The Longing (2 page)

Judas forced a smile that she wished he felt down to his heart. “We stay the course,” he said and slipped off the chair arm and crossed to the hearth before which they had sat throughout the endless hours of moaning, screeching, sobbing, and cursing.

He had only just added another log to the fire when the tap-tap-tapping of hard-soled shoes sounded from the stairs.

He straightened and turned as Susanna pushed up out of the chair, both knowing to whom those footsteps belonged.

Lady Richenda bounded into the gravely silent hall, her round face uncommonly radiant. Locating her audience that did not include the servants who paused amid their duties to receive news that was already well known, she took quick, short steps to the hearth and halted before Susanna.

“
I
have a grandson—a large, lusty boy!” Though her smile did not seem capable of further breadth, it defied its limits when she shifted her gaze to the boy beyond Susanna. “Not a sickly bone in his body. Did you not hear those lungs of his?”

They were not merely prideful words, and it was only years of discipline that allowed Susanna to maintain a passive expression despite the distaste that sought to bare her teeth. Hopefully, neither did Judas give the woman satisfaction.

“Congratulations, my lady,” Susanna said, ever grateful it was she who looked down upon the other woman whose thick, compact figure placed the top of her head beneath Susanna’s nose. “And your daughter? How does she fare?”

With a frown that likely meant Judas had not responded as hoped, Lady Richenda said, “As only a daughter of mine could. Soon she shall be back on her feet and ready to resume her duties as lady of Cheverel and, now, mother to the son of Baron Alan de Balliol.”

Whose death made him baron no more.

Susanna inclined her head. “I am glad to hear it.” And she was, for she had grown cautiously fond of Lady Blanche during the woman’s first year of marriage to Alan. But then Lady Richenda had come to live with them and the influence she exercised over her daughter had changed everything, and only one thing for the better. Alan, who had begun to treat his new wife poorly following their first year of marriage when she had not grown round with child, had become almost genial toward Blanche. All that could be concluded was that he feared Lady Richenda.

“By what name is my brother called?” Judas asked, and Susanna briefly closed her eyes.

The lady’s laughter bounced. “Why, he bears the name of Alan.” She raised her eyebrows. “He
is
his father’s son.”

Susanna drove her fingernails into her palms to contain the longing to scratch out the woman’s eyes, certain this last barb had gone especially deep beneath Judas’s skin. “My brother would be pleased,” she said, and it was true, for had he lived, he would surely have gifted his name to the second son long denied him.

Done with the conversation, Susanna said, “I pray you will give our good wishes to your daughter and tell her we look forward to welcoming our new nephew and brother.” She turned up her lips, reached forward, and set a hand upon Lady Richenda’s arm, a gesture sure to send her back the way she had come.

The breath the woman sucked between her teeth almost whistled. “That I shall,” she said and glanced one last time at Judas before turning on her heel.

When she disappeared up the stairs, Susanna allowed her shoulders to lower, then her chin. “I am sorry, Judas. I wish…”

She heard his feet stir the floor rushes and sighed when his arms came around her waist. There had been a time when such expressions of solace and affection were not far and few between, but he had begun to leave them behind, and more determinedly these past months. He had known, as she did, that if Alan de Balliol fathered a second son, the balance of life would be further tipped in a direction that was already too precarious.

Glad her belly was empty, she drew a shuddering breath. “Ah, Judas, I wish—”

“’Tis not for us to wish, but to do,” he repeated her words with which they had become self-reliant over the years, then he lowered his head between her shoulder blades.

Susanna wrapped her arms over his, this son of her heart if not her body, and murmured, “So now we keep watch, Judas mine.” Feeling his nod, she added, “And we pray.”

“Why?” he said so softly that, had she not anticipated the question, it might have been mistaken for a whisper of air come through the window.

“He listens,” she reminded him as she found herself doing more often, “even if He does not yet answer as we wish Him to. Believe it, Judas.”

“’Tis not easy. I…”

When it seemed his hesitation would know no end, she turned in his arms and lifted his chin. “Tell me.”

His lids were lowered, lashes brushing the dark smudges beneath his eyes. Finally, he looked up. “Sometimes I would rather believe He did not listen. Do you not think His silence would be easier to understand, Aunt Sanna?”

She felt a pang in her heart. Often, she had thought it would be better if the Lord did not know what went here below, especially in her younger years before she realized the great number of prayers answered as she had wished them to be. The infant given into her care had thrived despite the loss of his mother, his early childhood illnesses had not proved fatal, that with which he had later been afflicted was now mostly under control, Alan had not sent him away or disowned him, and always—no matter what it cost her—she obtained what they needed to move from one day into the next.

Acknowledgment of that last caused shame to warm her. And for it, she nearly always began or ended her prayers with,
Even if my sins are too great for You to bless me, Lord, I beseech You to bless Your beloved Judas.

“Do you not think it?” her nephew pressed.

“I have thought it,” she admitted, “but ever I remind myself of the prayers that have been answered, which gives me hope that the greatest of these will one day find favor with the Lord.” She kissed his brow. “Do not cease praying, Judas, for your prayers strengthen mine.” And were surely more pleasing to the Lord than her own.

CHAPTER TWO

Susanna would not like it. She said it was for her to steal about and listen in on conversations not meant for their ears, but she had not seen what he had seen, and it might be too late to learn the meaning of it if he wasted time seeking out his aunt. More, he was no longer a child. He was heir to Cheverel, and though he had yet to be formally acknowledged and appointed a protector to aid in the administration of the demesne, he was determined to sample as much of his new position as possible.

Convinced it was his right to know, firsthand, the workings of his household, he drew back from the window through which he had seen Lady Richenda pass a missive to one of their men-at-arms who had immediately spurred away from the manor house. Shortly, she reentered the hall and cast her gaze about, but she did not see him where he had retreated into an alcove that had served him well for years.

With a square-edged smile that bespoke satisfaction, she bustled forward and up the stairs.

Judas followed. Measuring his footfalls to avoid the creaks in the steps he had learned to stay clear of long ago, he ascended to the first landing and peered down the right-hand side of the corridor in time to see the door of his stepmother’s chamber close—not quite all the way.

Moments later, he stood alongside the door opposite the crack that allowed a glimpse within, that small slice revealing Lady Blanche in a chair near the window, a bundle in the crook of her arm.

“I have done it!” Lady Richenda’s voice was more tempered than usual, likely in deference to her grandson.

“Done what, Mother?” Her daughter sounded nearly as fatigued as she had three weeks past when Judas had been summoned to her chamber and she had drawn back the blanket to reveal his brother’s face—one he had rarely seen since, as if she feared he would do the babe harm.

“I have done what we spoke of yesterday and the day before and the week before,” Lady Richenda said.

Silence fell, and Judas wondered what passed between the two women that should cause neither to speak. Had he made a sound? Did they suspect someone listened at the door?

Much to his disgust, his heart that was already causing a terrible commotion in his chest, beat harder.

Then, blessedly, the conversation resumed. “I wish that you had waited, Mother. I am not yet myself, and I do not know when I shall be. My thoughts are ever escaping and I am so tired. And, Lord help me, I do not understand why I feel such terrible sorrow.”

“Need I remind you that your husband is dead? And, for the moment, your son is but a spare?”

For the moment…

Sharp laughter sounded from the younger woman. “That first is not so bad, and sometimes I think the second—”

“’Tis not for you to think, and most certainly not while you are in such a state!”

A shrill gasp sounded. “Mayhap I would not be in such a state if you allowed me a wet nurse! God’s mercy, this child drains me!”

And that child began to fuss.

“See what you have done!” The robust Lady Richenda appeared in the crack and, when she disappeared, the bundle was gone from Lady Blanche’s arms.

There was nothing more to be learned over the next minutes as Lady Richenda paced back and forth and crooned in a voice so raspy and coarse Judas was surprised that the infant calmed.

“I want a wet nurse,” Lady Blanche restated.

“Our Alan is too important to be given into the hands of another, but once his future is secure and all threats to his wellbeing are removed, you shall have your help.”

Lady Blanche groaned. “Do you truly believe the queen will grant us an audience?”

Guessing she spoke of the missive just sent, Judas steeled himself for what was to come—that for which he and Susanna had kept watch.

“I have placed all my hope in it being granted,” Lady Richenda said. “We must pray it is.”

Pray!
Judas nearly spat. If her prayers were answered as she wished, then it would be hard to believe her God was the same as his, even though the priest told that one should not question the workings of the Lord.

“Still,” Lady Blanche said, “what if she does not reject Judas’s claim to Cheverel in favor of my son’s?”

There it was, the only surprise being that it was so soon set in motion.

“Though my husband snarled and spat that he could not have beget a child such as that one, never did he outright disavow him. Never did he set the words to parchment.”

Judas looked down. Though he knew what his father had believed of him and had felt his sire’s disgust on those occasions when others bore witness to his son’s gasping and wheezing and writhing, it still pricked in those places that Judas had yet to harden.

“God’s teeth!” Lady Richenda erupted, setting the babe to crying. “If your husband had but waited a month to die! A month!”

“As he did not, Mother, what do we do if the queen determines there is naught to prove Judas is misbegotten?”

The tap-tap-tapping of the older woman’s feet that not even the rushes could quiet told Judas she was pacing again, doubtless trying to resettle the babe. “Lady Susanna,” she said. “I am certain she knows the truth, just as her brother believed.”

Does she?
Judas wondered. She owned that she did not, assured him she was certain he was born of Alan de Balliol, but—

“If she could be made to talk,” Lady Richenda mused.

“You know she will not. She loves the boy.”

“Fool that she is,” Lady Richenda muttered, then laughed. “Of course, now that you are delivered of a son, the best solution to that whelp’s claim to Cheverel is for him not to arise from one of his attacks.”

Judas jerked. She wished him dead?
That
he was not prepared for, and it shook him so deeply he felt a constriction about his chest—of the sort that could leave him gasping and flopping like a fish tossed to shore.

Breathe!
he silently commanded.
In through the nose. In. Hold. Out through the mouth. Out. Slowly.

“Unfortunately,” she continued, “I have seen fewer of his attacks this past year. And when he is taken with them, always his aunt is there to coax the breath back into him. If it could be arranged—”

“Cease!” Lady Blanche lurched out of the chair, disappearing from view. “God preserve me! There is something very wrong with you, Mother.”

As her protest sank in, the dots before Judas’s eyes danced away and he drew a slow breath of sweet air. However, his throat stoppered when a sharp crack of flesh on flesh sounded, followed by a cry far different from the infant’s.

“Do you or do you not want Cheverel for your son?” Lady Richenda demanded.

A whimper sounded that made Judas reach for the door handle. However, reason prevailed before he could reveal himself. Curling his fingers into his palm, he lowered his hand. As much as he longed to act the lord of Cheverel and aid his stepmother, his interference would not be tolerated. Not yet.

“Hear me well,” Lady Richenda said. “You will do what is required to secure your son’s future, your future, and mine. Do you understand?”

Lady Blanche cried out again.

Feeling very much his ten years and hating the way they wore upon him, Judas pressed his arms tight against his sides and stepped back from the door
.

“Do you understand, Blanche?”

“I understand! Do not! Pray, stop!”

Unmindful of the temperamental floorboards, Judas backed away. Blessedly, whatever sound his feet stirred up was surely masked by the increasingly unhappy babe. More blessedly, he had not the voice to yelp when a hand closed around his arm.

He swung around to face his aunt where she stood on the landing. Eyes wide with urgency, a finger to her lips, she shook her head.

He allowed her to guide him down the stairs. And the rest of it—the walk from the manor house to the bank of the river where she urged him to sit against an ancient oak—was as if seen through a haze.

When he finally lifted his head from her shoulder, she cupped his cheek and smiled sadly, “Judas mine, I wish that you had not listened in.”