Immortal Warrior (16 page)

“Never think to ban me from your bed,
madame
. That choice is mine, not yours. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Now go, and stop on the landing where all can see to bid me a pretty good night. I will not have the entire hall know what passes between us.”

He released her and stepped back. Alaida lifted her chin and swept up the stairs, her anger carrying her to the landing. Her hand touched the door as she considered disobeying, but she was not ready for a full-out battle with him, so she pulled it back and turned to look back down at him. By the saints, look how he stood there, pretending nothing was amiss.

As if possessed, she found herself asking sweetly, “Are you sure you will not come up
now
, husband?”

His eyes narrowed, and she could see his fist flex and open again, as if he wanted to come up and thrash her. Let him. He would lose every man in the hall.

“Later,” he promised. Vowed.
Threatened.

“Ah, well.” She forced a smile to her lips. She suspected she would become quite good at these smiles with no joy to prop up their corners. She made a pretty courtesy, even as her eyes told him to burn in Hell. “God bid you good night then, husband.”

“And you, wife. Keep well.” He turned away, on to other things.

“Bôte. Hadwisa. Attend.” As she waited for her women, she watched Ivo beckon Oswald over to join him at the fire. There had been no stranger at table after all, only Lord Ivo de Vassy—truly the king’s man after all, with William’s heavy hand and his willingness to use it. She should have kept her first sense of him in mind, should never have let him dupe her with his false charm and skillful seduction.

She would not make that mistake again.

But she didn’t bar the door.

CHAPTER 10

NEARLY A WEEK passed before Ivo came face-to-face with Wat again. By then, his hand bore only a single faint line to show he’d ever been marked, swift healing being one of the few blessings to come with Cwen’s curse.

Wat hadn’t fared as well. When he finally slunk back into the hall at Ivo’s express command, his jaw glowed purple and green with the bruise, and an ugly scab still clung to his lip. He watched Ivo warily from the low table during supper, keeping his head down and his mouth shut while laughter and jokes flew around him and occasionally at him. The change in Wat’s demeanor made Ivo wince inside. He should have handled the reeve differently, and would have if the man hadn’t stumbled out of the fog at the wrong moment. It was unfortunate, but perhaps Wat had learned a lesson that would save him trouble later. There were nobles in William’s court who would happily take Wat’s tongue over less.

Alaida sat like a stone maiden on Ivo’s left. She’d been like that every night—distant, polite to a flaw, and quieter than he’d thought possible—and though the steely chill in her every word and gesture made it easier to resist the urge to follow her up to bed, it was beginning to wear. He had himself back under control now. It was time to see if he could set things right with Wat and put an end to at least the worst of his bride’s anger.

She’d barely put the last bite of food in her mouth when she rose and motioned to her women. “I will retire now,
monseigneur
.”

“Excellent. Brand and I will join you in the solar.” Ignoring her cross frown, he beckoned the steward over. “Geoffrey, have our chairs carried up, and then you, Oswald, and Wat join us.”

Alaida glanced toward the reeve with such sympathy in her eyes that Ivo wanted to shake her. Nodding for her servants to follow, he took her hand. “Come, wife. We will pass a pleasant evening together.”

She let him lead her upstairs without comment, but went to her sewing frame instead of taking her place next to him by the fire. Her women sat near her while Brand, Geoff, and Oswald gathered around Ivo. Wat hung back by the door.

“Take a seat, Reeve,” said Ivo.

“Yes, my lord.” He found a stool, placing it, Ivo noted, slightly behind Oswald, and nearer to Alaida than himself.

“You all know the king commands a castle at Alnwick,” began Ivo. “The question becomes where to build it. Ari tells me there is some disagreement between you three on the best place.”

“Aye, we differ,” said Oswald. “Geoffrey says the hilltop. I say right here, as does Wat.”

“Why?”

“The well, my lord. ’Tis—”

“The well?” exclaimed Alaida, looking up from her needlework. “Surely you don’t believe that old tale, Oswald.”

“But he does, my lady,” said Geoffrey, giving Oswald a smug look.

The marshal’s ruddy cheeks turned brighter red. “It may be an old tale, but I have seen and heard enough to know there’s something to it. And there’re the villagers to consider as well.”

Geoffrey snorted. “Why should Lord Ivo make his decision based on stories spun by cottars?”

“Because he knows cottars can be as wise as stewards,” said Ivo, provoked by Geoffrey’s tone. “They most often spin their tales for good reason.”

“Here the reason is to frighten children,
monseigneur
, so they stay away from the well and do not drown themselves.” Alaida looked to Bôte and smiled. “The same reason my nurse told the story to me.”

“So you know this tale, too, Bôte?”

“Aye, my lord. Everyone in Alnwick knows it, and many put great store in it.”

“Then I would do well to hear it before I make my decision. Tell me about the well.”

He directed the last to no one in particular. Oswald and Geoffrey looked at each other. Geoff held up his hands and shook his head. “I will not give credence to this nonsense.”

“’Tisn’t nonsense,” blurted Wat, adding, “My lord.”

“You are a believer, Reeve?” asked Ivo, and at his nod, “Then you tell it.”

“But my lord . . .” began Geoffrey.

“No hurt can come from listening,” said Ivo. “Go on, Wat.”

Looking as though he wished he’d kept his mouth shut once more, Wat glanced toward Oswald, who gave him a nod. The reeve still hesitated. “I do not like to tell it, my lord. My pap would hardly speak of it, for fear that speaking would raise the evil.”

“It never rose when Bôte told me the story,” said Alaida. “Pray, tell it for my amusement, Wat, if for nothing else. It is a good tale, and I have not heard it in years.”

“But my lady . . .”

Ivo leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out, hooking one foot over the other. “
This
would be the time to talk, Reeve.”

Wat turned red beneath his bruises, making him look like an overripe plum. “Aye, my lord.” Giving a nod to Alaida, he began. “There was a great and awful beast, my lord, in the old days before the time of King Alfred.”

“What sort of beast?”

“I do not know, my lord, but it was said to be fearsome, a she-beast that wrought its evil over the whole of the kingdom, until a hero, a brave knight named Sir Egbert, came riding out of the north upon a winged horse. He found the beast and did battle with it and struck it down. Aye, he ripped the heart from its very chest—and yet the beast lived.”

Despite his reticence, Wat had quickly fallen into the rhythm of his story. Ivo was reminded of the old days, listening to Ari spin tales around the fire. He caught Brand glancing up at the raven on its perch and saw the same memory reflected in his friend’s eyes.

“The beast rose up and ran off, and Sir Egbert chased it up hill and down dene, all over the land, until it found a great hole and hid itself,” continued Wat. “When Sir Egbert saw he had the beast trapped, he pushed a great rock into the hole, so huge that no other man would ever be able to move it, and he marked it with signs so that no man would ever try.”

“The standing stone,” volunteered Alaida. “I have seen the markings myself.” Eyes dancing with enjoyment, she put aside her needle and came to take her chair, and even though Ivo knew she did so only to better hear, having her by his side of her own will pleased him. “I have long thought the beast must have been a great dragon. An immense red dragon with eyes of amber fire. Beautiful, but deadly, as a she-beast should be.”

She was having fun with Wat, who responded in kind.

“Perhaps it was, my lady, or perhaps not, but whatever sort of creature it was, its heart still beat in Sir Egbert’s hand. He threw it, intending to hurl it into the sea for the fishes to eat.” Here, Wat acted out his words, heaving an invisible heart toward a distant ocean. “But it fell short and landed in Alnwick, which was barely a vill then. Where it landed, it left a deep hole, and at the bottom of the hole, a spring rose up, so sweet and pure that a well was built to catch its waters. Sir Egbert was named champion and the people heaped gold and silver on him, and the lord here-abouts, whose name was Bisbright, gave him his daughter for wife. Sir Egbert put her before him on his winged horse and carried her away to his own land.”

“Man after my own heart,” said Brand. “Slay the enemy, ride off with the woman.”

Everyone laughed at this, and Wat waited for the merriment to die down before he went on.

“All was well until the next new moon. Then the hill of Alnwick began to tremble and the well to make strange noises. The people cowered in terror and cried out for their lord to save them. When Lord Bisbright saw what was happening, he sent a priest up the hill to pray for relief, but the priest was a craven man without true faith, and he came down white with fear and ran away.

“Then Lord Bisbright sent for a wise woman, a healer of the old ways who lived in the forest nearby. She stayed upon the hill for three days and three nights, and when at last she came back down, she told Lord Bisbright that the beast had crawled through the earth in search of its heart, all the way from the hole where it had gone to ground, and had come up within the hill. The woman said Alnwick would be safe only if Lord Bisbright built his manor on the place where she touched her staff to the ground—here, that is—to defend the well and keep the beast at bay. She warned that if the beast ever joined with its heart again, it would come back to life more powerful and evil than ever.

“So Lord Bisbright founded his hall upon the very spot, and he made a covenant with the villagers to keep the well and to protect them from the beast, and they promised to serve him faithfully so long as he did so. When the beast found she could not reach her heart, she settled down to wait.

“And there she still lies,” finished Wat, “curled up within the hill, sleeping until the day when men forget and she can awaken and reclaim what is hers.”

The room was silent for a long moment, even Alaida subdued by the dark magic of the ending.

“Well told, Wat,” said Ivo finally. “Well told, indeed—but how much is truth?”

“It is what my father told me, and his father told him, and his father before that.”

“A peasant’s tale,” scoffed Geoff.

“We already know your thoughts, Steward,” said Ivo. “What of you, Oswald? You say you’ve seen and heard enough to make you believe.”

“Perhaps
believe
is too strong a word, my lord, but I wonder, at the least. I heard the story years ago and never gave it weight, but then one midnight, I grew thirsty and went out to draw myself a drink, and . . .” The marshal hesitated, scratching at his grizzled chin.

“What?”

“I am unsure, my lord. I heard something in the well—a deep drumming, like.
Shh-thump
. . .
Shh-thump
. . .” He sounded the beats slowly, dragging out the long pauses between, then shook his head. “I would not credit it, had I not heard it for myself.”

“And do not forget the hill,” said Wat. “There’s certain places on it as you can hear the beast breathing.”

Ivo looked to Oswald.

“I have heard that as well,” admitted the marshal a little sheepishly. “Or at the least some noise that sounds like a great animal breathing. I’m no longer certain.”

“What of the rest of the villagers?” Ivo asked Wat.

“They are like those of us here, my lord: some believe, some do not, some are unsure,” said Wat. “Those who do believe fear that building on the hilltop might waken the beast, and that there would then be no manor to stand guard on the well. And even those who don’t believe ask if the new lord of Alnwick intends to break the ancient covenant.”

“There is no record of such a covenant, my lord,” said Geoffrey.

“Just because it is not written in your Latin letters does not mean it doesn’t exist,” said Brand. “I have heard stranger tales than this that proved true.”

“As have we all,” said Bôte, echoing Ivo’s thought.

“Build here, my lord,” urged Oswald. “Use the manor yard as bailey. Guard the well and keep the freemen of Alnwick content. ’Tis a simple enough thing.”

“How content would they be if the castle were built only to fall to Donald Bane or whoever comes after him?” asked Ivo. “Malcolm was killed barely a league from Alnwick’s gate. The Scots will be back sooner or later, and building on this spot leaves the highest ground to the enemy.”

“In all the years the Scots have ridden on Alnwick, not once have they kept to the hill past one day,” said Oswald. “They ride up, but when the next morning comes, they’ve abandoned it. Something drives them off during the night.”

“The beast’s foul breath,” muttered Bôte. Alaida hushed her.

“No, let her speak,” said Ivo. “You’re the oldest here, Bôte. What do you know of the monster?”

“No more than Wat, my lord. As my lady said, I told the story to keep her away from the well as a bairn—but I do believe it.”

“Then what of this covenant between manor and village?”

“I have heard that Lord Gilbert affirmed it when he first took lordship of Alnwick, but I wasn’t there to see it.”

“Because it did not happen,” said Geoffrey.

“Your sureness confounds me, Steward, considering you weren’t present either,” said Alaida. “You are neither that old nor Alnwick-born—even I recall when you first came to us.”