Immortal Warrior (38 page)

“No. Oh, God, please no.” Alaida fell to her knees next to Beatrice’s cradle and crossed herself.

“Prayer will do you no good,” said Bôte. She poured a cup of wine and pressed it into Alaida’s hands. “Drink this. All of it.” She waited until Alaida obeyed. “Now listen to me. Lord Ivo is more danger to us than the Church. We know what he is, a devil who took a man’s form so he could get a child on you. He will take Lady Beatrice and kill you and me.”

“No. He wouldn’t hurt us.”

“He would. He must, for so long as we live, we are a threat to him, and to those friends of his, too, for surely they come and go so strangely for the same reason. They are all three of them demons.”

“I asked him and asked him why. ‘Trust me,’ he said,” Alaida whispered. She rocked back and forth, holding herself as she tried not to shriek. “And I did. Oh, God, I did, and he is this . . . thing.” She grabbed Bôte. “What can we do?”

“Run, my lady. We have no choice. We must be away before he returns.”

“But . . .” This didn’t seem right. Ivo had always been gentle, and he adored Beatrice—but even Satan would love his own spawn. Her head felt so thick. “I don’t know. Oh, God. What do I do?”

“Run, I tell you, fast and far, so that no one ever knows what Lady Beatrice is, or that you lay with a devil.”

“But I didn’t know,” protested Alaida. “Surely I cannot be blamed. Nor Beatrice.”

“No one will hear your innocence, my lady, they will be too busy burning you and your half-devil child. We must run.” Without waiting for Alaida’s decision, Bôte began gathering warm clothing. She tugged Alaida to her feet. “Dress yourself, my lady, and find as much gold and silver as you can. We will need it to make our way to Scotland. Aye, he’ll not find us there.”

Still numb with shock, Alaida let Bôte’s sureness guide her. She donned thick hose and boots and layered on two heavy woolen kirtles beneath her warmest gown and cloak. She dumped out the money in the casket, filled her purse and Bôte’s, and wrapped what was left into the bundle of clothes along with her jewels. As Bôte tied up the remains of the previous evening’s supper in a cloth, Alaida tucked a few more jewels into Beatrice’s swaddling and wrapped her more heavily against the cold. The baby began to whine and fret.

“I should nurse her first, to keep her quiet.”

“Later. I will not burn for that demon.” Bôte leaned over the cradle, did something Alaida couldn’t see, and Beatrice stopped crying. “That will hold her. I know a safe place where you can suckle her once we’re away. Hurry, my lady. Sir Ari will be back. He’s one of them. He will never let us go.”

“What about Oswald and the others? How will we explain . . . ?”

“I will see to it. Stay here.” Bôte slipped out. A few moments later, she was back, carrying a skin of wine and a cheese, which she pressed into Alaida’s hands along with the bundle of clothes. “Fortune is truly with us, my lady. They all still sleep. Come. Quietly.”

Bôte scooped up Beatrice, and they passed down the stairs and across the hall in silence, surrounded only by random snores and grunts. Outside, the fog hung so thick it muffled all sound and turned everything to specters. No one challenged them in the yard, and the man who should have been on duty at the postern gate seemed to have stepped away. Bôte quickly raised the bar and pushed the gate open enough to slip through. She motioned for Alaida to follow.

This didn’t seem right, that faint voice whispered again, as if through the fog. Alaida glanced back toward the hall, but it had all but disappeared in the mist, just as Ivo had disappeared, an eagle. Her eagle, she suddenly realized, and that made it worse.

“Come, lamb,” urged Bôte. “I will keep you safe.”

A muffled footstep sounded somewhere nearby. Panicking, Alaida stepped quickly through the gate and Bôte shut it behind them with nary a squeak. Unable to see more than a few feet in the fog, they made their way toward the river almost by feel, found the bridge, and crossed noiselessly. On the far bank, they hurried west, away from Alnwick and the evil that was its lord and her husband.

And all the while, Beatrice slept peacefully in Bôte’s arms.

CHAPTER 28

“GATE,” SHOUTED ARI for a second time, and for the second time no one answered. Strange. The yard should be bustling with activity by now—he’d gotten turned around in the sudden fog and it had taken him forever to find his horse and get back. It was nearly time for dinner.

He pushed against the gate and found it barred. He shouted again, louder, and pounded against the iron strapping, but the only answer was the neighing of horses from the stables. A chill ran down his spine, and with a curse, he whipped his mount around and rode for Wat’s cottage.

He found the reeve digging beetroots in his croft. “Something’s wrong at the manor. Muster as many armed men as you can find quickly and come.”

By the time the villagers turned out, Ari had discovered the postern gate was unbarred. He drew his sword and silently pulled it open. The others slipped in behind him, huddling with their weapons as he and Wat, armed with a broadax, edged forward through the mist.

As they neared the well, Ari spotted what looked like a body. He crept closer, saw no blood, and noticed the man’s chest rise and fall. He prodded him with the tip of his sword. Edric rolled over and yawned.

“Ass! Get up! Get up!” Furious, Ari hauled him to his feet. “Sleeping on watch, and with a gate unbarred. I’ll have your hide for this. Fifty lashes.”

“Wha—?” Edric gaped at him. “But I . . . But I—”

“Where are the others?”

Edric shook his head thickly, but Wat called, “Here, sir.”

The two men who should have been guarding the main gate lay sprawled against the posts like drunkards. Uneasiness rapidly replacing his anger, Ari left Wat to wake them and dashed for the hall.

He shoved the door open to find every man in a similar stupor, even Oswald. Ari yanked him up and shouted into his face. “Wake yourself, Marshal. What goes on here? The wall is unguarded and every man asleep.”

Oswald scrubbed his eyes with his hands and struggled to comprehend as Wat came in and starting waking the others. “I . . . I do not know,
messire
. All was well.” He thought hard, clearly confounded. “Lord Ivo came as usual, but not Sir Brand. We played chess, I went to bed, and the next thing, you were shaking me.”

“Where are the women?”

“Uh . . .”

“The pantry,
messire
,” said Tom, yawning wide. “Bôte sent them all down late. She said Lady Alaida was too tired to have anyone about.”

Alaida.
Without bothering to ask, Ari flew up the stairs.

The utter silence of the solar confirmed the worst. Signs of hurried departure were everywhere, from the night linens on the floor to Alaida’s jewel casket lying open and empty on the bed.

“Ah, God,” said Oswald behind him. He pushed past Ari and ransacked the room, ripping aside draperies and opening cupboards and chests as though he might find them inside. His bellow of helpless rage echoed through the hall as he collapsed to his knees. “God help me, I have failed her. I have failed my lady.”

“We’ve all failed her, Marshal, but regret will do her no good.” He scanned the room, taking in what was there and what wasn’t. “Whoever carried them off took warm clothes for the women and things for the child. They intend to keep them alive. For ransom, perhaps. I want everyone awake and in the hall. Hold them there. I want no one disturbing the tracks.”

Oswald stormed downstairs barking orders, and Ari took one more look around the solar. This time, a gleam of metal beneath the bed caught his eye. He crossed to pull the object out: Ivo’s sword and, hooked on it, his gray tunic. With a sick feeling, he reached under the bed and discovered the rest of Ivo’s clothes.

Balls. This was bad. Ivo had clearly turned eagle here . . . With a groan, Ari looked toward the window. He could see it: the eagle rising over the cradle, Alaida screaming, just as in his visions. But it had been Ivo, not Beatrice. Alaida had seen Ivo change. No one had taken them. She had run in terror.

He sagged against the bedpost and pounded his skull with his fists. “Odin, what have I done?”

He would carve the visions out of his head if he could, but as he’d told Oswald, regret was no use. What was needed now was to fix this. They were going to have to flee, that was certain, but first they must get Alaida and Beatrice safely back, without further exposing Ivo. Working quickly, he rolled Ivo’s clothes inside his linen shirt, then tied the bundle with a strip torn from the bottom of Alaida’s discarded kirtle, checking to be sure none of Ivo’s gray showed. He stepped to the door and called for Tom.

The boy trotted upstairs still yawning. “
Messire
, have Lady Alaida and Lady Beatrice truly been stolen away?”

“So it seems.” Ari considered how best to say this. “I have a task for you, Squire, but no one must know what you do. Will you swear your silence in service of your lord and lady?”

Wide eyes grave, the boy nodded. “Of course,
messire
.”

“Go to the stable and saddle Fax.”

“Did Lord Ivo not take him this morning?”

“No. He . . . had something to do on foot. Take Fax to Merewyn’s cottage and wait there for him. And take these things with you.” Ari indicated the clothes and sword.

“His sword!
Messire
, he goes nowhere without his sword.”

“He did this morning—but again, no one must know, so I will drop them out the window to you. Can you get out the gate without anyone knowing you go?”

“The guards will see me pass.”

“I’ll call them inside. Get Fax, then whistle when you’re ready. Make sure no one sees you leave, Tom. This is important.”

“I understand,
messire
. My lord will need his armor, too.”

Ari hesitated. Ivo’s mail would be costly to replace, but . . . “No. He’ll need to ride light. Run, Tom.”

Tom sped from the room. Ari went to the landing and called for Oswald to bring the guards in, then went back to wait by the window and consider his plan for flaws. It seemed like only moments had passed when Tom whistled. He had both Fax and his dun horse ready to ride. Ari dropped the clothes, then the sword and belt, and the boy quickly fastened them to Fax’s saddle.

“Use the postern gate,” Ari called down. “Make sure the yard is clear.”

Tom nodded and started off, and Ari went downstairs. Every voice dropped silent as he strode to the front of the hall.

“Lady Alaida has been taken, along with her child and maid. We do not know who took them or why, so Alnwick is to prepare as if for war.” He waited while worry murmured through the room and settled into a grim determination. “I will carry word to Lord Ivo and Brand, and we will ride down whoever has done this, and get the women back.”

“Please,
messire
, let me go with you,” pleaded Edric, clearly wanting to redeem himself. “You know I have a good eye.”

Ari shook his head. “Every man is needed here until we know who and what we face. Oswald, you have command. Be ready for anything.”

“Yes,
messire
, and we will be ready to ride as well, if needed.”

“Good.” Ari looked out over the men and women he had known and laughed with for nearly a year, silently bade them farewell, and left.

Starting at the postern gate, he rode arcs back and forth in the fog until he spotted marks in the soft earth. He wasn’t surprised by what he found: two sets of footprints, both women’s, one light and one heavy, headed toward the bridge. He picked the trail up again on the other side of the river, and saw where they veered west. There were a few hoofprints nearby, but they looked older, and surely if someone was taking them and had mounts, the women would have been put on horseback to make the escape quicker.

No. Alaida was going of her own will and, for whatever reason, on foot. He could easily ride her down, but what then? She was clever and might have figured out he was the raven that rode Brand’s shoulder each night. If so, she would never willingly return with him.

But he could track her at least, and let Ivo know where she’d gone.

Then
he
could decide what to do.

 

IN ITS PANIC, the eagle flew fast and far, and by the time Ivo regained a piece of himself and turned the bird back toward the village, the fog had boiled up so thick it hid the land for miles. Disoriented, the bird circled between blue sky and a sea of white, searching for some sign—a familiar tree, the top of the tower—until the exhaustion that had caught Ivo in the solar overcame even the eagle’s strength. Unable to fly more, he sailed down into the mist until he found a tall tree, lit on a sheltered branch, and slept.

When he woke, the fog had burned off and the tower showed in the far distance. He flew toward Alnwick, but it was late and he barely had time to skim past the walls before the approach of sunset forced him toward the woods.

As he passed over Merewyn’s cottage, Fax’s familiar whinny drew him down. He found Tom standing between Fax and his dun, watching the woods as though expecting someone. The boy spotted the bird overhead and called out.

Merewyn came out wiping her hands on a cloth. She looked up and said something to Tom about pottage. The boy vanished into the house, and Merewyn picked up a bundle from the stool by her door and headed into the woods. The eagle followed her to a clearing, where she laid the bundle on the ground, cut the bindings, and stepped away. He sailed down to land nearby, and as the sun slid below the horizon, the pain hit.

Merewyn watched until he started to become more man than eagle, then turned away, giving him privacy while he lay there naked and agonized on the ground. The pain still twisted him as he crawled to his clothes.

“She saw me,” said Ivo between pain-clenched teeth.

“Yes, my lord. I guessed when Tom came with Fax, and then Sir Ari came a little while ago and told me all. My lord . . .” She hesitated, and even from behind her, Ivo could tell she was unhappy about what she had to say. “Lady Alaida is gone, and Lady Beatrice and Bôte with her.”