The Longing (38 page)

“I did not say that.”

She turned to fully face him. “Will you not?”

“Certes, it could have been done better, but I understand.” He smiled slightly. “My greatest concern was that Sir Morris might choke on his gag and render himself useless to our cause.”

Our
cause. If how it sounded was how he truly felt—that it was no longer merely guilt and obligation that roused him to Judas’s side—Susanna had more reason to love this man. Unfortunately, it was harder yet on her heart.

She looked over her shoulder at where Sir Morris was bound to his saddle. Above the gag with which it had been necessary to once more stopper his insults, he narrowed his gaze upon her. “I am sure he would have much to say,” she murmured.

“Naught of merit.”

Though once more tempted to throw her arms around a man, she restrained herself, for it was more than gratitude that made her long to embrace Everard. “I am grateful for your understanding, and that you saw fit to knight Sir Elias. Though I did not think him a friend, he has proven one.” She frowned. “I do worry, though, as to how he will be received by the queen.”

“We shall know soon enough.” He laid a hand upon her arm. “’Tis time we ride.”

She gave herself into his care and, two hours later, when she gained her first glimpse of Stern Castle, she still felt the hands that had lifted her into the saddle.

Everard slowed the party, reined around, and guided his horse alongside hers. “It seems we shall know this very day how Sir Elias is received by the queen.” He nodded at the gathering before the walls—raised tents, wagons, baggage carts, horses, pack animals, scores of people.

“Those of the queen’s household who cannot be accommodated within Stern’s walls,” Everard said, “as well as others who wish to have their grievances addressed.”

She glanced at Judas and Sir Elias who rode on the other side of her. The former’s mouth was parted with wonder, the latter’s tight with what was surely foreboding.

She swung her chin around. “But the queen is not due until the morrow.” No sooner did she speak than she warmed at the realization her words sounded less like an observation than an argument that could be won—one capable of moving Queen Eleanor from the end back to the beginning.

Everard inclined his head. “That is our queen, and that is the reason we traveled this day and not the next. We can only hope Lady Blanche and her entourage have not yet arrived.”

Susanna had assumed her brother’s widow would appear on the morrow. Hence, the possibility the woman and her mother were already here caused her heart to lurch.

Everard’s hand closed over hers. “All is well,” he said low, then squeezed her fingers and released them.

“Do you believe I have a chance, Lord Wulfrith?” Judas asked moments later.

“I do. But regardless of the proceedings and the outcome, I expect you to conduct yourself as befitting one trained at Wulfen.”

“I shall try, my lord.”

“Do not try.” Everard’s tone had an edge to it. “Do.”

Judas’s hesitation was palpable. “And if Lady Richenda comes to Wulfen as well?”

“Be prepared that she and Sir Talbot will be here, Judas. Thus, you are to keep your distance and never find yourself absent the company of trusted others. Is that understood?”

With what seemed effort, he nodded.

“Susanna,” Everard said.

“Aye?”

“I expect the same of you.”

It sounded like an order, and she nearly took offense. But she knew his words were not meant to prevent her from inconveniencing him. “I shall be cautious.”

He inclined his head, summoned two knights, and instructed them to take Sir Morris into the wood and remain there until the miscreant could be brought within Stern’s walls without alerting others to his presence—specifically, any from Cheverel whom he would not have know the fate of their assassin.

“And now to Stern.” Everard urged his destrier forward.

As they passed by the great gathering outside the walls and guided their mounts onto the drawbridge, men-at-arms shouted down from the gatehouse.

Everard acknowledged the enthusiasm with which he was greeted, and there was more to be had within the outer and inner baileys. When they guided their horses amid the bustle of the latter, the three figures who descended the donjon steps immediately came to notice.

The two women were garbed as only those of the nobility might clothe themselves, fit with lustrous head veils and beautifully cut and trimmed bliauts. The man between them, who held the arm of each, wore a richly embroidered and belted tunic against which the hilt of a dagger sparkled with gems that included the red of a ruby. Of near equal note was his size—taller and broader than Everard or Abel—and his hair. It was silver, a color she had never seen on a man younger than two and a half score. And yet Baron Wulfrith could not be much more than thirty and five.

As Everard swung out of the saddle, the older of the women hurried forward. She hugged him fiercely, and he lifted her off her feet and returned her embrace before setting her down.

Taking his face between her hands, she said in a softly accented voice that sounded of Scotland, “My Everard.” She lifted her bright gaze higher. “’Tis good to see you are still as golden as the day I birthed you.”

He chuckled, said something that made her smile, then she stepped aside.

The younger woman, a dark-haired beauty upon whose hip a child rode,  stepped forward—surely Lady Annyn who had shorn her hair and breached Wulfen’s walls all those years ago as told by Sir Rowan.

“Artur,” she said, glancing at the boy who could not be much more than a year aged, “here is your uncle, Everard.”

The child’s dimpled hand that had been stroking and tugging at his mother’s tresses, stilled. He frowned at Everard, then tucked his head beneath Lady Annyn’s chin.

“He is shy,” she said, “but give him a year and he will surely be as often beneath your feet as his brother, Jonas, once was.”

Everard patted the boy’s arm, leaned forward and kissed his sister-in-law’s cheek, then he stepped past her toward his brother.

Susanna looked to the baron and found he watched her out of eyes the same grey-green as Everard’s and Abel’s.

The brothers embraced. It was a quick show of affection, but it seemed genuine. Then something was spoken between them that could be nothing good, as told by Everard’s stiffening. And when he turned and crossed to where she and the others remained astride, a muscle in his jaw convulsed.

He lifted his arms to her. “I would have you meet my family.”

She leaned toward him. When he set her to her feet, she whispered, “What is amiss?”

“Lady Blanche and her party arrived hours ago.”

She caught her breath.

“Worry not,” he said, then called, “Dismount, Sir Elias and Judas.”

As they did so, Everard led her forward. “I present Lady Susanna de Balliol. Lady Susanna, my mother, Lady Isobel”—

She who had agreed to take an unknown woman into her household should Judas’s claim to Cheverel be rejected.

—“my sister-in-law, Lady Annyn, and my brother, Baron Wulfrith.”

He who was to have died at Lady Annyn’s hand but had, instead, won that hand in marriage.

“I am pleased to meet you.” Susanna kept her chin up in an attempt to cover her discomfort at how closely they regarded her. Even more worrisome was the bit of a smile upon the baron’s face.

She looked to the two who came alongside her. “My nephew, Judas de Balliol, and our protector and friend, Sir Elias of Cheverel.”

“We are pleased to welcome you to Stern,” Baron Wulfrith said.

Susanna inclined her head. “I thank you for your aid in resolving the matter of my nephew’s birthright. I know ’tis a great imposition.”

“A welcome one,” Lady Isobel said, “for it has delivered my son home where he has not been for far too long.”

“Mother,” Everard said, “there are matters that must be attended to, and I would confer with my brother. Thus, I ask that you see Lady Susanna settled into her chamber.”

“’Twill be my pleasure.”

Everard released Susanna’s arm. “I shall see you at supper,” he said and gestured for Sir Elias and Judas to follow him and his brother.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Susanna watched as her nephew strode behind the others toward the outer bailey. When she looked back around, Everard’s mother was instructing two squires to unload the packs.

The lady turned to Susanna. “After your long ride, I am sure you are in need of freshening.”

“I would be grateful, my lady.”

As Lady Isobel led the way up the steps, Lady Annyn drew alongside Susanna, and the child on her hip came out from under her chin to observe the woman who ascended alongside his mother.

“This is Lady Susanna, Artur. Can you say Susanna?”

He pushed three fingers into his mouth, intently sucked them, then popped them out and said in a gravelly little voice, “Sanna.”

Susanna stumbled on the step up to the landing. If not for the lady’s hand that turned fast around her arm, she might have dropped to her knees.

“You must be tired,” Lady Annyn said.

“More surprised than tired,” Susanna said as the porter opened the doors ahead of Lady Isobel. “My nephew began calling me Sanna at about Artur’s age. Of course, ’tis rare he does so now.”

“Ah.” Such a beautiful smile the lady had that it was impossible to imagine how she could have passed for a boy. Before Susanna could think better of it, she said, “How did you do it?”

“Hmm?” Lady Annyn murmured as she released Susanna’s arm.

“Sir Rowan told me the tale of how you disguised yourself to enter Wulfen so you could—” Susanna closed her mouth. Artur might be only a year old, but such should not be spoken in his hearing.

The lady made a face. “You know far more about me than I know of you. We shall have to remedy that.”

The prospect of female companionship sent a thrill through Susanna, for it had been woefully absent since Judith’s passing.

Side by side, she and the baron’s wife entered the great hall behind Lady Isobel, and Susanna found it awkward to put one foot in front of the other as she marveled at the overwhelming number of occupants.

“Mostly Queen Eleanor’s entourage,” Lady Annyn said, “though there are—”

“Sir Talbot,” Susanna hissed and would have halted if not that the lady hooked arms with her and drew her forward.

“So ’tis.” Lady Annyn tilted her head near. “And since he looks not at all pleased to see you, methinks you should gift him with a beatific smile, hmm?”

It was asking much, but Susanna pushed up the corners of her mouth as she held the man’s narrowed gaze where he stood near the dais with two other Cheverel knights. And the bile rose, for here was the one who had conspired with Lady Richenda to leave Judas vulnerable on the training field in the hope of inducing a fatal breathing attack, the same who had led the hunt when Sir Elias had taken Judas and her from Cheverel, and quite likely he who had sent Sir Morris to murder her nephew.

“Nearly there,” Lady Annyn said, and Susanna turned her attention to the stairs upon which Lady Isobel had paused. Moments later, they went from sight of those in the hall.

As Susanna breathed out relief, Lady Annyn withdrew her arm and wrapped it around her son who once more played with her hair. “I do not like that knight,” she said. “He makes me itch to have a sword near at hand.”

A soft chuckle from Lady Isobel, two steps up, told that the woman heard what was spoken behind her back.

In the midst of trying to imagine Lady Annyn wielding a sword, Susanna recalled the favor asked of her. “I have word for you from Sir Rowan, Lady Annyn.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Do tell.”

“I am to say you are ever in his thoughts and prayers.”

The lady did not respond until they started up another set of stairs. “Those are glad tidings. And it says much about your character that my old friend entrusted you with such words.”

“He was kind to me during my stay at Wulfen Castle.”

“Ah, that most hallowed place where women are not allowed,” Lady Annyn mused as Everard’s mother led them down a corridor. She slanted a smile at Susanna. “I know I should not be so bold, but I am undone by curiosity.”

“What say you, my lady?”

“My beloved brother-in-law has hair.” She made no attempt to keep the words from Lady Isobel’s ears, and Susanna wondered if she spoke for both of them. “Not much yet, but that is what makes it more interesting, for ’tis surely a recent development. As, of course, are you, Lady Susanna.”

Obviously, she aspired to see something that was not there—

It is there. It is just not what she thinks.

But it was not Susanna’s place to explain about Judith whom, she was fairly certain, was unknown to these women who likely wished Everard to have a wife and children as his brothers had not denied themselves. It was for him to reveal that his years of grieving were coming to an end.

As Lady Isobel pushed open a door, Susanna met Lady Annyn’s gaze. “Apologies, my lady, but I cannot speak to Lord Wulfrith’s reasons for no longer putting blade to scalp.”

The lady sighed and nodded for her to follow her mother-in-law into the chamber.

As Susanna stepped within, the sound of children at play drifted through the open window.

“Would that I could offer you your own chamber, Lady Susanna”—Lady Isobel halted in the center of the small room that boasted a good-sized bed and several neatly laid pallets—“but all has shifted with the queen’s arrival. Thus, you are welcome to share the bed with Lady Annyn and me.”

It was custom for a lord to relinquish his private chamber to a visiting overlord, as well as other chambers to those of high rank in the entourage, but it was something with which Susanna had little experience, for Cheverel was of minor importance compared to other baronies.

Though relieved she would not be sleeping in the hall where Sir Talbot and the other knights of Cheverel would surely make their beds, Susanna’s greater concern was for Judas. “I thank you for your generosity, but can you tell me where my nephew will bed down?”

“A pallet has been laid for him and one for Sir Elias in the chamber my sons will occupy next to this one.”