The Longing (42 page)

“I am not a child,” Judas said. “I am my father’s heir.”

She gave a short, sharp laugh. “That is for our queen to decide, and I am sure she—”

“You are sure of naught,” Eleanor said, “especially the mind of your queen, Lady Richenda.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I did not mean to offend. I only—”

“Enough!”

In the quiet, Susanna ventured a look at where Everard stood at the entrance to the kitchen passageway.

How she wished him nearer, but he had positioned himself at a distance. It was for the best, though, since it would not do for him to appear any more partial to Judas’s claim than he already appeared to be.

He gave her his gaze, and all of her warmed over love for him. When this was done—regardless of how it was done—she who had felt deeply enough to compose the poem, would bestow it upon him. And if he offered to share his life with her, she would accept.

What if his offer whispers of atonement?

Better than it scream of atonement. Thus, another reason to pray Judas’s claim was acknowledged, for Everard ought to feel he had made reparations enough that he would only be moved to take her to wife if his feelings had true depth.

A moment later, Sir Elias appeared at his side, but Everard kept his eyes locked with hers and tilted his head toward the other man who spoke in his ear.

“Do you believe you are capable of defending your claim, young Judas?” the queen asked.

Susanna returned her attention to her nephew.

“I do, Your Majesty.”

“Do you expect that, because you are ten years of age, my sympathy will be roused such that I will look more favorably upon you?”

Susanna caught her breath. This was the reason Lady Richenda had not rejoiced to find Judas alongside her. Though he looked much older than ten, it was poignant that a boy should take upon himself a matter of such grave importance.

“Nay, Your Majesty,” Judas said, “I have no such expectations. I but wish to do this myself.”

“Does your aunt approve?” 

“I do not think so, but still I will do it—if you allow it.”

“I shall, providing you understand that should I find against you, it is of your own doing.”

“Agreed, Your Majesty.”

Susanna stared at her beloved nephew who stood so tall and determined.

“Then we begin.” The queen motioned to an elderly man. As he had done with the other cases, he stepped forward and handed her the missives sent ahead to request an audience.

She accepted them, the ends of which curled over one another in an attempt to return to their rolled state. “I am in receipt of your two missives, Lady Richenda, the first in which you assert your grandson’s claim to Cheverel based upon circumstances and speculation that young Judas is not the son of Baron Alan de Balliol. The second in which you attempt to offer proof of Judas’s illegitimacy by asserting it was Lord Everard Wulfrith who fathered him.”

Lady Richenda nodded. “As you can see, ’tis most clear this boy—”

“Naught is clear until I say it is, Lady Richenda.”

Movement on the other side of the hall drew Susanna’s regard, and she saw Lady Blanche press the back of a fist against her mouth as if to keep words from bursting from it. Doubtless, she would not be averse to securing a better future for her son than that of playing brother to the baron of Cheverel, but she clearly liked none of this.

“Young Judas,” the queen said, “why are you named such?”

Susanna clenched her teeth. There was only one answer for that, and it would not aid his defense.

But he did not react in any way that indicated the question distressed him, and Susanna guessed his calm was a result of the time Everard and Sir Elias had spent preparing him.

“My lord father,” he said, “embittered by my mother’s love for another man previous to her marriage, further embittered by my birth that caused her death, determined to mark me with the name of the betrayer.”

Though Lady Richenda kept her mouth closed, the corners turned up.

“Then,” the queen said, “it is reasonable to conclude he had doubts of having sired you.”

“It is, Your Majesty.”

“There!” Lady Richenda cried. “There ’tis!”

“Lady Richenda! Such outbursts will not benefit your grandson. Indeed, they dispose me toward finding in favor of young Judas. Thus, keep your tongue fastened to your palate or you will be removed.”

Lady Richenda lowered her chin.

The queen narrowed her gaze on Judas. “Are you aware that Baron de Balliol oft claimed he had been cuckolded?”

“I am, Your Majesty—when he had partaken of too much drink and usually after I had shamed him with one of my breathing attacks.”

She frowned. “One would not guess you suffer from such.”

“Less and less the older I grow, Your Majesty.”

She returned her attention to the parchments. “Since he never sought to disavow you in writing, one must question how greatly he doubted you were of his loins.”

A groan escaped Lady Richenda.

The queen looked to her. “On this you may speak, Lady Richenda.” 

“My son-in-law but waited to learn the sex of the child my daughter carried ere formally setting aside the boy. Unfortunately, the baron died ere the babe’s birth.”

“What say you to that, Judas?” the queen asked. “Do you believe he would have named your brother his heir had he lived?”

“It is possible.”

The queen slowly nodded. “But possible does not make it so, does it?”

Lady Richenda’s hands at her sides opened and closed.

“Lady Susanna,” the queen called. “Stand.”

She rose. “Your Majesty?”

“You believe Judas to be your nephew by blood, fathered by your brother?”

“I do.”

“Have you a means to prove it?”

She tried to moisten her lips, but her tongue was too dry. “The morning after sheets. As is custom, they were hung out to attest to Lady Judith having come to the marriage bed a maiden.”

“But that is not always a certainty. There are ways…” The queen glanced at Judas, grimaced. “What else would you offer in support of your nephew’s claim?”

“I was close with Lady Judith, and never did she indicate my brother had not fathered the babe she carried.”

The queen laughed, and it was like a dagger to Susanna’s breast, and the blade twisted sharply when Lady Richenda’s shoulders shook with unspilled laughter of her own.

“You may have been close with your sister-in-law,” Eleanor said, “but I assure you that she knew well you were her husband’s sister. Have you anything else to add?”

As her belief in Everard’s word would hardly suffice, she said, “I know in my heart that Judas is a de Balliol.”

Lady Richenda tried to disguise her snort by coughing over it.

“Does your nephew resemble your brother?” the queen asked.

Struggling to ease the tension in her jaw, Susanna considered his profile. “They have much the same coloring.”

“A not uncommon coloring. The question, Lady Susanna, is if one sees Alan de Balliol in your nephew’s countenance as well as his build. Was your brother a large man?”

Feeling the stirrings of bile, Susanna wished she had eaten more of the bread Everard had brought her. “He was of a good height.”

“That does not a large man make, such as your nephew promises to be—and as all evidence suggests the Wulfriths were at his age.” Eleanor nodded at Baron Wulfrith where he sat at the far end of the table.

“Our father,” Susanna said, “was nearly as tall and broad of shoulder.”

“That is something. Have you any more to say, Lady Susanna?”

“I would share with you the reason my nephew and I fled Cheverel with the aid of Sir Elias—”

“That is not relevant. You may sit.”

“But it is—”

“Not at this time, Lady Susanna.”

Clenching handfuls of her skirts, Susanna lowered to the bench.

The queen drew a parchment from beneath the others. “I am also in possession of a missive sent from Lord Wulfrith of Wulfen Castle.” She looked up. “Come forward, Lord Wulfrith.”

Everard leveled his shoulders, gave Sir Elias the nod he awaited, and strode forth. Though grateful the hall was clear of spectators, averse as he was to opening himself wide to the world, his gratitude was more for Judas’s sake. He was confident the boy would conduct himself well, but it was more easily accomplished amid the calm.

As he neared the dais, he ignored the temptation to look toward Susanna, for the queen’s regard was keen, and he would not have her see anything that might cause her to think his testimony was any further biased. He halted to the left of Judas and bowed.

“Let us begin with the most vital question, Lord Wulfrith. I assume you know what that is.”

He inclined his head. “I did not and could not have fathered Judas de Balliol, Your Majesty. At no time did I have any such relations with his mother.”

Lady Richenda harrumphed.

“Yet is it not you whom Baron de Balliol believed to have made of him a cuckold?”

“I fear ’tis true.”

“What led him to think such?”

“I served Lady Judith’s father ere she wed Baron de Balliol. We fell in love, and he witnessed a kiss we shared.” There was no advantage in telling it was Susanna who had revealed that. “Before the nuptials, I attempted to persuade the lady to flee with me, but she refused, and I left her father’s home and did not see her again.”

“She made a fool of you.”

Everard ground his teeth. “She did not. Though I know I did wrong in pursuing another’s betrothed, I loved and was loved in return. In the end, Lady Judith determined she would do her duty to her family and honor her betrothal.”

The queen flicked her gaze to Judas. “And nine months later, a child was born.”

“That I was told.”

“And never did you see the boy until he and Lady Susanna sought your aid to prove he was of legitimate issue?”

“Never did I see him.”

Eleanor put her head to the side. “If you did not sire young Judas, why grant him and his aunt protection? Indeed, why admit them within Wulfen’s walls, the likes of which are closed to women?” She glanced at Garr. “Well, most women.” Mischief lingered in the gaze she returned to Everard.

“I did it for the love I once bore Lady Judith, and it was the means by which I accepted responsibility for that which led Alan de Balliol to question his wife’s chastity.”

“Generous, especially after the passing of so many years.”

Lady Blanche’s mother muttered something.

“Lady Richenda,” the queen said, “I grant you permission to repeat your words in my hearing.”

“Self serving,” the lady bubbled over. “That is what I said Your Majesty, for surely Lord Wulfrith would wish his son to hold a barony. Indeed—”

“That is all, Lady Richenda.” The queen returned her attention to Everard. “What convinced you they were in need of protection, Lord Wulfrith?”

“They were pursued by those from Cheverel who passed near the castle shortly after they were admitted.”

“What cause did they give to fear those from Cheverel?”

“Your Majesty,” Judas ventured, “may I answer?”

“You may.”

“A fortnight ere we departed the barony, I overheard a conversation in which Lady Richenda suggested to her daughter that should I not arise from one of my breathing attacks, my death would ensure her grandson was named the heir.”

Lady Richenda drew a sharp breath.

“How did Lady Blanche respond?” the queen asked.

“She protested, and though I did not see, I heard her mother strike her.”

“Your Majesty—”

“Seam thy lips, Lady Richenda!” Eleanor waited for the woman to comply, then said, “That is concerning, Judas. Still, it may have been speculation only.”

“It was hoped, but while I was training at swords, my aunt was summoned to the manor house, and Sir Elias and another knight entrusted with my care were called away by Sir Talbot. I was left with Sir Morris, and though I tried to leave the training field, he forced me to engage at swords with him. He pushed hard, and when Lady Richenda appeared upon the field where never had I seen her, I guessed he meant to cause me to lose my breath.”

“Did he succeed?”

“He believed so.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I feigned an attack, Your Majesty.”

Another sound of distress from Lady Richenda.

“When only my aunt came to my aid, having realized I was in danger, I knew my death was planned. Thus, with Sir Elias’s aid, we fled Cheverel.”

Everard was glad the boy had spoken up, for he told it convincingly. This morn, when Judas had related the incident that had prompted him and his aunt to ride on Wulfen Castle, Everard had felt a flicker of anger that Susanna had not shared it, but he understood she had withheld it in the beginning because Judas had wished none to know of his affliction. Afterward, it had surely been an oversight.

“What say you to this allegation, Lady Richenda?” the queen asked.

“A great work of imagination and cunning, Your Majesty. Though the boy did appear to lose his breath, and I was present with the others, none knew how to aid him.”

“You did not instruct Sir Morris to push the boy beyond his limits?”

“Most assuredly not, Your Majesty! The knight but did a kindness in training him.”

“I would speak with this Sir Morris.”

Peering across his shoulder, Everard saw Lady Richenda’s face flush.

“Would that I could produce him, Your Majesty, but he left our service some weeks past.”

Since Sir Morris had not returned with word of having accomplished the task set him, she was surely prepared for such a request, and here was her means of disavowing knowledge of the miscreant’s foul deed. Doubtless, she hoped the knight had either died in the attempt to take Judas’s life or abandoned the plan and moved on.

It seemed a good time to incite the assassin. “Your Majesty,” Everard said, “permit me to speak again.”

“Permitted, Lord Wulfrith.”

“Two days past, Sir Morris made another attempt upon Judas de Balliol’s life in the wood near Wulfen Castle.”

This next gasp from Lady Richenda was more shrill than her earlier expressions of shock.

“The tale grows more interesting.” Eleanor folded her hands atop the missives and leaned forward.