Immortal Warrior

by Lisa Hendrix

  “Aye. But do you care for him beyond that? If he were not your husband … ?”

  Alaida closed her eyes and tried to imagine it. “At first, I would have told you I could never have affection for him. I was convinced he was King William’s man through and through. But I have come to see the good in him. Strange as his habits are, he is a worthy lord for Alnwick and even-handed with the men. Most of the time,” she amended, thinking of Wat. “And when he does err with them, he makes it up somehow so they end up even more loyal to him. He even made an ally of Lord Robert.”

  “And with you?”

  “He is gentle, even when I perhaps do not deserve gentleness. He made Tom squire to please me, though I was thinking ill of him at the time. In fact, every time I think ill of him, he proves me wrong. Even our wedding night,” she added, blushing.

  “You enjoy his touch, then?”

  “Aye, what little of it I have had.” Alaida sighed and blushed some more. “He is very … pleasant to lie with.”

  “Do you love him, my lady?”

  “I … I do not know,” she said honestly. “I do know he makes me laugh, even when I think I do not wish to. And sometimes he kisses me, and I think now, finally, all will be well if he will just keep his arms around me. I am so lost in this, Merewyn. I ask again, can you help me? Will you?”

  Merwyn studied her a long while, then slowly nodded. “I may have something.”

  She dragged her stool over and stepped on it to reach a high shelf, from which she took down a tiny clay vial, thick with dust and cobwebs. She carefully wiped it on her sleeve, then opened it to sniff the contents. “Yes, this will do.”

  “What is it?” asked Alaida.

  “A very special potion, my lady, made of the rarest herbs and roots, and brewed under a blue moon. Put a single drop in your bath, and wash yourself well in it, then persuade your husband to bathe in the same water. He will not be able to deny you.”

  Alaida reached for the vial greedily, but Merewyn held it back.

  “This is powerful magic, my lady. You must use it carefully. And you must tell him you are with child.”

  Alaida colored ferociously. “What makes you think I have not?”

  “You have barely admitted it to yourself. Am I wrong?”

  “No. I will, I promise. It is time anyway.” She accepted the vial from Merewyn and clutched it to her breast. “What if I cannot lure him into the same water?”

  “Then bathe yourself and go to him still damp. The moisture on your skin will carry enough of the magic, and if you approach him with certainty, you will find success.”

  Nodding, Alaida slipped the vial carefully into her purse, making sure it stayed upright as she returned the pouch to her belt.

  She followed Merewyn to the door. Outside, Tom was pulling weeds in Merewyn’s little garden, while Hadwisa stood by watching, lazy thing. She turned back to Merewyn. “My thanks, Healer. You have once again done good service to Alnwick.”

  “’Tis my pleasure, my lady, as always.” Her calm voice belied the sparkle of humor in her eyes. “And your pleasure, I hope.”

  “We shall see,” said Alaida, smiling at the thought, and she called her servants to go home.

  “AGAIN?”

  Ignoring Ivo’s tone, Brand reached into his purse to bring out a silver ring that barely fit over the tip of his little finger. “I won this from the smith at dice last night. ’Tis far too small to be of use to me, so I thought to give it to the healer.”

  “Why would she want a ring that ugly?”

  “Isn’t a ring, you ass. ’Tis a thymel. For sewing.”

  My thymel. For sewing. Ivo heard Alaida’s voice, tart and just a bit amused as she’d told him of her wager. That was probably hers, traded from Rohesia to the smith, and now gambled away to end up in Brand’s hand. Going to Merewyn.

  “’Tis still ugly,” he grumbled, angry that he couldn’t return it to Alaida. “Just sell it.”

  Brand shrugged as he put the ring away. “Merewyn can sell it if she likes. She needs the coin more than I.”

  “And you need an excuse to go a-wooing.”

  “A little conversation and a cup of ale are not wooing.”

  “Whatever it is, ’tis foolish.” A branch hung over the trail, and Ivo growled and swatted it aside as though its offense were personal. Brand gave him an odd look, but said nothing, which irritated Ivo more. “You have repaid Merewyn many times over. Stop now, before you find yourself wanting what you cannot have.”

  “That will not happen,” said Brand, not succumbing to Ivo’s foul mood. “I know I bear the same curse. But I have been in the woods far too long to deny myself a few evenings in a woman’s company, whether I can bed her or not, if for no other reason than that she smells good. You surely understand, for you are still here with your lady, for all the torment you claim to suffer.”

  “The torment is real enough,” muttered Ivo, thinking of how Alaida smelled, how she tasted, how her legs felt wrapped around him. How he couldn’t have any of what she offered—just as Brand couldn’t have Merewyn and needed to remember that.

  Brand shook his head in sympathy. “I warned you it would not get easier.”

  “And yet you put yourself in the same position. You should heed your own warning.”

  “I am heeding it. Merewyn is not my woman and I will not make her so.”

  Ivo’s snort of disbelief made both horses lay their ears back. “Don’t tell me you never think of how she would feel beneath you.”

  “I’m not dead and I still have my balls. Of course I do,” said Brand. “But that is mere dream, and I have lived all these years with nothing more than dreams and my hand. Your problem is, you’ve been with women. You’ve been with Alaida. You know her. I will never know Merewyn.”

  “See you don’t,” snapped Ivo.

  Brand gave him another hard look. “By the gods, you’re a prick tonight. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” Ivo growled, then, “I don’t know. Something’s in the air. Can’t you feel it?”

  Brand cocked his head, as if trying to sense whatever it was Ivo felt. “A storm, perhaps.”

  “No. ’Tis more than that. ’Tis … Aargh. I don’t know. She just …”

  “Balls,” said Brand. “She is getting to you. You’d better stay away from her tonight.”

  “I stay away from her every night.” While Brand trotted off to enjoy his time with Merewyn. He’d seen them together, so easy with each other while he and Alaida … Ivo gestured ahead to the narrow track that veered off toward the little cottage. “There is your path to madness. Give her my greetings and enjoy your wooing.”

  “I’m not wooing her,” repeated Brand testily, and then, because Ivo had tweaked him, “Enjoy not bedding your wife.”

  “Impossible,” said Ivo as he wheeled Fax toward Alnwick. “As I suspect you will soon discover.”

  Brand watched Ivo go with a sense of foreboding. There was trouble brewing there. He should probably ride back with him, as much to keep him from thrashing one of the men again as to stand between him and Alaida.

  But it was just a little way to Merewyn’s, and he’d been looking forward to this visit all day—all that he’d been human anyway. Besides, he didn’t want to deal with Ivo right now, any more than Ivo wanted to deal with him.

  He would stop by just for a little, give Merewyn the thymel, share that cup of ale with her, then go see to his friend. Supper always dragged out at the manor. There would be plenty of time to get back before they would be alone. Before they could get into trouble.

  He turned toward Merewyn’s hut, smiling. Aye. Plenty of time.

  CHAPTER 19

  BRAND WAS RIGHT, Ivo concluded by the time he handed Fax over to the new boy. He was being a prick, and no wonder, considering his was so constantly on his mind.

  It was this ache, there every night, even when he stayed away from her, even when he took care of himself. It had eased for a time, but worsened in the last
week, since Alaida had learned she could bedevil him. He had grown to both anticipate and dread her little forays into seduction. There was nothing quite so enchanting as a woman offering herself, nor quite so torturous as not being able to take her offer.

  But just because Alaida enjoyed torturing him didn’t mean Merewyn was out to seduce Brand. And certainly, if he could keep his hands off Alaida all this time, Brand could keep his off Merewyn during his occasional, brief visits.

  Aye, he’d been a prick, and he must make amends—but later. For now, he had to get through another evening with his lady wife. He wondered what painful joy she would have for him tonight.

  He went inside, spoke briefly to Geoff, and found a corner where he could read Ari’s message. He’d just finished it when Tom approached. “Monseigneur.”

  Ivo tossed the scrap of parchment into the fire. “Thomas. Did Oswald work you hard today?”

  “I do ache, my lord. Lady Alaida said when you had read your message to ask you please to come to the solar. She wishes a word.”

  And so the torture began. “Very well. See my mail is sanded and oiled tomorrow.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He gathered his fortitude before heading up, but when he pushed the door open, the sight of Alaida sitting in an oblong wooden tub before the fire brought him to a stunned halt.

  “Ah, my lord. I did not think you would be so quick. Bôte.” She rose, water streaming over those rich curves he so longed to touch, and in the instant before the nurse wrapped a towel around her, he glimpsed every damp, naked inch of her, from the coil of coppery braids on her head to the matching curls between her legs. “Shut the door, if you please, my lord.”

  He slammed the door and turned away, his blood pounding. “Your pardon. I should have knocked.”

  “Nonsense. My body is yours, husband.”

  Frey’s pillock. She should be working for William of Eu. He took a couple of deep breaths to settle himself. “What was it you wished to see me about?”

  “This and that. One moment.”

  He tried staring at the door, but that didn’t work, so he closed his eyes, and that was even worse. She was naked and someone was rubbing a towel all over her. The fact that it was her old nurse didn’t make much difference to his imagination or to his desire to take over the duty. Definitely the hall for him tonight.

  “There we are,” said Bôte at last. “You may turn around, my lord.”

  As he did, Alaida put a knot in the belt to a heavy green robe and stepped into a pair of matching slippers. “Have the tub taken away, Bôte.”

  “Perhaps his lordship would like a bath before we empty it,” suggested the nurse. She turned to Ivo. “’Twould be a shame to waste the water, my lord.”

  It sounded good, but hardly wise, considering Alaida’s recent mood and his current state. He shook his head. “My wife has business with me.”

  “I can talk while you bathe, my lord,” offered Alaida. “Or it can wait if you would rather.”

  “The laundress is below,” said Bôte. “She can wash you while we tend my lady.”

  The two of them looked at him expectantly. He needed a bath, and they all three knew it. A normal husband would accept the offer—and why shouldn’t he? The laundress would be there, plus Alaida’s women. Three people in the room besides him and his wife would surely be enough.

  “Fine, then. A bath.”

  Orders were given and the laundress and fresh hot water summoned, and a little later Ivo had managed to calm down enough to strip and was having his back scrubbed by a practiced hand. A strong hand. “God’s knees, woman, leave the skin.”

  The laundress’s laugh matched her hands, rough and hearty. “Sorry, my lord. Is that better?”

  “Aye. Much.” He sighed as the tension seeped out of his shoulders and looked to where Alaida sat, having her hair taken down. Like a normal husband, he told himself. “Now, what was it you wanted to discuss, sweet leaf?”

  “May Day, my lord. As you know, it—Hadwisa, pour me some wine. Would you like some, my lord?”

  “Fine,” he said, and a cup was placed in his hand. He took a deep drink and hunched forward for the laundress to scrub his lower back. “What about May Day?”

  “We have certain traditions here at Alnwick, and I was wondering if you—” She stopped again, interrupted by a knock at the door. “Get that, Hadwisa.”

  The maid cracked the door. “Your supper, my lady.”

  “Ah, good. Have them bring it in.”

  Servants started filing in, carrying chairs and cloths and bowls and trenchers and arranging things for a meal. Ivo dropped a small towel over his crotch to cover himself. “What the devil is going on?”

  “I am supping in chamber tonight, my lord,” said Alaida.

  Ivo eyed the table doubtfully. “That’s a great deal of food for one woman.”

  “I took the liberty of having them bring your meal as well.” She waved one of the servants over and tore a leg off the chicken the man carried. “Pardon if I begin without you, my lord. I am starving. Would you like more wine?”

  He hesitated, but she didn’t look too dangerous, sitting there clutching a chicken leg with her braids half-undone, so he said yes. A little later, when the laundress asked if she should wash his head now, he drained his cup, leaned back, and said, “I expect to have some hair left when you finish,” and enjoyed the woman’s chuckle.

  It truly was bliss, Ivo thought, having his hair washed in a warm bath in a warm room instead of shoving his head in a horse trough. He relaxed into it, easing back against the padded edge of the tub and closing his eyes against dripping soap as servants continued to move around the room. He really was just a normal husband taking a normal bath.

  “Rinse, my lord.”

  He tipped forward while the woman ladled water over his head, then leaned back for a second soaping. She took longer with this one, massaging him into a stupor with those strong laundress hands. The murmur of conversation between Alaida and her women as they groomed her lulled him like a song, and the wine wended its way through his blood. He began to drift.

  He didn’t notice when things changed, just, slowly, that they had. The conversation had trailed off to nothing, the room gone silent, the hands grown gentler. Smaller. Oh, no. “Alaida?”

  “Here, my lord,” she whispered at his ear, and he knew even before her soapy hands slid around his neck that he was lost.

  HE WILL NOT be able to deny you.

  And he couldn’t. From before the first touch, he was hers.

  Alaida held the power of that promise in her heart as Ivo’s muscles went taut beneath her hands. Before he could think to escape, she curled over his shoulder and kissed him, not demanding anything yet, just reminding him. He could not deny her.

  He tugged his towel over his lap. “Where are your women?”

  “Gone. You taste of soap,” she said softly. “Rinse.”

  He ducked under the water once, then again, and when he came up, she shifted around to the side of the tub and kissed him through the streaming water, another reminder. “Better.”

  “Call them back,” he said. His hands curled over the edge of the tub as he fought, but it was no use.

  “No.” Meeting his eyes, she untied her robe and let it fall open. She had nothing beneath, and she knew the power of her ripening body. The power of Eve. “Touch me.”

  The tub groaned as he tensed, pulling against the wooden staves as if they could save him. Foolish man. She was the only thing that could save him, and she was Temptation. She leaned forward to drag one nipple over the backs of his fingers until it puckered, then shifted for the other simply because it felt good.

  This time the groan that rose up was his. She leaned forward and caught the sound in a kiss, taking in its power and adding it to her own. “Touch me.”

  He shook his head. “No. God’s knees, Alaida, I—”

  She reminded him again, this time more firmly, demanding that he part his lips to her. S
he swept her tongue into his mouth, using every skill she had to show him how much she wanted him, to make him recall how much he wanted her.

  He cupped her head between both hands and pulled her away. “I said no, Alaida.”

  “And I say yes. You have avoided me too long, husband.” She shrugged away the robe, accepting the harsh intake of his breath as tribute. He moved to rise, and she put her hands in the middle of his chest and pushed him back. She dipped one hand down into the water, pushed his towel aside, and curved her fingers around his hardness. “You want me, and here is my proof. You cannot deny it. You cannot deny me.”

  “You don’t understand,” he began.

  She moved her hand and felt him jump as his breath hissed. “I understand this. Kiss me.” A stroke. “Kiss me.” Another stroke. “Kiss—”

  And suddenly he was there, his lips on hers, his hands wandering over her shoulders and arms. One found her breast, thumbing across the tip she had already made sensitive until she gasped. The other slid down to where her hand held him, curled around her fingers, and began guiding her motions.

  He began to buck and tense, and suddenly she understood what he was doing. “No.” She jerked her hand away angrily. “No. Not that way. In me.”

  His eyes were wild, his voice stark. “Alaida, I cannot.”

  “You can.” In one swift motion she slipped over the edge of the tub and onto his lap, straddling him there, trapping him with her body. His hardness called to the rising wildness within her. She moved and he groaned.

  “Take me.” A whispered command.

  “Ah, woman, you do not know what you ask.” He gripped her waist, but he didn’t push her away though she knew that he could have easily. He would have, too, any other time, but tonight Merewyn’s magic stayed him.

  “I ask only for what is mine.” She moved, just a little, not wanting to push him over the edge, but needing the feel of him against her, all heat and man and soap-slick water. “I ask for you.”

  She leaned forward to brush her breasts against his pale skin and he pulsed against her. Enthralled, she began to kiss him and touch him, running her hands over every inch of skin she could reach, just to learn what else would make him do that: a tonguing kiss. Touching his nipples, as small and flat as they were. Brushing the skin low on his belly with her fingertips. Reaching back to cup him. Slowly, she discovered his weaknesses and used them to demand his surrender the way he’d once demanded hers.