Immortal Warrior by Lisa Hendrix Page B

appease me with some bauble. Fetch the soap. I would wash him off me.”
    “Proud and stubborn as when you were a babe,” muttered Bôte. “Be careful, lest your anger does you even less honor than his going. A smile would serve you better.”
    “I am such a happy bride,” mocked Alaida, fixing a bland smile to her face for a heartbeat before she let it fall away. “The soap.”
    By the time Hadwisa turned up, Alaida had washed and dressed and was sitting at the table, picking at the remains of the bread and cheese. Hadwisa quickly untied the ribbon holding back Alaida’s hair and took up the comb.
    “I will try not to hurt, my lady, but the rats have made a terrible nest here in the back.”
    Bote eyed Alaida mischievously. “Had you thrashin’ a bit, did he?”
    “Bôte!” Alaida tried to look stern, but she had been thrashing, and more than a bit. Recalled heat flashed through her again and burned up her neck before the flame curled back on itself and settled between her legs.
    “You blush, my lady,” said Hadwisa, giggling. “Even your ears are red.”
    “That, girl, is the color of a well-tupped bride,” said Bôte. Grinning, she tipped Alaida’s face up and peered into it. “Enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed you, I venture. Good. ’Tis how it is meant be.”
    “I vow I will get me a real waiting woman,” muttered Alaida as she pushed Bôte’s hand aside and pressed her palms to her blazing cheeks. “One who knows her place and when to keep silent.”
    Bôte only laughed, but she held her tongue after that and set to work helping Hadwisa. Their hands were deft and gentle despite the tangles, and as they combed and smoothed, Alaida finally had time to consider what Bôte had said. The old woman was right; she would be better served by pretending all was well, at least until she heard what her husband offered as reason for his absence. That decided, she was able to relax under the women’s hands and let her thoughts drift, first to Ivo’s message and then to the messenger. They had begun the long plaits when what the steward had said hit her: After last night, I should have known . . . How the devil did he know what Wat said last night?
    “What was that, my lady?” asked Hadwisa.
    “Hmm? Oh. I must have been thinking aloud.” Alaida would have left it there, but both women had stopped their work and looked at her expectantly. “’Tis nothing. Sir Ari said that after last night, he should have known to pick someone with more sense than Wat to bring as witness. I only wondered how he knew what was said, when he was not here.”
    “Men talk,” said Bôte. “Especially about such foolishness as went on last night. They’re all boasting of their wit this morning, even the ones who have none.”
    “But when would Sir Ari have heard the tale? He said he had only just returned.” Alaida’s thoughts leapt ahead of themselves. “And if he did just return, how did he come to have a message from my husband?”
    “Aye, that is strange,” said Hadwisa. “Lord Ivo was away well before Sir Ari came. Before dawn, Penda said.”
    “Hush,” said Bôte sharply. “They must have met in passing, that is all.”
    “Oh, of course,” said Alaida as reason finally caught up with her anger-stoked imagination. “My mind is as thick as honey in winter. I must be tired.”
    “Tired,” muttered Bôte. “There’s a name for it.” Hadwisa giggled again as color flooded into Alaida’s cheeks, and Bôte joined in the laughter. “Here. Let’s have those ribbons. We must get you off to Mass. Father waits.”
    Sweet Mother, thought Alaida as they wove the ribbons into her hair. Mass. Father Theobald. And all while smiling and pretending nothing was amiss. Sweet Mother.
    She should have stayed abed.
     
    “AND THE CAIRN marks the end, with a straight line back to where we began,” said Geoffrey. He tapped his staff on the pile of rocks then swung it to point back toward the south and east. As he did, a movement overhead caught his eye and he glanced up. His jaw dropped open.