Immortal Warrior by Lisa Hendrix

witnesses, my lady. Sir Ari waits on the stair, with Geoffrey and Oswald and Wat.”
    “No!”
    “Then I shall hang the sheets out the window as they did in the old days, for all the village to see your virgin’s blood. You must have witnesses,” Bôte repeated stubbornly.
    “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