The Longing (31 page)

When Sir Rowan halted at the center of the chamber, she drew alongside him and was twice over glad that she had taken extra care with her appearance, for she felt Abel Wulfrith’s scrutiny and there was comfort in knowing she presented far better in bliaut and veil than tunic and chausses.

“Lady Susanna.” He halted before them. “My brother will join us shortly. Until then…” He looked to the large table where she was to join them for supper, an invitation with which she was even less comfortable in the absence of Everard.

“I will leave you now,” Sir Rowan said and, before she could form a protest that would not sound fearful or childish, he had turned toward the curtained entrance.

“My lady?”

She returned her gaze to Sir Abel and saw he offered the crook of his arm. Pulse quickening, she glanced from it to his face, back to his arm.

Stop this, Susanna. You have not lived eleven years beneath your brother’s and his men’s cruelty to now be fearful of a Wulfrith.

No sooner had she chastised herself than she almost laughed, for the Wulfriths’ reputation was hardly founded upon harmlessness. There was far more reason to fear one of their family than a man like Alan de Balliol—

Nay, she did not think that was true, for if all the Wulfriths were as Everard, they did not prey upon women, the young, the weak, or the old. If one feared them, that fear would surely be warranted.

“Were my wife present,” Sir Abel said, “she would assure you that though my teeth are sharp, I do not bite ladies.”

Seeing the twinkle in his eyes, Susanna allowed herself a smile. “Of course you do not,” she said and set her hand upon his arm.

He led her to the chair to the left of the one where Everard would be seated at the head of the table. Once she was settled, a platter and goblet before her, he strode to the opposite side and lowered into the chair across from her.

“I am glad we have this time alone before my brother arrives,” he said.

Feeling her smile waver, she tightened it. “Oh?”

“He has told me your tale and his part in it, and the reason you and your nephew were granted sanctuary at Wulfen.”

“For which we are grateful, and I assure you, we will not remain longer than necessary. As soon as the queen summons—”

He raised a hand. “I do not look for assurances, my lady. I trust my brother’s judgment and am certain he did the right thing.”

She frowned. “Then?”

“To put it more lightly than I should—and I hope it will not cause you too much discomfort—I am delighted to make the acquaintance of the one who, ‘twould seem, has wrought welcome change in my brother.”

Susanna struggled to hold his gaze, but as when she had braved her brother’s lest he find the lie in her—and there had often been a lie—she did not look away. “That is kind of you to say, Sir Abel, but I fear you credit me with what I do not deserve.”

“I do not believe that.” He leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. “But there is work to be done, hmm? He is still much too serious.” He winked, but not in any way lascivious as she had become accustomed to at Cheverel. This was mischievous, and it loosened something inside her.

Surprised by laughter, she caught her breath and pressed her lips together to prevent more from escaping.

“There,” he said. “’Tis good to know you are not naturally serious yourself, my lady. But then, neither is Everard, for he was not always as he is now.” He put his head to the side. “But I need not tell you that.”

Despite the discomfort of knowing Everard had revealed the part she had played in his past, she said, “I remember.” Everard had been of a more serious bent than some, but he could also be light of mouth, not only with smiles and laughter but words that had teased and cajoled and drawn her to him—just as they had drawn Judith.

“As told,” Sir Abel said, “more work to be done.”

And he seemed to believe it fell to her. “As also told, you overestimate my influence.”

She thought he might gainsay her again, but he said, “I hope I do not,” and moved the conversation in a different direction. “I observed your nephew late this afternoon while he tilted at the quintain—fairly impressive for one his age, though he certainly looks older than ten.”

“He has always been of a good size. Though it means he is mistaken for being several years older and, thus, more is expected of him, methinks it better in a world such as ours to be large rather than small.”

He nodded. “Certes, size has always served the Wulfriths well.”

A moment later, the sweep of the curtain let in more of the din of the hall, announcing the arrival of another.

 Susanna sat straighter, looked over her shoulder, and warmed when Everard’s eyes shifted from his brother to her and a half smile drew up his mouth.

“I am glad you have joined us, Lady Susanna,” he said as he pulled out his chair and lowered into it.

Yet another way he was trying to make things better for her. “As am I.” Despite her initial unease, it was true. Though she knew better than to like anyone of such short acquaintance—that it created a false sense of trust—she liked his brother and that he genuinely seemed to care about Everard’s wellbeing. Not even when she had been in Alan’s good graces and he had, on rare occasion, spared her a kind word or tolerant smile, had she felt loved. And, obviously, neither had he when she had betrayed him with her silence.

With good cause,
she reminded herself of how he had treated his first wives, as well as Judith previous to learning she carried his child.

“I trust Abel has not revealed all our family’s secrets,” Everard said.

Sir Abel chuckled. “I assure you, I revealed only those that might embarrass you.”

Though Everard’s smile seemed genuine, there was a flicker of something else, perhaps sorrow or regret. “I am sure,” he said.

The arrival of Squire Werner bearing a jug and basin, followed by John Wulfrith who had a towel draped over one arm, put an end to the conversation.

In silence, Susanna, Everard, and Sir Abel submitted to the squire who poured water from the jug over their hands into the basin, then John who came behind and dried their hands, all the while struggling to keep a grin from his face. Soon, both withdrew.

However, before talk could resume, the squire returned carrying a pitcher and a cup. He set the latter in front of Susanna and, as she raised it to her lips as had become habit before meals, she ignored Abel Wulfrith’s curious regard and sipped the draught as the squire filled the three goblets with wine.

Once again, he disappeared and quickly reappeared, this time accompanied by Judas, both bearing platters of viands.

Had Susanna not seen her nephew earlier in the day, she feared she would have been too joyous to remain seated and would have embarrassed him.

His eyes met hers, he smiled slightly, and then he averted his gaze as if for fear of being distracted.

Squire Werner came alongside Susanna, balanced the platter on one arm, hesitated, then set a small trencher in front of her. “Boar soup, my lady,” he said and moved to his lord’s side to serve him.

Judas did not announce the items on the platter but set it between Susanna, Everard, and Sir Abel within reach of all. Upon it were slices of yellow and white cheese, pots of butter, thick slices of bread formed of alternating layers of wheat and rye, and a silver saltcellar that held precious, flavor-enhancing granules.

That last Susanna missed less and less these past weeks as she adjusted to the fare provided by the cook. Though she did not believe salt bore much, if any, blame for the state of her stomach, she determined she would not yield to its temptation, for she was growing fond of a stomach that did not roil or burn or retch up its acidic contents. Too, now that she was able to hold down greater amounts of food, she was not as prone to lightheadedness when rising to her feet, and though she knew she was yet too thin, she did not think she looked as gaunt. As Everard had noted, Wulfen
had
been good for her.

“I shall bless the meal now,” a voice spoke between her and Everard, and she looked up to find that, while she had been lost in thought, a stout man clothed as a priest had entered the solar. And Judas had slipped away. “Let us pray,” he said and bowed his head with its short, dark hair woven through with silver.

As Susanna lowered her chin, she marveled that Wulfen had its own priest, and marveled again that it should surprise her. But then, it was years since a priest had blessed any meal of which she had partaken.

After giving thanks for the bounty, the man of middle years said, “Amen,” nodded at each of them, and turned away.

“Something is amiss, Lady Susanna?” Sir Abel asked when the priest was gone.

Feeling her frown, she cleared it. “I am sorry to admit it,” she said as she watched him sink his spoon into his soup, “but I was taken aback to see a priest at Wulfen and, no less, for the blessing of the meal.”

He raised his eyebrows. “We even have a sizable chapel. Surely you do not think us ungodly, my lady?”

“Ah, nay! ’Tis just that…” She glanced at Everard and saw he watched her. Wishing she had guarded her words, telling herself here was another reason to slowly warm to a new acquaintance, she searched for a way around the discomfiting truth that, following Judith’s death, Alan had refused the local priest admittance to the manor house.

“Just that…?” Sir Abel prompted.

She shrugged. “I suppose one thinks of Wulfen Castle as a place dedicated to the intense training of knights who will more readily lay hands to arms for the shedding of blood than lay hands to prayer.” It was a feeble explanation, and when she ventured another glance at Everard, his eyes told he knew there was more to it.

“So Wulfen is,” Sir Abel said, “but all the more reason for faith to come alongside our charges.”

Susanna inclined her head. “I am glad ’tis part of the training received here.” Hoping that was the end of the conversation, she took up her spoon.

“It is not part of the training,” Everard said. “Though our young men are required to attend mass each morning and show respect at the blessing of meals, we do not
train
them in faith. That is left for those destined to lives of prayer. Rather, we encourage them to avail themselves of the guidance of the priest and the comfort of the chapel as they deem necessary. And, by example, we reveal the place faith holds in the lives of those who wield arms to protect all who depend upon us to keep them safe—including those who pray.”

“I see,” Susanna said. “I apologize if I have offended.”

He smiled wryly. “You have not. I but wished to clarify Wulfen’s role in the lives of those with whom we are entrusted.”

Sir Abel cleared his throat, nodded at his brother. “As told, my lady, much too serious.”

Everard glowered. “I have the feeling I would not like what was said of me in my absence.”

“That is a feeling you ought to attend to.” Sir Abel grinned, scooped up a spoonful of soup, and slid it in his mouth.

As Susanna dipped into her own bowl, she reflected that she liked the easy exchange between the brothers—more, the tone of affection, disguised in derision though it often was.

“What was that?” Sir Abel exclaimed.

She looked up, saw him grimace.

“What?” Everard said.

“Whatever I just swallowed.” He stuck his spoon back in the soup, pushed it around. “Have we a different cook? If so, I wonder that any of you are well enough nourished to lift a sword.”

Only then did Susanna become aware of the scent of sage and sweet basil—more, of pepper so potent it tickled her nose. Recalling Squire Werner’s hesitation before serving her soup, she pulled her spoon from the bowl and said, “I fear there has been a mistake, Sir Abel, that you were given my soup.”

He looked from her to Everard and back. “Truly?”

“Aye, my meals are prepared with few, if any, spices, which is why you find the soup so bland.”

“You do not like spices?”

“I do, but as they unsettle my stomach, Lord Wulfrith was kind enough to ask your cook to omit them from my meals.”

Once more, he looked between her and Everard, then said, “Very considerate of my brother, especially as it could not have been an easy thing to ask of Cook.” He leaned forward. “The man is a bit of a tyrant. One has to be quite ill for him to accommodate requests for specially prepared food.” He glanced at Everard who scowled, then reached his bowl across the table.

Susanna took it and passed her bowl to him.

During the remainder of the meal, most of the conversation was spent upon the business of Wulfen as Everard informed his brother of the measures taken to tighten the stronghold’s defenses and updated him on training programs and the progress of particular squires.

To Susanna’s surprise, she found it interesting. To her chagrin, her rapt interest became a source of amusement for Sir Abel who made a habit of suddenly smiling at her or raising his eyebrows.

She was pleased that when Squire Werner returned to refill their goblets, nothing was said about the mishap with the soup. And he redeemed himself near meal’s end when he came bearing fragrant roast apples garnished with rosemary and sorrel, the latter absent from the apples he set before her.

A quarter hour later, as the din from the great hall rose, evidencing meal’s end, Squire Werner once more entered with Judas and collected the dishes, leaving only the wine-filled goblets.

When Susanna’s nephew passed by, she caught his eye, and he slipped her a smile before following the squire from the solar.

“And now, as promised”—Sir Abel retrieved his goblet and stood—“I shall join my son for the after dinner activities. I thank you for the company, Lady Susanna.”

She nodded. “I enjoyed your company as well, Sir Abel.”

He stepped to Everard’s side and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “We will talk more on the morrow,” he said and strode across the solar.

Susanna peered over her shoulder and, when he pushed aside the curtains and went from sight, looked around. “May I ask…?” Was it trespassing too far?

“You may,” Everard said.

“Is your brother’s limp permanent?”