Immortal Warrior Read Free Page A

intended as an altar cover for the chapel, but the figures of pilgrims looked too stark on the plain ground of the cloth.
    “Perhaps a chevron of the blue wool,” she mused aloud.
    “That would be lovely, my lady,” said the old nurse, Bôte, as she lifted the lid to a nearby chest. “Or the green would do as well.”
    Alaida held up a hank of each, but could not choose. She would have to look at it again in the morning light.
    It was late, and around her the maidservants busied themselves dragging the bedding from the chests and cupboards. They would all sleep in the solar, curling up on cots and straw pallets around the great bed where Alaida and her nurse slept, their presence an impenetrable layer of femininity that would protect Alaida and her reputation from the siege of bachelors below.
    No sooner had news of her grandfather’s capture worked its way around Northumberland than landless knights and lesser lordlings had started turning up, each hoping to win her hand and the lands she held as his heiress. Even after rumor spread that William had confiscated Alnwick for the Crown, some had stayed on, ever hopeful that the king would gift the lands to whoever won Gilbert Tyson’s granddaughter—although why they thought she’d have one of them now when she had never wanted one before was a mystery. Most had gone on their way, but three of the most determined still lingered below, making free with the wine.
    She despised them to a man. Vultures they were, picking over her grandfather’s carcass before he was dead. Any day now, William would forgive her grandfather, along with de Mowbray and the others, just as he had eight years ago when Northumberland had rebelled in support of Robert Curthose for king. Then Grand-pčre would be back to take his rightful place at the head of the table, and he would toss these jackdaws out on their ears.
    Preparations for the night were nearly complete when a quiet knock came at the door. Bôte opened it a crack, whispered briefly with the guard who stood on the stairs, then opened the door a wedge more to let one of the stableboys slip in.
    “What is it, Tom?”
    “Oswald sent me to say there’s two men at the gate asking for you, m’lady. He said to be quiet about it, so as not to cause a stir in the hall.”
    “What sort of men?”
    “Knights, I think, m’lady,” said Tom. “One of them rides a very handsome horse.”
    “’Tis only more of them , my lady,” said her maid. “Let them freeze. We can serve them to the others and save butchering a hog.”
    “Hadwisa!” Alaida had to bite her lip to keep from laughing with the others. “Tom, tell Oswald I will come. I wish to see these men for myself before we decide whether to let them in.”
    “Lady, you should not,” said Bôte.
    Alaida ignored her. “Go, Tom. But quietly.”
    “Yes, m’lady.” He cracked the door and slipped out as silently as he’d come in.
    Alaida reached for the gown she’d just laid aside. “Help me. Quickly.”
    Bôte obeyed, muttering all the while. “Any man who would come so late can be up to no good. Let them find shelter in the village. You’ ll catch a chill, you will.”
    “I am mistress of Alnwick in my grandfather’s absence. It is my place to welcome travelers—or to send them on their way,” said Alaida as she slipped into her shoes. She pulled her cloak around herself while Bôte did the same. “The rest of you stay here and bar the door behind us.”
    The wine had done its work. Men sprawled all over the darkened hall, some on benches, some on pallets wrapped in blankets or furs, a few simply curled up in their own cloaks on a mound of rushes. She passed through them, touching the shoulders of a half-dozen of the Alnwick men as she went. They roused, saw her with a warning finger to her lips, and came quickly but quietly to their feet.
    Outside, Oswald, her grandfather’s aging marshal, had already gathered a few men from the guardhouse and stables. With those she’d brought and the men already on duty, they had