord Robert’s knights and their squires, plus his two pages. Of ours, Oswald, Geoffrey, Penda, Daegmund …” He continued listing, ticking them off on his fingers. When he had gone through all his fingers twice, she stopped him.

  “And all the hired men,” he added, but she couldn’t count on them.

  “Run and tell anyone still in the yard or stables to come in for supper.”

  Bôte gave her another piercing look as Tom dashed out. “What are you about, my lady?”

  “Seeing that everyone is fed.” She gave Tom a little time to do as she bid, then rose. “Bôte, ask Oswald and Penda to wait on the stairs.”

  She waited in the doorway until the two men were in place, then took a deep breath and stepped out on the landing. Below her, the Alnwick men sat scattered around the hall, with more drifting in the door. The visiting knights filled the upper tables, and on the dais, de Jeune occupied the lord’s chair as though it were his own, while Neville bent to whisper in his ear. Neville. Her lip curled as she watched Lord Robert murmur something back. She should have known. If Sir Brand were here, she would ask him to gut the little stoat as a favor.

  But he wasn’t, and neither was her husband. She would have to do her best without them. “Oh, Lord Robert.”

  She made her voice high and sweet, so it tinkled out over the hall like a bell, calling every man to silence. De Jeune came to his feet eagerly. “My lady. I am at your service.”

  “I wish to speak to you about the eagle,” she said, keeping the same agreeable tone.

  A smile spread over his face and he started for the stair. The fool actually believed he could win her, bandage and all.

  “There is no need for you to come up, monseigneur. It is more convenient to speak to you there.” She heard Oswald and Penda shift to better block the stair as de Jeune’s smile faded. “I come only to repeat the message I sent with my page. The eagle is not to be harmed.”

  “You have a tender heart, my lady, but the bird is dangerous. Lord Ivo will thank me for dealing with it in his absence.”

  “He will not. Especially if you do so against my wishes.” She sighed as if the whole thing could not be helped, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on de Jeune despite some sort of stir at the door. “Have you not noticed, monseigneur? The eagle is my husband’s sign. And that particular eagle is … a sort of pet of mine.”

  “Then you should control your pets better, my lady,” he said, which drew snickers from Neville and some of the others.

  “I said a sort of pet, monseigneur, though a wild one, I grant. He flies along sometimes when I ride. It pleases me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Surely it did not please you to see my head laid open.”

  “No, but it will please me even less to see the creature die for being true to its nature. As I told my women, he likely mistook the fur on your chape for a … a wood rat.” This time it was the Alnwick men who snickered. She smiled grimly as she added, “Or perhaps he thought to protect me.”

  Alnwick’s laughter shifted to an angry mutter that rippled around the hall. Several of de Jeune’s knights came uneasily to their feet, and Oswald’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword.

  “From what? You well know I would not harm you, my lady,” Lord Robe
rt said smoothly.

  “Of course. You are the king’s emissary and a gentleman and would never do anything untoward.” She let her smile ease. “Which is why I know you will hear me now. Do not harm that eagle.”

  “I cannot promise you that, my lady.”

  “Then perhaps you can promise me,” said a voice from the back of the hall.

  CHAPTER 17

  IVO STEPPED OUT of a knot of men, wearing a smile that fell short of his eyes. “Or is it your habit to hunt on another man’s land, Robert?”

  The missing title implied either familiarity or contempt. The blood in de Jeune’s cheeks said it was the latter.

  “Only when a dangerous beast needs killing,” he said tightly. “I was explaining that to your lady.”

  “Indeed. Come.” Ivo turned toward the stairs and his smile vanished. “You can explain it to me.”

  He knew. She didn’t know how, but he did. It was in the glint in his eye and the stony set of his jaw as he passed Oswald and Penda on his way up. Suddenly the situation became both less dangerous and more so.

  She stepped forward to greet him. “Welcome home, husband. I am most glad to see you.”

  His bearing softened and he reached for her. “I have missed you, too, sweet leaf.”

  His kiss was more about marking her as his before de Jeune than about passion. Alaida understood, but it had been so long, and he tasted so good, that for a heartbeat she lost track of everything else. Then Lord Robert’s boots sounded on the steps below them, and Ivo set her back on her feet, the moment gone. His jaw hardened again and he led her into the solar.

  He frowned at the women who had clustered near the door to eavesdrop. “Out.”

  Their rush to obey clogged the stairs and delayed Lord Robert. Alaida grabbed the moment to explain, “I did nothing to—”

  “I know. Stay out of harm’s way.”

  He sent her to stand by the fire and was filling a horn with ale when Lord Robert entered. Ivo took a sip, then stood, holding the horn without offering any to his guest, another insult.

  Lord Robert’s gaze flickered from Ivo to the horn, to Alaida, and back to Ivo. “Your journey to Durham was quick, Lord Ivo,” he said with unnatural heartiness. “Did you accomplish your business?”

  “Yes.”

  Clearly Ivo would not be distracted by common conversation. Lord Robert scratched his palm nervously and tried a new sally. “It is good you returned early.”

  “Is it?”

  Lord Robert flushed. “Uh, yes. Of course. I had thought I would not see you at all before I left.”

  Ivo assessed him over the top of the horn as he took another deliberate draught of ale. “Apparently.”

  He was playing de Jeune the way he played chess, Alaida realized: lying back, relaxed, offering little, saying less, just waiting to see if the other player could stand it. She had watched Brand give up game after game to him, trying to force something to happen, and she had lost a few of her own by making the same mistake. It would be interesting to see how de Jeune fared.

  “The king asked for a report on your progress,” he said.

  “Mmm.”

  “I have the silver he promised.” He waited for Ivo to say something, and barreled on when he didn’t. “He said I should release it only if I’m satisfied.”

  “And are you? Satisfied?”

  Lord Robert glanced toward Alaida and flung himself into the trap. “Whatever she told you is a lie.”

  “Told me?” Ivo’s voice turned to steel. “What would she have had to tell me, Robert?”

  Panic widened de Jeune’s eyes as he saw his misstep. “I meant … about the eagle. It attacked me, but your lady insists it was an accident and forbids me to kill it.”

  “You take issue with that.”

  “Y-Yes, I do.”

  “Mmm.” Ivo drained the horn and set it aside, his eyes never leaving de Jeune’s. “I, on the other hand, take issue with a man who refuses to hear when my wife says no, as you have done twice today.”

  “I have no idea—” de Jeune began.

  Ivo took a step forward to loom over the smaller man, his voice sizzling with anger. “You were seen.”

  De Jeune’s mouth worked soundlessly. His eyes pivoted once more to Alaida, and the breath froze in her throat. If he tried to shift blame to her, she had no doubt Ivo would kill him.

  She saw the instant he chose life, watched the effort it took him to yank himself back from the edge. When he finally spoke, he was contrite. “I offer my deepest apologies, my lord. I had been led to believe the lady would be open to my attentions.

  “Not by her,” he added quickly as Ivo’s face darkened. “Lady Alaida never … As you say, she told me no, and clearly. My own vanity stopped my ears.” He suddenly dropped to one knee. “Forgive me, my lady. How can I make amends?”

  His regret seemed sincere, but whether it was or not, she wanted this over before they found themselves in a fresh war. “I accept your apology, my lord. As to amends, in truth, all I wish is for you and your knights to ride on in peace.”

  “We will depart at first light.”

  “You will depart now,” said Ivo. “I have already sent a man ahead to Lesbury. It is but three miles and the weather and road are good. My bailiff there will accommodate you, and you can ride on in the morning.”

  De Jeune’s lips thinned at this third affront, but he swallowed his pride and rose, grunting as his knees popped. Suddenly looking much older, he turned stiffly and walked out to call down to his second.

  “Wakelin, make ready. We start for Bamburgh tonight.”

  Ivo had followed him out onto the landing, and as the men below rose and began collecting their equipment, said, “’Tis unfortunate you must leave so soon, my lord. I had hoped to seek your advice on the tower.”

  Lord Robert’s expression went from startled to suspicious to grateful as he realized Ivo was letting him save face before his men. He dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment. “We have enjoyed Alnwick’s hospitality too long already, my lord. Your offer of lodging in Lesbury is welcome. It will make for a shorter ride on the morrow.”

  He turned to where Alaida had come to the doorway to spy, and bent his head respectfully. “My lady.”

  “Monseigneur. God speed.” She took her place beside Ivo, who echoed her farewell, adding, “I will see to that eagle.”

  A tentative smile touched Lord Robert’s lips. “And I will pass your greeting to the king when I see him. Speaking of which, you will want this.” He opened his purse and pulled out a bronze key. “The casket is in your treasury, to which your lady holds the key, I believe. I will remove my guard, of course.”

  The two of them nodded to each other and Lord Robert started downstairs. “Fitz Hubert!”

  Sir Wakelin scanned the hall. “I do not see him, my lord. He was standing next to Lord Ivo’s big man there.” He pointed to Brand.

  “By me?” Brand touched his chest as if unsure Wakelin meant him. He twisted, looking all around himself. “Oh, you mean Neville. He left. Looked a bit green for some reason.”

  “Find him,” snapped Lord Robert. He strode out, his men hurrying behind him. Brand grinned up at Ivo. “I’ll go help them look.”

  “Take Oswald—and anyone else who would enjoy the sport.” Half the hall emptied, leaving the rest laughing and looking up to Ivo and Alaida for what came next.

  “What do you think Brand said to him?” asked Alaida under her breath.

  “Something about braiding his guts for a belt, I believe.” He raised his voice. “Geoffrey, Lesbury will not have baked for so many. See Lord Robert’s men get bread enough to carry them to Bamburgh.” Ivo spun Alaida around to face him. “And you, wife. Challenging a hall full of armed men over a bird?”

  “Not a mere bird, my lord. My eagle. He helped me, and I was bound to return the favor.”

  His brow pinched a little, then smoothed. “You are either a madwoman or a brave one.”

  “Not so brave, my l
ord.” She held out her hands, shaking now that it was all over. “I cannot seem to stop them.”

  He curled his fingers around hers. “Even warriors shake after battle. I have a cure for it.” He tugged her into his arms.

  “We are watched, my lord,” she admonished.

  “Let them learn.” This time the kiss they shared was as real as the shouts of delight that rose up from the hall below, and her heart soared with the possibilities of this new beginning.

  By dawn the next morning, Alaida knew it had been a false hope. She lay in the dark, listening to Ivo’s footsteps fade and fighting a loosing battle with the tears that scalded her throat. She gave in to them finally, after she heard his distant call for the gate to be opened.

  They spilled out of her, drenching her pillow and the linens beneath, tears like she had never cried in her entire life, even when her mother had died. She cried until her eyes ached and her mouth felt like sawdust, until at last there was no more liquid in her and the sheets had grown chill with the dampness.

  She rolled away from the cold, hiccupping out the last dry sobs as she sat up on the edge of the bed. What a fool she was, weeping over a man who didn’t want her.

  But Ivo did want her; that was what made this so incomprehensible. Sometimes he looked at her with eyes so full of craving, she felt his ache like it was her own. Sometimes, he even grew hard as he held her. But always he would just lie there, and if she didn’t do the same, if she tried to touch him or to entice him to touch her, he would make some feeble excuse and tell her to sleep, and yet she could feel him shaking as he fought back his desire, and oh, God, why did he not want to want her? She swallowed back a wail of despair and sprang to her feet, determined to get this ridiculous sniveling under control so she could think.

  Before she could, the room tilted wildly, and her stomach tilted with it, and a moment later she was crouched over the chamber pot, heaving up what little was in her stomach. When the retching stopped, she rinsed her mouth with the dregs of ale left in a cup and crawled back in bed, so empty there was nothing she could do but find a dry corner and sleep.