Immortal Warrior (17 page)

“True, my lady, but over the years I have examined every record. There is no mention of any covenant regarding the well.”

“Perhaps the previous stewards were not as careful as you.” Ivo turned to Wat. “Who are the oldest men of the village?”

“Céolsige, who lives by the meadow, my lord, and Drogo the Blind.”

“Bring them on the morrow to speak with the seneschal about what happened in Lord Gilbert’s day. They will swear on the Gospel book and you and two other freemen of your choice will be witness to what they say.” Ivo gave Geoff a hard look. “And this time it
will
be recorded, whatever is said.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Geoffrey and Wat together.

“I must consider all of this. It is not a decision to be made lightly or without all the facts.” Ivo pushed to his feet and the manor men rose with him. “For tonight, though, I give you all thanks for speaking your thoughts. Geoffrey, what do we usually pay to a
jongleur
for an evening’s entertainment?”

“Board and bed and two deniers, my lord.”

“Then see similar value is given to the reeve in seed of his choice, for tonight he played
jongleur
and did it well.”

“No need for that, my lord,” said Wat.

“Take it, Wat, for you not only gave me valuable information, you made my lady smile. That is worth a great deal to me, as is a good reeve.”

“Then my thanks, my lord. I am not entirely a fool.” Wat grinned so wide his lip split afresh. He dabbed the blood off on his sleeve, but the grin remained as he headed downstairs behind Geoff. As the door shut behind them, Ivo glimpsed Oswald clapping him on the shoulder. There was one mistake repaired.

The other was watching him in that guarded way of hers. He chose to ignore her for the moment. “Some chess, Brand?”

“Only if your lady will aid me. I’m still no good at the game.”

“Of course,
messire
.” Alaida rose and signaled Bôte and Hadwisa to move the chess table into position. “Though Oswald told me you beat him all on your own last night.”

“Only by chance, my lady. I blundered into his king without realizing it.”

“Then let us see if we can improve your blundering.” She began setting up the game. Ivo didn’t help: seeing her handle the pieces was already enough to throw him back into that foul night, both the good and the bad of it. He studied the toes of his boots until she had finished, then took his place as Alaida settled in near Brand.

They were well into the game before Ivo broached the subject. “So, what do you think?”

“It goes against all I know of war to set a fortress at the base of a hill,” said Brand.

“Aye.” Ivo touched a finger to his queen’s knight, then reconsidered and moved the neighboring rook instead. “And yet the manor has long survived here. What about you, my lady? You’ve said nothing about the castle, though I suspect your interest runs deeper than bloodred dragons with eyes of amber fire.”

His attempt to make her smile failed miserably. She nodded to Brand as he reached for a pawn, then looked up at Ivo with infuriating blandness. “’Tis your decision to make,
monseigneur
, not mine.”

“It may come down to you to defend the castle in my absence. Where would you rather it be?”

“The hilltop would be easier to defend but it is too far from the village. If the Scots came on us suddenly, the people would not make the safety of the walls. And there is the problem of water.”

“Ari suggests a cistern to catch rain.”

“Even in our wettest years, it would run dry with the village and an army and all its horses drinking from it. The Scots could wait us out, drinking from our good well as we shrivel up like last year’s apples.”

“There are no springs or seeps on the mount at all?”

“None that I know. Bôte once said the dragon’s fire must have dried up all the water.”

The nurse chuckled over her stitching. “You had barely four years on you when I said that, my lady. How do you recall such things?”

“My lady wife is quick, Nurse, as you should well know.”

“Aye, m’lord, quick to learn, quick to anger, and to all our fortune, quick to forgive—except when she isn’t. Then she is stubborn and slow to forget what you wish she would.”

“So I’m learning.” Ignoring yet another sour look from his wife, Ivo jumped his knight onto the bishop Brand had brought out. “Check and mate.”

Alaida sat up, startled out of her snit. She studied the board with Brand. “My apologies,
messire
. I fear I have been the one to blunder this time. I should have seen that knight riding down on you.”

Grunting, Brand tipped his king on its side and reached for his ale. “As should I. Perhaps I should play merels instead.”

“And perhaps I should join you,” said Alaida. “I clearly have no head for chess tonight.”

“Do not give up so quickly, wife,” said Ivo. He began resetting the board. “Take Brand’s place. He can play merels with Bôte.”

“I would prefer not,
monseigneur
.”

Ivo merely smiled and motioned for her to take the white. Her huff was audible and Brand’s warning look dour as he moved her chair into position.

“You cannot force me to play,” she muttered when Brand moved off to challenge Bôte.

“True. Here.” He handed her the white bishop he’d taken.

“I will lose quickly and go back to my stitching.” She set the bishop in place and handed him the black pawns Brand had captured.

“All right.” He lined up his pawns. “You start.”

She pursed her lips stubbornly and pushed a pawn out. He did the same, then proceded to mirror every move she made, refusing to take a single piece, even when she offered her queen for sacrifice.

She glared at his similarly proffered queen as though it were an insult. “You play better than this, my lord.”

“God’s toes, I do hope so.”

Arching one eyebrow, she looked him over like a horse she was buying. “What are you up to?”

“Making the game last longer.”

“Why do you want it to?”

“I have made peace with Wat. I wish to do the same with you.”

“I do not trade my goodwill for a measure of seed.” She realized the double meaning of what she’d said and clarified, “Grain.”

“Neither does Wat.” Ivo let her mistake pass without comment—difficult when she was blushing so temptingly—and started moving the chessmen back to their starting positions. “We both exceeded our bounds. He paid with his lip. I paid tonight with seed and a good word before the steward who is his superior and the marshal who is his friend. We are back to a proper balance as lord and reeve. Now we will set about earning each other’s trust once more.”

“I doubt it is that simple, my lord.”

“It is, and it must be, lest every misstep bring down all. Wat and I understand that. He’s content with how things now lie. You saw his smile.”

“He smiled because you gave him seed.”

“He smiled because I gave him his
due
.” Something he owed her as well, though he couldn’t yet see how to give it. “Your move.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, then pushed out the same pawn she had the last game. He responded with more reasoned tactics, and they played in silence for a while. It quickly became clear she was playing seriously this time—she soon captured both of his castles and threatened his queen. Ivo put his full attention on the game and managed to fend her off for a dozen moves, but she eventually backed his king into a corner.

“Check and mate, my lord.” She rose, done with him now that she’d beaten him.

“One more,” he insisted. “Sit.”

With a purpose in mind, Ivo played the third game even more deliberately, dragging it out until her eyelids drooped and she began to stifle yawns behind her hand. Then he kept her at the board a little longer yet, making sure she was truly exhausted and ready for sleep—and that he was ready as well.

Finally a man came in to bank the fire. As he left, Ivo rose and stepped around the table to take Alaida’s hand. “We will finish tomorrow. It is time to retire.”

Her eyes flared at this, whether from anticipation or anger, Ivo wasn’t certain—not that it mattered. He was not bedding her—and so he reminded himself several times as he handed her over to her women.

Brand rose and took the raven off his perch. At the door, he turned and gave Ivo a hard look. “Are you certain of this?” he mouthed in Norse.

Ivo nodded once, and answered aloud in French. “I will see you in the morning.”

“Mmm,” said Brand doubtfully. He dipped his head to Alaida, “Good night, my lady.”

“God’s rest,
messire
.”

The door shut, leaving Ivo to deal with the sight of Bôte and Hadwisa stripping his wife. It conjured up his wedding night, but this time he could not permit himself to grow excited.

He did all right, too, until they started brushing out her plaits. Then the sudden memory of how her hair felt spread over his skin sent blood pounding into his groin with such fury, he near groaned. He dropped into his chair, fighting to get his body under control before his reaction became evident to all.

Curse it, he needed to do this, to pass an occasional night with Alaida in order to keep the talk down. Brand had warned him once more on the way home that it wouldn’t be easy, but no, he’d been sure of himself, confident that all the times he’d found release by his own hand during the past week had blunted his desire. But here he was, the front of his clothes sticking out like he’d shoved a marrowbone down his breeks. He leaned forward to further disguise his state while the women finished with Alaida. The bed creaked as she crawled in, setting off visions of her naked in the bed, followed by another rush of arousal.

Her women left, and it was just him and Alaida and a mad desire to bury himself in her no matter what the consequences. She lay in bed staring up at the draperies as if she were trying to decide something, then rolled to her side and rose up on one elbow.

“I will be along in a moment,” he said quickly, before she had a chance to say something that might make this situation even more difficult. “I have much to think about before I sleep.”

She pressed her lips together against whatever it was that went through her mind, flopped back down on her pillow, and lay there, silent, watching him. He waited her out, studying the board until the location of each piece was burned into his mind, until he wasn’t hard anymore, until her eyes closed and she finally, blessedly, began to snore.

The sound made him smile, half with relief, half with amusement. His lady wife snored. It wasn’t much of a snore, not to a man who had spent a lifetime sleeping next to men whose snores could frighten horses in the next village, and he suspected she would deny she snored at all, but he rather liked it. He sat there listening as she slipped more deeply into sleep.

When he finally knew he could handle lying next to her, he put out the candles, kicked off his boots, and crawled into bed fully clothed.

“
Mmmpf,
” she said, and rolled against his side, warm and soft and smelling of Alaida. He took a deep breath, checked his intentions, then slipped his arms around her. Yes, that worked. He could permit himself that much pleasure, at least, from this pretense of marriage, so he took what he could, holding her while her breath slowed and she began to snore once more, and then longer, until she finally rolled away and the warm imprint of her body against his cooled.

When he left the bed sometime later, the mattress and pillow bore the mark of his body for others to find the next morning. If he was very lucky, Alaida might even recall that she’d lain in his arms. He pulled on his boots, collected his cloak and sword, and went down to the hall.

He found Brand outside, hanging over the well, head cocked, listening intently. He glanced up as Ivo walked over. “You all right?”

Ivo nodded. “Hear anything?”

“Listen for yourself.”

Ivo listened for a moment. “I don’t—”

A low boom, barely heard, interrupted him. The hairs on his neck rose. He leaned far over the edge, risking a broken neck to get his head in as far as possible, and waited.
Shh-thump,
like thunder, or a tree falling far away—except it came from beneath him. He hung there, holding his breath.
Shh-thump.

“The dragon’s heart,” whispered Ivo.

“No. Listen.”

Shh-thump.
He closed his eyes and listened as the beats echoed in the well shaft, faint and slow, but steady.
Shh-thump.
Pause.
Shh-thump.
And then he recognized it, a rhythm that had been his life for so many years. “’Tis the sea. Waves.”

“Aye. That’s what I thought.” Brand pulled himself out of the well with a grunt. “Waves against rock. You can only hear it when it’s dead calm. The breeze was up a little bit ago, and I didn’t hear a sound. When it died . . .”

“The shore is only a few leagues from here,” said Ivo, also straightening. “Some trick must make the sound carry through the land and come up here. No wonder the villagers fear it. Most of them have never traveled beyond Lesbury to hear the sea.”

“Are you going to tell them?” asked Brand.

Ivo shook his head. “Not unless I must. I want to see what the elders have to say.”

“If there is no beast and no covenant, you can put your castle where you want.”

Ivo whipped his cloak around his shoulders and jammed the pin into place. “Covenant or not, I will put it where it will do Alaida the greatest good when I’m gone.”

“Mmm.” Brand gave him another of those hard, dubious looks, then shrugged and nodded. “Do you really want to head out this early? I doubt Tom has the horses ready yet.”

“Probably not,” said Ivo, but they turned toward the stables anyway.

 

A FEW MORNINGS later, Alaida hung out the window, watching a gang of men scribe a great circle on the field behind the manor. They used a rope stretched from a post driven into the center to measure, and marked the line with stakes and powdered chalk. Another gang traced a second circle some five yards inside the first, marking, she assumed, the ditch, while Sir Ari and Oswald watched from horseback. Wat was one of the men scribing the line. She couldn’t spy Geoffrey.