The Longing (14 page)

Nearing two dark figures ahead who were of a size that told they were also squires, Judas pumped his arms and legs harder and nearly shouted with triumph when he passed between the two and heard them groan.

Though those ahead were too numerous for him to make it all the way out front, he would pick off as many as possible and, if nothing else, Lord Wulfrith would regret that Judas de Balliol was not his son.

As he passed another squire, he heard rushing water and picked out bits of light reflected upon the great fall that poured into a shimmering pool below. Realizing it was a ravine he ran alongside, he felt his heart surge and chest constrict. However, when a closer examination of the ground revealed he had more than ten feet between him and the steep edge, the constriction eased. Still, he knew not to push himself further, and would have maintained his pace had he not heard the approach of those he had passed—and who would surely laugh once they returned the humiliation he had visited upon them.

He reached his legs farther, swung his arms more vigorously, and veered right. Ahead, visible in the bit of light that evidenced the sun thought hard on returning to the sky, were the figures of those he had yet to overtake where they negotiated the uppermost portion of the river before it dropped off and fell into the pool below.

’Tis shallow,
he assured himself, but the thought of the slippery rocks to which he must set foot made his chest constrict again.

“Ah, nay,” he huffed. It would not happen here. He would not suffer that shame. Easing back, he ground his teeth when the squires ran past with jeers and laughter.

Judas glanced over his shoulder to confirm no others were near and went left where he paused on the far side of a tree, braced his hands on his knees, and silently talked his breath back under control. When his chest eased, he straightened and considered those now fording the river—all of smaller stature that confirmed he would not be the first page to reach the training field before Wulfen’s outer walls, and certainly not ahead of any squires.

On the morrow, then
, he told himself and lunged forward.

He knew those colors. They did not bode well.

Swinging his gaze from the banners of those who had been intercepted by Wulfen’s mounted guard, Everard squinted against the sunlight that sought to obscure his search of the training field. There—Sir Elias striding toward Judas who had paused in taking down a wooden post with a two-handed sword. The knight knew what this portended and, as he had acted quickly, Everard less begrudged Sir Elias’s decision to continue to watch over the boy.

After signaling for Wulfen’s knights to resume training their charges, Everard glanced one last time at Judas and Sir Elias, silently approved their leisurely retreat that would draw less attention, and returned his sword to its scabbard. He nodded at Squire Joseph to do the same.

Normally, he positioned himself before the drawbridge to receive those who came unannounced to Wulfen while training commenced outside its walls. However, to provide distraction for the two who would soon slip beneath the portcullis, he swung himself over the fence and, followed by Joseph, strode forward to meet the contingent that numbered six.

Shortly, flanked and fronted by Wulfen’s guard, the riders reined in before Everard where he stood with hand upon sword hilt.

“My Lord Wulfrith,” said the patrol’s lead squire who was only months from earning his spurs and a Wulfrith dagger to mark his passage into manhood, “these knights hail from Cheverel under the command of Sir Talbot who would make an inquiry of you.”

Having already taken measure of the riders, Everard was unimpressed with their restless ranks. More, he was unimpressed that it was two days since they had ridden past in the earliest hours of morn in pursuit of those whom Wulfen Castle harbored. Whatever trail they had followed had grown cold here, and only now they returned. It was a poor reflection on their worth, but welcome.

He returned his gaze to Sir Talbot, not only known by his position at the fore of his men but his visage. Eleven years had lined the skin and loosened it about the jaw, but not so much that he was unrecognizable. Of benefit, there seemed no recognition in the eyes with which he regarded Everard. And not necessarily due to a shaved head. More likely, it was because, in serving Judith’s father that first year following his knighting, Everard had simply been
Sir
Everard and his acquaintance with Alan’s man had been but a glancing one across a distance—excluding the day of the wedding when Everard had stolen upon the knight and knocked him senseless in hopes of carrying away Judith. The only real question was whether or not the man’s lord had ever revealed the name of the one who had thought to take his betrothed from him.

Everard jutted his chin. “Make your inquiry, Sir Talbot, for I have much with which to occupy myself during the hours of sunlight that remain.”

The man’s mouth tightened. “My men and I have ridden hard many days now.” Unexpectedly for a man as sturdy as he appeared to be, his voice had a nasal quality and was languid as of one who has drunk too much but is still conscious of the need to form intelligible words. “Perhaps you will allow us to quench our thirst and break our fast in your hall?”

“With regret, I will not, Sir Talbot, for as you surely know, Wulfen Castle is exclusive to the training of England’s finest knights. Thus, visitors are not welcome for the distraction they breed.”

When a murmur of dissent arose from Sir Talbot’s men, Wulfen’s mounted squires—and Joseph beside Everard—made adjustments to their postures and hands in preparation for the commencement of hostilities. And further adjusted themselves as a sharp-eyed wiry knight issued a curse so vile that if ever the Lord wished to make an example of a blasphemer, he would surely begin with that one.

Sir Talbot snapped his chin around. “Sir Morris, keep your mouth about you else I shall keep it for you!”

The recipient of the rebuke narrowed his eyes and stared at the one to whom he answered.

“My apologies, Lord Wulfrith,” Sir Talbot said. “As for the hospitality you are unable to extend”—he shrugged his shoulders, then his mouth—“a pity, for who would not like to see up close that of which so many speak but few have laid eyes upon?”

Everard raised his eyebrows. “Wulfen is a castle much like any other, Sir Talbot. ’Tis what we do here that makes it noteworthy.”

The knight nodded. “I will not keep you much longer. My purpose is to inquire if you or your men have seen or heard of a knight who passed through these parts within the last two days—a Sir Elias Cant. He would have been in the company of a lady and boy.”

“I have had no such report,” Everard said.

“You are certain?’

Normally, Everard would have pointed out that none came near Wulfen Castle without notice, as evidenced by the patrol that had intercepted Sir Talbot and his men. However, upon the morning in question, Wulfen’s guard had no longer been outside the walls, having escorted the pursued within. Thus, Sir Talbot and his men had ridden past unchecked.

“I am beyond certain,” Everard said with umbrage due one who is questioned who should not be. “Naught goes within or without of which I am not made aware.”

“Again, my apologies, Lord Wulfrith. I press you only because the trail was warm at the village that lies but three leagues distant and, shortly thereafter, went cold.”

“Perhaps, Sir Talbot, you ought to consider that those you seek doubled back the better to…” Everard smiled wryly. “…elude you? Or do I make an assumption I should not?”

“You assume right. The traitorous knight abducted a lady and her nephew from Cheverel, and I have been charged with bringing him to ground.”

So that was to be the story. Everard pitied Sir Elias who, at best, would find it difficult to sell his sword arm to another lord if Queen Eleanor denied Judas’s claim. At worst, the man might find his neck in a noose.

Everard inclined his head. “Then I wish you Godspeed.”

“I thank you for your time,” the knight said, then he signaled to his men and turned his destrier.

Wulfen’s guard urged their horses aside. However, when Sir Talbot and his men struck out across the land, the squires followed to ensure their unwelcome visitors did, indeed, depart.

“That is done,” Everard said. “For now.” He looked to the young man beside him. “What make you of this, Squire Joseph?”

“I know not all the circumstances, my lord, but I am thinking the situation might have proven dire for the lady and boy—and certainly Sir Elias—had you not granted them sanctuary.”

Sanctuary. Everard’s thoughts stumbled over the word. Was that what he had given them? Though Wulfen Castle was hardly a monastery or convent, it seemed so. Of course, it was more of a prison for Lady Susanna, but such bars were necessary where she was concerned. As for Squire Joseph’s conclusion, he saw what Everard saw. Had Lady Susanna and Judas been captured, it was likely they would not have been returned to Cheverel—at least, not alive, for who better to blame their deaths upon than Sir Elias who was said to have abducted them.

“You are thinking right, Squire Joseph.” Everard turned on his heel. As he strode toward the fence and the training field beyond, he pulled his gloves from beneath his belt and slapped them against his thigh.

This was an even more dangerous game than Lady Susanna had led him to believe, and if one’s pieces were not moved without much thought, and the opponent’s pieces not taken without due consideration, the board upon which it was played could become a bloody mess.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The day could get no longer. Worse, on the morrow there would be another, and another after that, and—

Cease, Susanna! You make it no better with your pacing and muttering. You have been given time, have you not? Time Judas and you might not have had. Time otherwise filled with fear and riding hard in hopes of reaching the queen before your pursuers reached you. Time in which to fail—perhaps mortally. Now do something with that time!

“What?” she asked of walls she was certain had moved nearer in upon her since she had awakened hours ago.

She turned quickly around, but there was nothing here with which to occupy herself while she waited for word of how Judas fared on his first day of Wulfen training.

Suddenly light of head, wishing she had been more temperate in her movements, she splayed her hands out to her sides. When she once more settled into her center, she crossed to the window and peered out at nothing—at least, not anything that could hold her interest, for she had been placed in a tower room at the back of the donjon. She had a view of the bordering wood, those who patrolled the inner and outer walls, and the garden below that serviced the kitchen.

“Naught,” she muttered, then turned, leaned back against the shutter, and closed her eyes. “Lord, I am grateful that you have blessed Judas. I am. I just…” She dropped her chin to her chest and closed her hand over the pendant beneath her chemise. “I can hardly breathe.”

“Lady Susanna?”

She snapped her head up.

Sir Rowan stood in the narrow wedge of doorway. “My apologies,” he said. “I did knock.”

She dropped her arms to her sides and stepped away from the window. “I am sorry I did not hear.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Squire Joseph has brought your nooning meal.”

More food. “I thank you.”

He stepped inside, pushing the door wide to allow the squire to enter behind him.

The young man acknowledged her as usual, swapped the new tray with the old that had been a simple morning repast of bread and cheese, and withdrew.

Susanna eyed the offering, a small trencher filled with some sort of stew, a cup that surely contained the draught that had been of good benefit to her sensitive stomach, and a goblet of wine.

Well, here is something I can do—eat.
Though if this meal proved as bland as last eve’s, she would be fortunate to stretch the activity to a quarter hour.

“Is there anything you require, my lady?” Sir Rowan asked.

“Company,” she quipped. “Of course, I may not be allowed that.”

He put his head to the side. “If I will suffice, I will sit a while.”

She opened her mouth to accept, closed it, considered him more closely. Since being ensconced here, she had not felt threatened by him, and not simply because he was at least of an age her own father would be were he yet living. Beyond the man’s gruff front, there was something kindly about him, and if her judgment failed her in that regard, she had but to consider it was Everard Wulfrith who had appointed him to watch over her. But beyond the issue of her safety, there might be more than company to be had from him.

“I would like that, Sir Rowan.”

He inclined his head, stepped into the corridor, and returned a moment later with a stool she had not realized he kept on the landing. But then, she had not been outside this chamber. Yet.

As she crossed to the chair beside the tray, Sir Rowan set his stool near the foot of the bed, keeping a good five feet between them.

Susanna drank the draught first, retrieved the platter, and set it on her lap. While she waited for the medicinal to begin its work, she smiled lightly and said, “It seems you never leave your post, Sir Rowan.”

His mouth lifted, but she caught the slight narrowing of his lids that revealed her nonchalance had not found its mark any better than on the night past when she had asked if she would always find him outside her door.

He cleared his throat. “It only seems that way, my lady, for I have the same needs as any other living being.”

She lowered her gaze to the platter. Though she had considerable practice at schooling her face to reflect only those emotions she wished it to reflect, she was finding it more difficult to achieve at Wulfen. In the muscles of her face and eyes—even in the wish of her fingers to knot into fists—she could feel the twitch of feelings best kept hidden. Assuring herself that once she recovered from this nasty bout of what Everard Wulfrith called “swooning and sickening,” she would be herself again, she mulled the knight’s words. When did he see to his needs? While she slept? More, was there another who relieved him during that time?