The Longing (22 page)

Though her imagination prepared her for all manner of disturbing encounters—immense spider-adorned cobwebs, scuttling and squealing mice and rats, dead and disintegrating things, slimy, weeping walls—the steps were relatively clear of vermin and debris. The same could be said of each of the three landings and their flights of steps that followed. And then there were no more, only a passageway that extended beyond the reach of her candlelight. Fortunately, it appeared she did not need to venture farther, for her searching eyes found another door right off the steps.

Standing before it, trembling with chill and fear, she pressed an ear to the crack and listened. If there was sound, it was stuck on the other side. Heart knocking stoutly as if also at a door it wanted badly to go through, fear stirring up bile, she reminded herself she was near Judas. Indeed, he might be right on the other side.

She sank to her haunches and found the catch. Before releasing it, she extinguished the candle whose light could reveal her before any sound she made. Doused in darkness, she set the candle to the side with the command that she not forget it upon her return abovestairs—a grim journey in the absence of light.

Holding her breath, she worked the catch. The door opened toward her with no resistance or sound and, blessedly, a whiff of warm air. She straightened and peered around the door into more darkness, but not so much that she could not identify it was a tapestry before her, dim light penetrating its weave.

Please be of the glowing embers of a fire in the great hall—just enough light to guide me, not enough to be seen.

Grateful she had chosen her chemise well, not only for its thickness but its earthen color that was less likely to be noted than one of white linen, she stepped through the doorway. There were no rushes here to rustle beneath her feet, though surely there would be plenty on the other side.

Lightly running her fingers across the backside of the tapestry, she moved toward the pale strip of light that marked the edge of that which concealed the entrance to the hidden passageway. Without incident, she reached it and peered around it.

The room was immense, but it was no great hall. And as she identified the furnishings lit by the embers of a fire that no longer flamed, her heart lurched so violently it hurt.

Swallowing bile, she stared at the large bed that lay between her and the curtained wall that let into the great hall.

’Tis the solar. Everard’s bedchamber.

No one had ever dared enter his bedchamber unbidden, but here someone was. He would nearly wager his life upon it, though it was only that other sense—that which came and went as it pleased—that had roused him from sleep and bid him close his hand around the dagger’s hilt beneath his pillow.

Engaging his other senses, upon his face he felt cool drifts of air amongst the warm, smelled and tasted their mustiness. And knew whence it came—
and
who was within before he even caught the scent of roses that was too slight to redeem the air freed from the hidden passageway.

Containing the impulse to demand his night visitor show herself, he eased his hand off the dagger, peered across the solar at the shadow-shrouded tapestry, and waited for the lady’s slight figure to slip from behind it.

There—more movement than form. With little to differentiate her clothing from the shadows, she chose her steps well, exhibiting more stealth and foresight than he would have expected. But then, Judas was nearly a master of stealth and, it seemed, among the lessons imparted by his aunt were those in how to move about undetected.

As Everard watched Susanna, he noted she made no sudden movements, her breathing could not be heard, and even the sound of rushes beneath her feet were so slight as to be mistaken for the hiss and sigh of the dying fire. Too, the course she set brought her perilously close to the bed where she had to know he slept, and he was certain she did so to avoid the greater risk of passing through the glow of firelight.

Step by gentle step, with the greatest evidence of her presence that of the scent of roses, she drew near the foot of the bed where Squire Werner, Joseph’s replacement, slept on a pallet.

Anticipating she would tread upon the young man, Everard was tempted to put an end to her night excursion. However, there seemed more benefit in discovering just how far Susanna de Balliol would go in grinding their agreement underfoot. Too, when the squire found himself rudely awakened, it would be a good lesson for one who must learn to sleep lightly to protect his lord and himself.

But there was no rude awakening, for she paused just past the right-hand bed post, surely a step away from the sleeping squire, and he heard the slow release of her breath that ended on words spoken so low he might have been convinced they were his own in his head, for he was certainly thinking them.

“For this…” she whispered, then cautiously skirted the pallet, moved toward the curtains, and took with her the scent of roses.

He knew then what she sought. As he had denied her access to Judas, she had determined to break their agreement and seek her nephew herself. It angered him, and yet it also moved him that she so loved the boy she risked wrath and being set out of Wulfen to see for herself that he was well. And so he let her go, though he knew that if her foray into the hall failed—her presence revealed—disorder would ensue.

When she reached the curtains and slipped beyond them, he rose from the bed. He was not surprised when no cry issued from his second squire who slept outside the solar and who was also in danger of being tread upon.

Shortly, he drew back the curtain’s edge. It took a moment to locate Susanna, for just as she had done in his solar, she knew to keep to the deepest shadows where flickering torchlight was loath to go.

It seemed she was also gifted with another sense, for it was not long before her furtive search amid the gathering of pages upon pallets came to an end and she bent low and did not rise again. She had found him.

Susanna pressed her lips to keep joy from spilling from them as she strained to make out her nephew’s features that were deep in shadow, but not so deep that she did not know him and could not see the hair tossed across his brow. She heard his breath move smoothly in and out, and beneath the hand she laid to his chest, felt its strength.

Thank you, Lord!

And now she should go, for she had what she sought and might sleep secure in the knowledge that Judas was well as Everard had told.

She lifted her hand from his chest, only to impulsively sweep the hair off his brow.

A moment later, scant light glittered in his eyes and he whispered, “Aunt Sanna?”

“Shh.” She touched a finger to his lips. “Sleep again, Judas mine.”

“Lord Wulfrith told you?”

Lest their whispers roused those nearby, she bent nearer and put her mouth close to his ear. “Aye, and I should not be here, but I had to see for myself that you are well. You are, hmm?”

Thankfully, his response was a nod that would not carry.

“I must needs return to my chamber.” She kissed his cheek. “Sleep sweet.”

She sensed he wished to talk, but when he nodded again, she straightened. With a heart much relieved but heavy, she retraced her steps.

The solar was as quiet and still as she had left it, and as she traversed it, she exercised the same caution that had earlier allowed her to pass through it undetected. This time aware of where the squire slept, she did not pass as close to the foot of the bed as she had done before, but near enough to avoid the glow of embers and to note that the shadowed figure upon the mattress appeared to have not moved since she had first slipped past him.

At last, she was behind the tapestry, then returned to the hidden passageway with the door once more secured behind her. Though she knew it best to return to her chamber without delay, her relief at what she had accomplished was so great she was nearly weak. Thus, after retrieving the extinguished candle, she felt her way through the dark to the steps, sank down on the lowermost one, and silently thanked the Lord for guiding her to Judas and back again.

She nearly asked forgiveness for not keeping her word to remain abovestairs, but not only were God’s blessings best saved for Judas, she did not truly regret what she had done. Fortunately, Everard would never know.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I shall not go again. I will not risk it. All is well.”

These things Susanna told herself as the day after the night she had stolen through Everard’s bedchamber slipped past and then another, and she found herself in the middle of the third day without word from the lord of Wulfen as to how Judas fared now that all knew of his affliction. Was he taunted? Further isolated? Abused?

All Sir Rowan could report was that her nephew appeared to be well. But that did not mean he was, for he was accomplished at putting on a face few could see past unless he wished them to. And how could she forget the tale told of Lady Annyn’s brother who had been hanged by fellow squires? For this and the turning of her stomach that cook’s draught could not sufficiently settle, Susanna had this morn sent a missive to Everard by way of Squire Werner who brought her meals now that Squire Joseph had departed Wulfen.

Pray thee, come to me,
she had written.
I would have word of Judas.

That was hours ago.

She paced, cast off her veil, and worried her fingers through her hair until the numerous strokes to which she had subjected it were long forgotten. Then she dropped facedown across the bed, letting her feet dangle over the side.

“If you do not come,” she muttered, staring at the door, “I will go again. I will risk it. By my own eyes I will know all is well.” She did not mean to lower her lids for any length of time, but her eyes were so tired they stung.

That was how Everard found her when she did not respond to his knock.

Disturbed by the sight of her where she lay across the middle of the bed, hair strewn about her face and shoulders, lashes casting feathery shadows upon her pale cheeks, lips softly parted, he knew he should return to the hall where the others partook of their midday meal. However, though he had not wanted to answer her summons, he was here now. Too, this day he had received tidings from Sir Niall, and it would be remiss of him not to share with Susanna what had been learned of Cheverel.

In this instance appreciative of Squire Werner’s inefficiency that had prevented him from accompanying his lord abovestairs—likely, he was still assembling the tray of viands—Everard turned back to Sir Rowan.

“As the lady must needs be roused from sleep, relieve my squire of the tray when he delivers it and send him on his way.” He would not have the impressionable young man see her thus. Indeed, even a man not so young should not see her laid out in such disarray.

The knight inclined his head. “Aye, my lord.”

Leaving the door open, Everard strode across the chamber to the far side of the mattress upon which her head rested. And discovered, up close, she was even more comely.

The observation gave him pause, for still he did not want to be attracted to Susanna de Balliol.

But he was. And if he was yet more honest, he had felt the tug the first morning he had let her within his walls and come to her chamber. She had surely heard the opening of the door, but as if gathering the courage to face him, she had remained unmoving in the glow of the brazier. Though he had thought her too thin and hardly in the bloom of youth, he had also thought her lovely. Then she had revealed her name, and he had seen the girl in the garden who had flown to her brother with the tale that had torn Judith from him.

However, with nearly every encounter since, that girl receded, so much that three days past he had nearly kissed her. It was that temptation, more than his anger with her inability to hold to their agreement, that had kept him from the tower room these past days. And he had excused the delay in bringing word of how Judas fared by reminding himself that her greatest worry had surely been allayed by her excursion to the hall.

She sighed, and he thought she might awaken, but she turned her face opposite, revealing the flushed cheek that had been pressed to the mattress. She looked as if she belonged exactly where she was—as he imagined one’s bride would look the morning after the wedding nuptials. And that carnal, unbidden thought returned him to a conversation of two and a half years past.

As he and his eldest brother had stood upon the wall watching their youngest brother, Abel, retreat from the training field where he struggled each day to regain skills lost in battle—much for the love of a woman—Garr had spoken of the lengths to which a man would go for such love and said he believed Everard would go as far, if not farther. Everard had dismissed the idea, certain he would never again feel anything approaching what he had felt for Judith.

And I do not,
he told himself. He was attracted to Susanna and, in some ways, admired her, but that was all.

Knowing Squire Werner would not be much longer in delivering her tray, he said, “Lady Susanna?”

She stirred.

“Awaken, my lady.”

Her lashes fluttered. Then, with a sharp breath, she gathered her knees beneath her and sat back on her heels. “Lord Wulfrith!”

He frowned, for she looked even more appealing as she stared wide-eyed at him past the hair tumbling across her face. Turning aside, he said over his shoulder, “Put yourself in order,” and crossed to the table upon which sat the chessboard.

“I thank you for coming,” she said, and he heard the mattress sigh and the rushes rustle as she stood from the bed.

“I apologize for not calling upon you sooner.” He began returning defeated chess pieces to their light and dark squares. “But I trust you knew your nephew was well tended and suffered no lasting ill effects from his attack.”

The sounds of her movement ceased, and he wondered if she considered owning to the truth. Finally, she said, “Aye, but still I worried.”