The Longing (18 page)

Realizing he awaited a response, she cleared her throat. “You thought I would?”

“I know not what to think of you, Susanna de Balliol. I know only that there is a woman within my walls who should not be here and hope you do not make me regret it any more than already I have.” He dipped his head. “Good day.”

The door closed behind him, then came the murmur of voices, followed by descending footsteps.

Though Susanna rarely spent prayers upon herself, holding them in reserve for Judas, she dropped her head back and whispered, “Lord, help me be content to remain here in this room that I might not give Everard Wulfrith more cause to regret my presence. Give me peace over Judas, alongside strength. Amen.”

She reached to her neck, caught hold of the chain, and pulled the pendant from her bodice. The small, egg-shaped cage was formed from tightly woven silver wire, though not so tight that the scent of crushed rose petals could not be perceived.

“I know whence you came,” she whispered. “I know where you belong.”

Near the base of the stairs and out of sight of Sir Rowan, Everard paused in the dim light and ran his mind’s eye over what had transpired in the tower room. Though deeply unsettled when Lady Susanna had noted the absence of what had not graced his dagger’s hilt for eleven years, in truth, he had been unsettled before then. And he did not understand the reason.

He felt no attraction for her—could not possibly—and yet something about her had moved something within him. Just as strange, the movement had not been unfamiliar. It was as if felt before, though certainly he had never acknowledged it.

As he had looked upon her, almost lovely in her crisp gown, veil falling about a face softly framed by tresses that shone as if having been combed and combed again, he had not seen the girl he had known but the woman who did not wish herself to be known. Though still she could not be said to look well, the gaunt edges of her face had softened, there had been an occasional glimmer in her eyes, and lips whose natural state seemed to be compressed, had begun to curve. Thus, it was not only interest in the chess game that had often caused him to look away from her. It was this…

What, Everard Wulfrith?

He did not know. All he was certain of was that it should not be and it distracted him from more important things.

Hearing his teeth grind, he shifted his jaw to ease its ache. Then he retrieved the torch he had earlier set in a wall sconce, bent, and worked the catch. With a soft click, the hidden door swung inward.

He stepped onto the narrow stairway built into the donjon’s walls, reseated the door, and began his descent.

This day, two more worthy young men would go forth to defend family, people, lands, and country.
That
was what his thoughts were best spent upon, not the missing gem, and certainly not Lady Susanna.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was a peculiar feeling—as if, in crossing the threshold for the first time since Everard Wulfrith had carried her over it, she ought to stretch her arms and legs like one released from a space so cramped that the only fit for it was to hug knees to chest. Silly, really, but she was tempted.

“The roof access is this way,” Sir Rowan said and turned to the left.

With his back to her, Susanna considered the stone steps to the right. However, there was not much to appraise, for the single torch in its wall sconce did a poor job of casting out shadows. Still, there was comfort in knowing that somewhere below those stairs lay the great hall, and somewhere in the midst of that, Judas could be found during mealtimes and at night when he made his bed there. 

“My lady?”

She lifted her skirts and hurried forward. However, she did not have far to go, for it was not much of a corridor. Halting alongside Sir Rowan, she peered up the ladder fastened to the wall that ascended to a square door in the ceiling.

“I will have to trust you are capable of negotiating it unaided,” he said, “since it would not be fitting for me to climb up after you. Too, the door is of a good weight.”

She nodded. “I require no assistance.”

He stepped forward and, with the creaking of aged bones, scaled the ladder. Several rungs from the top, he worked the bolt free and raised the door whose hinges made little protest as it was laid back upon the roof.

From out of a wispy blue sky, daylight streamed into the corridor and settled warmly over Susanna.

Sir Rowan, having completed his ascent to the roof, knelt beside the opening. “Keep your skirts clear, my lady.”

She hitched them up, tucked the hem into her girdle to prevent the material from catching beneath her feet, and climbed to where the knight gripped her arm and assisted her the remainder of the way.

Once her feet were firm upon the roof and her hem lowered, Susanna was tempted to whirl about. It felt almost forever since she had been out of doors, and to be so on such a beautiful day…

Savoring the view that could not possibly be better from anywhere else—the castle’s beautiful stone walls, the land before it, the wood beyond, and all that sky—she said, “Oh, I have missed this.” She breathed deep. “I do not know how it can be, but the air here is not the same as that which comes through my window.”

Sir Rowan chuckled. “Come, my lady.”

She did not begrudge his hand upon her arm that guided her across the great expanse of roof, the corners of which were all fit with doors like the one Sir Rowan and she had come through—just off center of the tower rooms below.

He drew her between two battlements and said low, “The ceremony has begun.”

Leaning into the embrasure alongside him, Susanna gasped at the sight. Though the center of the wide donjon steps was clear, both sides were lined with Wulfen’s knights-in-training, all crisply garbed. As told by their size, the squires occupied the right-hand side, the pages the left, though there was one among the latter whose height was better suited to the right.

“Judas,” Susanna breathed, “he is there.”

“And, as told, well,” Sir Rowan murmured.

She could not confirm that from this distance, but she had to believe it was so.

“My lord,” a voice rose amid the silence, “I present Squire Joseph Marveaux, most worthy candidate for knighthood.”

Loath to abandon her nephew, though she had but the top and back of his head to look upon, Susanna slid her gaze to the dark-haired knight who stood upon the lowermost step on one side of the blond-headed squire, then to a red-headed knight on the other side. The former held a sword, the latter a shield.

“Come forth, Squire Joseph,” a familiar, resonant voice drew her regard to where the lord of Wulfen and two older men stood on a dais erected before the steps. Everard Wulfrith’s figure and face she could well enough see, and as when he had come before her in the tower room, she was struck by his presence.

“Do you know the symbolism, my lady?” Sir Rowan asked as Squire Joseph approached the dais, followed by the two knights.

“I have never witnessed a knighting ceremony, so I know not.”

“The white vesture worn by Squire Joseph symbolizes purity, the red robe his nobility as well as readiness to be wounded in defense of Church, country, lord, women, children, the poor…”

Susanna smiled. “All that?”

“And more, such as old men like me.” He jutted his chin at the scene below. “Now the sword and shield, both having been blessed by the priest, will be passed to the lord of Wulfen.”

And so they were once all three ascended the dais.

“Who are the men on either side of Lord Wulfrith?” Susanna whispered.

“The squires’ fathers, for it is rare that one’s sire does not attend Wulfen’s knighting ceremony, even if ’tis a second or third son. It is this moment, you see, their minds have bent toward since first they held their infant sons.”

Sorrow swept Susanna, and she looked again at Judas. It would never be so for him. Had Alan lived, even had he secured a place for his son in another lord’s household for training, she did not believe he would have appeared for the momentous occasion. Indeed, following the birth of his second son, knighthood would not likely have figured into Judas’s life, for her brother might well have committed his firstborn to the Church so that he would never again lay eyes upon him.

“Both have traveled a great distance to be here,” Sir Rowan continued, “though others have traveled farther yet—a few from France.”

“France?” Susanna frowned. “Is not Wulfen exclusive to training up warriors to defend England?”

“Mostly, but as our king has vast lands on the continent that must needs be defended—Normandy, Aquitaine, Gascony—exceptions are made.” He returned his gaze to the scene below where Squire Joseph had lowered to his knees before the lord of Wulfen. “Now the Oath of Knighthood, the breaking of which is seen as a crime against God that can lead to eternal damnation.”

The words of Everard Wulfrith and Squire Joseph that resounded around the bailey were comprised of all manner of promises to be kept as the knight ventured through life, including devotion to the Church, loyalty to one’s lord, defending those unable to defend themselves, conducting one’s self honorably, and being charitable.

At last, the oath was spoken and a reverent silence descended that Susanna expected was set aside as a time for prayer—until shattered by the crack of a hand upon Squire Joseph’s cheek.

She gasped, jerked back from the embrasure.

“Forgive me, my lady.” Sir Rowan caught hold of her arm and steadied her. “I should have warned you of what was to come.”

Vaguely aware more words were being spoken below, Susanna said, “You knew Lord Wulfrith would do that? For what? Has he determined Squire Joseph is unworthy to be knighted?”

“Quite the opposite. He is worthy beyond most of those knighted throughout England.”

She shook her head. “I do not understand.”

“The slap represents the crossing of the threshold between boy and man. Though some who conduct the ceremony merely tap the squire upon the shoulder with the flat of a sword, Lord Wulfrith stays true to tradition which is believed to be the best means to impress upon one who is newly knighted the seriousness of his vows.”

It was hard to believe, and yet she knew Sir Rowan would not lie.

“Take heart, my lady, Squire Joseph and Squire Niall, and all those who came before and will follow after, anticipate the dubbing with great longing. Indeed, it is hoped the blow will be sufficiently hard enough to cause swelling and a bruise that proclaims to all the young man’s newly attained status.”

“It seems barbaric.”

Sir Rowan shrugged. “’Tis the way of warriors.”

Susanna leaned into the embrasure again and saw that Squire Joseph—now Sir Joseph—had gained his feet and was being fitted with sword, shield, and spurs. When the two attending knights stepped back, Everard Wulfrith extended something.

“The Wulfrith dagger,” Sir Rowan said, “given to those worthy enough to be knighted here.”

And jeweled, Susanna saw when Sir Joseph turned and held the weapon aloft, inviting sunlight to play among the facets adorning the hilt.

“By many, as highly esteemed as their sword,” said the knight as a cheer rose from the gathering.

Susanna did not have to look near upon it to know that the dagger seen to be missing a gem this day was also a Wulfrith dagger—held in such high regard, and yet for love of Judith, it had been despoiled.

Emotion surging through her, she swallowed convulsively.

The remainder of the ceremony, during which Squire Niall was knighted in the same manner, complete with the resounding slap, passed by in something of a blur. Then, with much revelry, the knights, squires, and pages converged upon the new knights.

Eager for a better view of her nephew, Susanna did not move from the embrasure, and Sir Rowan did not ask her to, as if he understood her need to make this indulgence last as long as possible.

Judas moved to the outskirts of the gathering—alone—but her sorrow over his solitude receded when he turned to watch the others and she saw his face. He appeared alert and interested, and she thought there might even be a curve to his mouth. Too, though his bearing was erect, it was not so stiff as to appear ill at ease.

Everard Wulfrith had said Wulfen had been good for her nephew, and though this was not much proof, it settled her some.

“He looks well,” she murmured.

“He is.”

Susanna sighed. “I suppose now I must return to my chamber.”

“Soon. There is one more thing you must needs see.”

Curious, she swept her gaze over the gathering, and her eyes quickly picked Everard Wulfrith from the press of bodies. As she watched, he made his way through the throng and, shortly, gained her nephew’s side.

 “There,” Sir Rowan murmured, just as Everard Wulfrith raised his gaze up the donjon and settled it on Susanna.

So unexpected was his acknowledgement that she nearly jumped back, as if for fear of having been seen though he had said she might watch.

Next, he bent his head near Judas, and she tensed lest her nephew once more received correction for one of the challenges he presented. However, there seemed nothing morose about the boy’s face when he lifted it, and even across the distance she could see how wide his eyes were when they found her between the battlements. Then he smiled.

She caught her breath, for it was no forced smile, no tolerant smile, no bitter smile. It came much too fast and bright to be mistaken for anything other than genuine, and she wondered when last she had seen him wear such an expression. Too, even from here she could see that the dark smudges beneath his eyes had lessened considerably.

Thank you, Lord!

Heart wonderfully full, she smiled back and raised a hand.

Discreetly, Judas returned the gesture, keeping his arm at his side and bending his hand from the wrist.

“’Tis time you return to your chamber,” Sir Rowan said.

She looked at him where he had stepped back from between the battlements—and realized this was the thing he had said she needed to see. What he had not said and might not even realize, was that Judas needed it as well, even if only to keep him from seeking her abovestairs.