The Longing (17 page)

Everard shook his head, then crossed to the table against the far wall. There, he took up the keen blade he had not applied in over a week and scraped the bristles from his face, then his scalp.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

If she dared…

Susanna tapped the parchment with the quill’s dry, ink-darkened tip, slid her gaze down the days she had listed and alongside which she had made notations. Any of the seven days of the week would do, for Sir Rowan’s comings and goings were fairly consistent—all within a half hour.

One hour before midnight, when she was believed to be well asleep, he departed and did not return for six hours, during which he surely sought his own rest. But those dark hours were the only time that no guard stood outside her door. Though Sir Rowan departed three times during the day, to eat and relieve himself, another kept watch. As told by the voice, that other was Squire Joseph.

“So…night,” she murmured. “
If
I dare.” And she longed to, for it was now eight days since Everard Wulfrith had come to her tower room with word of Cheverel’s knights. In all that time, the only tidings she had of Judas were from Sir Rowan who was kind enough to inquire after him but had no firsthand knowledge of her nephew. All he could say was that he progressed well. But that was not enough, no matter how hard she tried to be content.

In the next instant, she heard boots on the stone steps outside her door. It did not fit the schedule, being much too late in the morning and not near enough the nooning hour for the delivery of a tray of viands. Nor was it approaching a time when Squire Joseph relieved Sir Rowan.

Heart making mischief beneath her ribs, Susanna set the quill alongside the stoppered ink pot, slid the inked parchment beneath the half dozen sheets with which she had been provided, and hastened to the chair set before the small table whose surface was covered by a large chess board. As she seated herself, a knock sounded.

“Enter!”

It was the lord of Wulfen who stepped inside and closed the door. However, he did not present as he had done those times he had previously come to her. His broad shoulders and muscular torso and legs were clothed in the finest garments—a white tunic embroidered around the neck with threads of silver and red, its sides pleated, its front slit from hem to just below the waist such that the dark red hose beneath were visible; a wide, heavily tooled baldric worn over the right shoulder and reaching down to the opposite hip where a sword was fastened; a studded belt draping his hips and upon which hung a sheathed dagger whose hilt was jeweled; lastly, cuffed leather boots.

Even in the absence of hair, Everard Wulfrith was most handsome.

“Do I meet with your approval, my lady?”

She swept her gaze to his, then sat back from the chess set that was to appear to have been her focus before his entrance. “Forgive me for staring. Not only did I not expect one who has not brought word of my nephew in over a sennight”—

Careful. It will do you no good to acquaint him with the depth of your frustration.

—“but I am awestruck by your finery.”

“Ceremonial garb,” he said dismissively, and strode forward.

Though curiosity bid her ask him to elaborate on the ceremony he had attended, or would be attending, Judas came first. Unable to offer him a seat across from her since Sir Rowan had taken his stool with him following their last game, she peered up at him from beneath the edge of her veil where he came to stand near the table. Noting his smooth scalp appeared to have recently met with a blade, she asked, “How is my nephew?”

His intense gaze lingered over her face, swept her bodice and lap, paused upon her hands that curled over the table’s edge.

Now that she was the one scrutinized, she was more grateful for the basins of heated water that had been delivered to her on the day past so that she might wash her hair. She was also glad she wore her best bliaut that, with several of her other garments, had been returned to her this morn, freshly laundered—yet more kindness and consideration that, despite the answer thus far denied her, allowed her to say with some lightness, “Do I meet with
your
approval, my lord?”

His eyes settled upon hers. “You look much improved, my lady.”

“I feel much improved.”

“I am told you eat well.”

Not only owing to the draught, but that the fare tasted less bland as she grew accustomed to it. “And I am told Judas makes good progress.” She raised her eyebrows. “But whereas you have proof, I have none.”

“Your nephew fares well.” He shifted his regard to the chessboard. “As expected, Wulfen has been good for him. Though, also as expected, he presents a challenge.”

She tensed. “Still your young men taunt him?”

Moving his gaze chess piece to chess piece, he said, “They do not. Though I am sure some are tempted, your nephew proved he is not of a mind to turn the other cheek.”

No longer. “Then?”

Relinquishing his fascination with the game, he looked back at her. “I do not think it would surprise you to know he has a penchant for sneaking about. Three nights past, he was caught in the kitchen after all were bedded down—”

“That is not so bad. He was but hungry.”

“Hungry or not, ’tis not permitted, and this he knew.”

Deciding that, in this instance, it could not hurt to rouse sympathy for Judas, she said, “Neither was it permitted at Cheverel, but it was necessary.”

“In what way?”

“It was not always fitting for him”—
or me—
“to eat at table with my brother.”

Something like anger flickered in his eyes, but he said, “Of greater concern are Judas’s attempts to steal abovestairs—to search you out.”

Susanna felt a pain in her heart. Was Judas frightened? For himself? For her?

“As he is adept at stealth—a definite strength—twice he has made it abovestairs unchallenged. Unfortunately for him, he is not able to go missing for long before his absence is noted.”

Oh, Judas mine, take heart. Surely some far away day we will laugh over this.

Though she knew it would sound like a feeble excuse, she said, “He has never been separated from me for more than a few hours. These nine days cannot have been easy for him.”

As if she had not offered an explanation, he continued, “And then there are the lies he is quick to tell to avoid punishment.”

She swallowed. “What kind of punishment?”

Everard Wulfrith’s brow lined. “Appropriate punishment, I assure you. Running laps around the training field, longer service at table, mucking out stables, hauling bathwater.”

She contained a sigh of relief. “I thank you for your forbearance, Lord Wulfrith. All I can offer by way of explanation is that Judas does what he must to survive.”

“He does not have to do those things at Wulfen.”

“I am sure you are right, but he does not know that.”

“Then he must learn. Or perhaps it would be better said he must
unlearn
what you taught him. They are your lessons, are they not?”

Shame crept over her. She lowered her gaze, with it her chin, only then realized how sore in the neck she was from peering up at him. “I can only say it seemed right at the time”—she feigned interest in the chess pieces—“and that my…lessons served Judas well even if they no longer do.” She looked up. “You did say stealth is a strength of his?”

A corner of Everard Wulfrith’s mouth lifted, and she was heartened by the waning of his censure. “I have never seen one so young take down game at such close range. Indeed, many well-seasoned knights are incapable of moving as quietly and holding still as long.”

Then all those years of walking lightly around Alan, noiselessly slipping in and out of spaces occupied by him and his men was good for something other than keeping unearned punishment at bay.

“Too, your nephew is very fast on his feet.”

Once again, she tipped her head back. “When last we spoke, you were disappointed with his speed—said that he was one of the last to come in from the morning runs.”

“Surprisingly, he has quickly learned to pace himself. These last three days, he has made the training field not far behind the most experienced and fit squires.”

And, it seemed, with none the wiser that he had ever suffered from breathing attacks.

Judas will be fine. Better than fine.

Feeling tears, she looked again to the chess board. “I am glad you bring me good news with the bad, Lord Wulfrith.”

“The bad is tolerably bad, Lady Susanna. Your nephew but requires clear expectations, respect for authority, and firm guidance.”

“I thank you for all you do for him.” Throat tightening further, she determined it best to change the subject. “Just as I thank you for making the passing of days more endurable by providing me with the means by which to while them away.”

Everard Wulfrith was slow to answer, as if not ready to move from talk of Judas, but he said, “‘Twould appear you make good use of ink and parchment.”

She glanced at him, followed his gaze to her right hand upon the table’s edge. Her thumb and first two fingers were stained with ink—that which had been used to plot Sir Rowan’s absences from outside her door. Heart bumping against her ribs, she said, “I fear I am not as careful as I should be.”

“I have much the same result when I write in haste. What words do you pen, my lady?”

Bump. Bump.

“Thoughts, ideas.” She shrugged.

“No poetry?”

Had she laughed, the sound would have been bitter. “Surely you know I am no longer as fanciful as once I was.” When she had thought herself a woman though others thought her still a girl, when she had first awakened to the feelings of a hopeful heart, when many were the words she had penned in imitation of those sung by troubadours.

“So you are not,” he said with what sounded almost like regret, then he returned his attention to the chessboard. “This game you play against yourself?”

“Aye.”
The light and dark sides of me.
“Though Sir Rowan is kind enough to challenge me from time to time.”

“Then I must needs have another chair delivered to your chamber.”

Susanna felt a flutter of happiness, not only because the older knight would be more comfortable when he joined her, but Everard Wulfrith had once more gifted her with kindness. “I thank you in advance,” she said.

He nodded, stepped to the table’s edge, and reached. “May I?”

“Do, for that side of me cannot find a way to protect my king without sacrificing my queen.”

He replaced one piece with another and set the dark, defeated piece alongside the board. “And so your queen is saved. Pawn takes knight.”

Susanna leaned forward. It was true, her white king was no longer in jeopardy of being parted from his queen. “I did not see that.”

“Seemingly insignificant pieces”—he tapped the triumphant pawn—“often wield great power by their ability to be easily overlooked.”

“’Tis unfortunate that is not true off a chess board,” she mused, “that it could be so in life.” As she sat back, the light coming in through the window happened upon the dagger on Everard Wulfrith’s belt, drawing her eye to the sparkling, jeweled hilt.

“But it is so in life,” he said, “as you have proved in taking control of the game by moving three pieces out of reach of Cheverel—Judas, yourself, and Sir Elias.”

It was a kind thing to say and worth pondering, but before Susanna could think further on it, she noted an absence of sparkle upon the dagger's hilt where there should be much. The empty socket was the right size, and the alternating pattern told that the missing gem was likely a ruby.

She lifted a hand to her bodice and gripped the pendant through it.

“My lady?”

She met Everard Wulfrith’s gaze. “Forgive me, but did you know a gem is missing from your dagger?”

He jerked, though the movement was so slight that had she not been watching for a reaction, she would have missed it. The easy lines of his face tightening, he drew back from the table. “I have stayed too long and neglected my real purpose for seeking you out,” he said.

Wishing she had not spoken of the missing gem, dreading what his real purpose was, she asked, “Which is?”

“This morn, Squire Joseph and Squire Niall completed their night vigil in the chapel. Thus, the great privilege of knighthood is to be conferred upon them. I thought you might like to watch.”

She startled. “But women are not allowed—”

“Out of sight of our young men. If you are interested, I shall have Sir Rowan escort you to the rooftop to observe the final part of the ceremony that, at Wulfen Castle, is held before the donjon steps.”

She nodded with more enthusiasm than she had felt in… She did not know how long. “I would very much like that.” To stand beneath the heavens. To see land and sky on all sides of her. Above all, to see Judas, even if only from a distance. “I thank you.”

“I shall tell Sir Rowan.” He turned on his heel.

“Lord Wulfrith?”

He looked over his shoulder, and there was something like wariness in his eyes, as if he thought she might further inquire after the missing gem.

“Have you had word from the queen?” she asked.

“It is too soon for that.”

True, for though it seemed months, hardly a fortnight had passed. “Then we know naught of my brother’s widow’s request for an audience with Queen Eleanor.”

“We may soon, for after the newly knighted Sir Niall departs Wulfen and before he begins his year of service in the household of his new lord, he will pause at Cheverel and beg a night’s lodging. I anticipate that, within a sennight, we will have word of the state of the de Balliol demesne.”

Nearly overwhelmed by the lengths to which Everard Wulfrith was willing to go for Judas, Susanna silently thanked the Lord for his intervention, then said, “I am glad we came to Wulfen.”

“And I am glad you have given Sir Rowan no grief.”

In short, that she had caused no further trouble since being exiled to the tower room. That she had not yet done what she longed to do—and could do now that she was certain of the hours when no one stood guard over her.