The Longing (15 page)

Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I am sorry.”

“For what, my lady?”

“That you, a knight, are made to watch over me as if you are a nursemaid.”

He gave a short laugh that held no taint of bitterness that might have been of use to her. “There was a time I would have minded performing such a service—even been offended—but I am mostly content, for my days are winding down.”

“What say you?”

“As you can see…” He peered down his seated figure. “…my youth is long gone, as is my middle age. Thus, providing I can yet be useful to my lord, my pride is best set aside.”

“You do not look to be of a great age,” Susanna said, and it was true.

He chuckled. “You flatter me, my lady.”

That was true as well. She dipped her spoon in the trencher, took a bite, and sighed.

“’Tis not to your liking, my lady?”

“It does not taste bad. It just has little taste. ‘Twould seem Wulfen’s cook is not…”
Do not offend, Susanna.
“Well, he is not very generous with his spices.”

The knight peered nearer upon her meal. “I do not find his offerings lacking. Indeed, I would say he is openhanded with spices as befitting those for whom he cooks.”

Is it me, then? Has something dulled my sense of taste?

She started to suggest he sample her meal, but caught the sound of someone ascending the stairs. Hoping Everard Wulfrith brought word of Judas, she swept her gaze across the chamber as Sir Rowan rose from the stool.

The doorway was filled by the man she had hoped for. Garbed in what appeared to be a fresh tunic though it was the middling of day and there were surely more hours of training ahead, he looked from Susanna to the knight. “What goes, Sir Rowan?”

She bristled at the suspicion in his voice. Not that he did not have reason to suspect something was afoot…

“My lord, I but keep the lady company whilst she partakes of her meal.”

“As I asked him to do,” she said. “I did not think you would mind.”

Everard Wulfrith stared at her.

“The lady and I were discussing spices,” Sir Rowan said. “She does not think Wulfen’s cook is generous enough with them, and I argued to the contrary.”

Inwardly, Susanna cringed. She was fairly certain Sir Rowan meant well, but it made her sound ungrateful.

“Lady Susanna is correct.” Everard Wulfrith stepped into the chamber. “Where
her
food is concerned.”

Understanding dawned upon Susanna, but Sir Rowan more quickly voiced his own. “Ah, the draught.”

His lord halted alongside him. “I would speak with the lady alone.”

“Aye, my lord.” Moments later, the knight closed the door behind him.

Everard Wulfrith came the rest of the way, so near that Susanna had to put her head back to hold his gaze. As he looked down upon her, she wished she had done something more with her hair than comb her fingers through it. Rather than leave it loose and limp about her shoulders, she should have, at least, donned a veil.

“My apologies if the viands are not to your liking,” he said. “However, in consideration of the stomach difficulties from which you said you suffered, Cook was instructed to omit spices from your food.”

As much as she longed to retreat behind her lids and gather herself back into the one person who required but one thing of him, she braved his disapproving gaze and wondered how she could dislike a man who had not only wronged her more than she had ever wronged him but now imprisoned her, and not dislike him at all when he showed so much consideration. And this was no small thing, for the cook had too many mouths to feed to spend time altering food for one person. It could not sit well with him.

Fearing tears, she determined she would get the apology out of the way and move on to a subject nearer her heart. “Forgive me if I seem ungrateful, Lord Wulfrith. I am not. Though ashamed to admit it, I am but slow-witted.” She drew a deep breath. “Tell me, how fares my nephew?”

“He shows potential, but there is much work to do whilst he remains at Wulfen.”

“Oh.” She was surprised, for Sir George and Sir Elias had told her that her nephew made good progress, especially for one of so few years.

“Eat, Lady Susanna.”

Again! She looked to her hand that hovered alongside the spoon she had not realized she had released, took it up again, and slipped a spoonful of bland meat and vegetables into her mouth.

Everard Wulfrith pivoted and strode to the stool Sir Rowan had left behind. He seated himself, put one foot on the bottom rung, the other on the floor.

“Judas has no specific strength as I can yet discern,” he said, “though it was reported to me that throughout much of his run in the wood this morn—”

“Run?” Susanna recalled her nephew’s younger years when he had most easily succumbed to breathing attacks while overexerting himself with too much stretching of the legs. “What has that to do with a knight’s training?”

Annoyance gathered Everard Wulfrith’s eyebrows. “’Tis foundation, Lady Susanna. Thus, it has everything to do with a knight’s training.” He dropped his gaze to the trencher and did not continue speaking until, once again, she slid the spoon in her mouth. “Though your nephew gained ground on nearly all the other pages and passed a good number of squires, he could not maintain his pace and was among the last to come in.”

Had he lost his breath? Certainly not to Everard Wulfrith’s knowledge. Perhaps Judas had felt an impending attack and eased back. Or, as suggested, he had been unable to maintain his speed.

“You cannot take another bite until you swallow that one, Lady Susanna.”

Feeling her face warm, she swallowed and snapped, “I am not a child.”

He did not gainsay her, but neither did he apologize. “The good of it,” he continued, “is that he has determination and the desire to prove himself. The bad of it—”

“Bad?”

“I knew him to be forceful, disrespectful even, but last eve he attacked an older boy.”

The spoon dropped from Susanna’s fingers into the stew, causing flecks of gravy to dot her hands. “What?”

“It surprises you?”

“Of course. Judas can be roused, but he is mostly a gentle soul. Is he well?”

“He is. ’Tis the squire who will feel that encounter for some days to come.”

Susanna shook her head. “I cannot believe he would attack another. Though, perhaps, if greatly provoked…”

“There was that. The squire took offense at your nephew’s skulking about and Sir Elias’s hovering. I believe it was disparagement of Judas’s name that pushed him to strike the young man.”

Now
she understood—or nearly so, for Judas had always controlled himself when a drunken Alan or one of his men entertained themselves with such taunting. Now it was happening again.

Somehow, Susanna remembered to lift the platter from her lap before standing. Without a care for the din, she all but dropped it on the tray, then whipped around to face the man who sat unmoving. “This is your Wulfen training?” She stepped her feet wider to counter the sway in her legs. “These are the sort of young men you train up to be England’s
finest
knights?”

He inclined his head. “They are. And they can greatly offend. Wulfen is not merely for well-heeled young nobles, Lady Susanna. Indeed, its training is of greatest benefits to those who are rough, even raw. Whenever possible, and it is usually possible, we reshape them into worthy young men.”

“I see naught worthy in one who belittles another for a name not of his choosing!”

“The matter has been dealt with, and both are contrite—”

“Both?” She took a step nearer him. “For what has Judas to be contrite?”

His mouth tightened. “For loss of self control. For fouling my hall with behavior unbecoming of a knight in training.”

Susanna’s hands hurt, the fists at her sides so tight she only then realized that she, herself, was losing control. And she must not.

She released her breath, turned, and dropped to the edge of the mattress. “I beg your forgiveness, Lord Wulfrith.” She stared at her hands as she forced them open, then she pressed her palms together between her knees. “I cannot help being protective of Judas. He has endured much.”

“For this—”

“For this,” she muttered. “Aye, I know. For this, women are not allowed at Wulfen.”

And that, Susanna. Why do you insist on beleaguering him? There has to be an end to his patience, and you do not want to be standing near when he comes to it.

She lifted her head and only then realized how close she was to him, that she had but to reach to the side to touch his knee. Not that she wished to.

Pushing her shoulders back, she met his eyes that were ever too watchful. “The only explanation I can offer for Judas’s loss of self control—the only one I can think of—is that he must feel safe here. Ever before, he suffered such slights from those with authority over him. Men.”

“I am aggrieved to hear that, though not surprised. As told, Wulfen is of good benefit to those who lack proper upbringing.”

“I did not say he—” This time, she stopped herself from defending Judas, and not only because she did not wish to test Everard Wulfrith.

Noting his raised eyebrows, she sighed. “You are right. His was not a proper upbringing.” Though she had tried.

After a long moment, he said, “There is a matter of greater import we must discuss, that which brought me to your chamber.”

Susanna’s heart lurched. “Aye?”

“I had expected that if Cheverel’s knights were to pause at Wulfen to inquire after Judas and you, they would have done so before now, but this morn they rode upon the training field outside the walls.”

Her throat nearly closed up. “Did they see Judas?”

“They did not. Sir Elias was quick to deliver him back inside the walls.”

Relief nearly bent her over. “What did they say?”

“Quite the tale—that Sir Elias abducted you and your nephew.”

Fingers starting to curl inward again, she squeezed her palms flat between her knees.
Dear Lord, do not let that knight pay a high price for aiding Judas and me.

“As I am sure you understand, Lady Susanna, there is much to be read into such an accusation, and none of it bodes well—for any of you.”

What he spoke was true. It was not just Sir Elias for whom such a tale could prove dire. And she should not be surprised, for Lady Richenda had already shown she was not above seeking Judas’s death.

Feeling suddenly cold though the heat of a brazier had not been necessary to keep the chill from her this day, she asked, “Was it Sir Talbot who led them?”

“It was. They were six strong, among them a Sir Morris.”

Again, she should not be surprised, and yet the name made her shudder and took the straight right out of her back. Where she bent forward, she distantly heard the creak of the stool, felt the brush of a leg against hers.

“My lady?”

“I am fine.” She shuddered again. “Pray, give me a moment.”

The mattress gave on one side of her, then the coverlet was drawn around her shoulders.

Sir Morris. That scourge upon the earth. He who had not only come the nearest to ravishing her but had so forcefully engaged Judas at swords that it had been beyond believable that her nephew had nearly lost his breath to such an extent he might have died.

Hands gripped her shoulders, large and warm through the coverlet. “Susanna?”

It was not only the concern in that most welcome voice that brought her back to him but that he had eschewed her title. Raising her chin, she found Everard Wulfrith’s face before hers where he had lowered to his haunches.

She swallowed hard. “I vow I shall not swoon again. I will not.”

Did he wince?

“’Tis obvious this Sir Morris is dangerous,” he said, “but to what degree? What do I not know?”

Seeing no reason to elaborate on the sins of only one, Susanna said, “They are all dangerous. Wh-what did you tell Sir Talbot?”

The concern upon his face was displaced by a frown but, blessedly, he left that most vile knight in the mud where he belonged. “It could be said I lied, for I told I had no report of a knight traveling with a lady and boy.”

“Do you think you were believed?”

“I do, though the truth of it depends on whether or not your brother ever revealed to his men the name of the one whom he believed cuckolded him.”

“I never heard evidence of it. Indeed, he could not bear…”

“What?”

She dragged a hand from between her knees, gripped the pendant beneath her bodice. “Your name was not to be spoken—ever.” To attest to that, she had a small scar upon her right cheek from where her brother’s ring had sliced her the one time she had forgotten. Hence, she had been surprised to learn Alan had revealed the Wulfrith name to Judas. But then, during those last few months of his life, he had been happily drunk, as opposed to unhappily drunk, relishing that soon he would replace the son he denied.

“That is good,” Everard Wulfrith said. “Now tell what else I need to know, Susanna.”

Still he eschewed her title, and though she knew she had no right to a flutter of pleasure, it made itself felt—right there, beneath her hand that held tight to a reminder of him. “What else?” she whispered.

She could not be certain, but she thought he growled. “I speak of what you and Judas are not telling me. There is more, and I would hear it.”

There were only two things she consciously withheld from him, and what did it matter that one attempt on Judas’s life had already been made? What did it matter that it was not she who had revealed the kiss in the garden? Sir Talbot’s lie that Sir Elias had abducted Judas and her was evidence enough of the mortal danger Judas faced. And she was surely too much maligned by what Everard Wulfrith had witnessed between Sir Elias and her in the corridor for him to believe that Judith and he were responsible for their downfall.

“You are right,” she allowed, “there is more, but naught that changes what we require of you.”

This time she was certain he growled—just a moment before he closed his eyes and dropped his chin.

Susanna stared at the multitude of short, dark blond hairs that bristled his scalp. If there had been any doubt Everard Wulfrith was no longer capable of growing a full head of hair, there was none now. Indeed, if he did not soon take a sharp blade to it, he would not much longer present as bald-pated.