The Longing (40 page)

“Your majesty may not know my lord father, but—”

“I know Otto de Morville. Not well, but enough to assure you he would welcome your return. Especially now, for he is desperate. In the years since your brother’s passing, he has vigorously undertaken the getting of another male child. Unfortunately for his young wife, she has yielded up naught but daughters, and I am told the birthing of the last was so ruinous that she will bear no more. Thus, you are his only hope since he, like so many, deem females unworthy of inheriting lands.”

So spoke Eleanor who, surviving the death of her young brother, had become Europe’s most eligible heiress upon inheriting the Duchy of Aquitaine, the largest and richest province of France.

She lifted the goblet and, over its rim, glanced to the right where Everard stood beside his brother, Garr. She sipped, lowered the vessel. “And so, Sir Elias, you are in a fine position to see yourself restored to your family, one made stronger by having attained knighthood at Wulfen whose reputation is without equal—to which I, myself, can attest.” She nodded at the knight who stood unmoving to her right.

Sir Durand was well known to the Wulfriths. Too well known—blessedly, more the good of him than the bad. That is, providing one took into account all he had done to redeem himself since committing the terrible sin that Everard’s mother yet struggled to see past. More, providing one forgave as all were called to do.

It had been a surprise to find the knight at Stern Castle, for after his aid in the rescue of the woman who would become Abel’s wife, he had sought service with King Henry in France. According to Garr, he had distinguished himself such that when Henry had sent Eleanor to serve as his regent in England, Sir Durand was among those chosen to accompany her. That should have sufficed to attest to his return to favor, but the queen had gone further. During a conversation with Everard’s mother on the night past, she had remarked that the Wulfen-trained knight was a rare man with whom she could trust her ladies, then called him her “gallant monk.” That did not sit well with Lady Isobel who knew Eleanor was informed on the matter of what had occurred between the knight and her daughter, Gaenor. However, Everard was inclined to believe the queen had meant well.

Garr nudged Everard, and he found himself beneath Eleanor’s probing regard. Doubtless, she awaited an answer to something put to him.

She cleared her throat and said, “Can you or can you not attest to the same, Sir Everard—that Wulfen’s reputation remains without equal?”

He tensed. “I can, Your Majesty.”

“Then we are pleased.” She returned her attention to Sir Elias.

Everard had known the bestowal of knighthood upon Elias was a risk to his family’s reputation, but it was necessary—for Susanna and Judas. Even Garr had grudgingly agreed when all was told, then given Everard a knowing look that brought to mind words spoken years past when the two had watched Abel struggle to overcome his injuries.

I know the lengths to which a man will go for the love of a woman,
he had said.
Indeed, if ever you determine to wed, I believe you will go as far—mayhap farther.

Everard had been quick to assert that his life was at Wulfen and he had no desire to grow a family of his own. He had meant it—then.

“As for the morrow, Sir Elias,” the queen said, “I see no reason it should be known you are only recently knighted, nor that it was a Wulfrith who bestowed the honor, for it would call into question the verity of your testimony. As you know, my time is precious, and since you were found worthy of knighthood, all that matters is that
I
am content you speak in truth.”

“Most assuredly, I shall do so if called upon, Your Majesty.”

Her brow turned thoughtful. “As told, your Wulfen knighthood will raise you in your father’s estimation, but even with him I would hold close its timing.” She smiled lightly. “
That
is advice only. And now we are done.”

Sir Elias did not move. “Your Majesty,” he said urgently, “with regards to returning to France, I am not sure I—”

“Ah, but I am sure.” She sat forward. “Thus, I withdraw Lady Susanna’s offer of the position of head of household knights, not only because you will reclaim your place among the de Morvilles, but to ensure your testimony on the morrow is above the taint of suspicion. Do you understand, Sir Elias?”

He nodded.

“Good. That is all.”

He pivoted and Everard and Garr made to follow him from the chamber.

“A word, Sir Everard,” Queen Eleanor called.

He turned and she motioned him forward.

As the door closed behind his brother and Sir Elias, Everard halted before the queen.

“I have read your account of what passed between you and Lady Judith while she was betrothed to Baron de Balliol. I would ask but one question out of the hearing of others.”

Everard glanced at Sir Durand and steeled himself, certain he would not like what was said but grateful it was done within the relative privacy of the solar.

“Should I acknowledge the infant’s claim to Cheverel,” she said, “will that be the end of your involvement? Will you wipe the dust of Lady Susanna and her nephew from your hands when you return to Wulfen?”

It could have been worse. “Nay, Your Majesty. I pray you do not think it an admission of guilt, but I have made provision for them both should the lie that I fathered Judas de Balliol prevail.”

“What provision has been made for the boy?”

“He will continue training for knighthood at Wulfen.”

“And Lady Susanna?”

“She will remain at Stern and serve as my mother’s companion.”

“That is generous of you and your family.”

“It is not. ’Tis because of my wrong that Lady Susanna and her nephew are forced to defend what need not be defended.”

“I am glad you acknowledge it.” She took another sip from her goblet. “It gives me ease to know that, regardless of my decision, both will be provided for, especially as the lady seems genuine in her regard for her nephew.”

He frowned. “You have met Lady Susanna?”

“Not an hour past in the garden. Of course, I would not speak to her of the morrow. Not that she pressed me, though I cannot say the same for Lady Richenda.”

“She was there also?” he asked sharply.

Eleanor drew her head back slightly. “You are all concern, Sir Everard.”

He was not sorry for it. “As you will learn on the morrow, I have cause to be.”

She smiled faintly. “Aye, Lady Richenda was there, and her daughter with the babe. But worry not, your sister-in-law and mother were present throughout, and Lady Susanna conducted herself well.”

Everard was versed enough with Henry’s queen to know they were not idle words, but still he was gripped with the longing to confirm Susanna had not been overly affected at finding herself breathing the same air as Lady Richenda.

“I am thinking, though,” Eleanor said, “that if I acknowledge Judas as heir, something will have to be done about Lady Blanche’s mother, as I foresee that even with Lady Susanna wed, the woman will prove difficult.”

Everard felt cold, sharp steel as if he had taken a blade to the back. “Lady Susanna wed?”

The queen’s lids narrowed, and she stared at him before saying, “It seems a good solution, for not only will her nephew require a protector to administer his lands until he is of an age to do so himself, but the lady has long been denied the comfort of a husband and children of her own. Certes, I shall find someone worthy for her.” To his further displeasure, she turned to her knight and said, “Were I not so loath to give you up, Sir Durand, I might consider you.”

He inclined his head. “I am glad you are loath, Your Majesty.”

She laughed, a brief husky sound, and looked back around. “Was ever a man so reformed?” 

Everard tensed further.

“Though Sir Durand oft distracts my ladies, especially those who like a challenge and seek to tempt him, he wants naught to do with them outside of his duty to me.”

Her
gallant monk
. Everard glanced at the man and saw from the firm set of his jaw that he was not pleased with the conversation’s direction. Neither was Everard.

“Of course,” the queen continued, “wedding away Lady Susanna is simply talk since one cannot know if her nephew will prevail, hmm?”

Everard inclined his head. “So ’tis, Your Majesty.”

She gestured toward the door with her goblet. “We are done, Sir Everard.”

He bowed, turned, and crossed the solar, the possession of which could not be soon enough returned to his brother.

“Linger a moment, Sir Durand.”

Durand broke the stride he had hoped was long enough to see him from the solar before he once more came to the queen’s notice. Mindful to keep his face as expressionless as possible, for he was too fresh from her comments to the Wulfriths about his reformation and Eleanor was too sharp-eyed, he turned. When the door closed behind the other knights, he bowed. “Your Majesty?”

“You know Everard Wulfrith well?”

Durand glanced at her ladies who moved toward the chairs at the hearth. “I knew a younger Everard Wulfrith fairly well, Your Majesty.”

“What do you believe the older Everard Wulfrith thought of my proposal to find Lady Susanna a husband?”

Durand did not like being put in such a position, especially with regard to the Wulfriths with whom he had done his best to make amends, but he also knew Eleanor was not seeking information she lacked. “Methinks he did not like it, Your Majesty.”

She inclined her head. “That is troubling. Indeed, it does little to dispose me toward his testimony.” 

Meaning it would hardly be objective. Knowing he was watched as carefully as she had watched Everard Wulfrith, Durand continued to keep control over his expression.

“Of course,” she continued, “if it is true he is opposed to the lady wedding another, one must question whether feelings for her or a desire to himself administer Cheverel make him so.”

In this, Durand had to defend Everard. “From what I knew and know of the man, Your Majesty, if he wants the lady for himself, ’tis because he has feelings for her. Too, as he is lord of Wulfen Castle, the added burden of administering a distant barony would surely hold little appeal for one charged with so great a task.”

The queen was not slow to smile. “I was thinking that myself. In which case, he will not be overly disappointed should I determine Lady Richenda’s grandson has a better claim upon Cheverel, hmm?”

In that a husband would not have to be found for Lady Susanna. Did the queen already lean in that direction? Or was Eleanor simply being Eleanor?

She sighed. “In the end, we can only hope Lord Wulfrith honors his family’s name by speaking true and giving none cause to suspect he is biased toward Lady Susanna. But we shall see what the morrow brings.”

Durand steeled himself further, for he knew she was not done with him.

“As for you, Sir Knight, though I am partial to your guard and your company, I may, indeed, have to find a wife for you.”

And what of her
gallant monk?
Though Durand had been surprised to discover he liked serving the queen, on this matter, he did not like it at all. “I would rather you not concern yourself over my marital status, Your Majesty.”

“All the more reason, Sir Durand.” She waved a hand. “You may go.”

He bowed and strode from the solar. Now to find Everard.

So this was jealousy. Wanting someone as he had wanted no one in a very long time and feeling the cruel twist in his chest at the prospect of being denied.

I want what Eleanor would gift to another.

But this was not the angry sort of jealousy that tempted one to hatred of that other. It was not what he had felt all those years ago when Alan de Balliol had claimed Judith for his own. This jealousy was far more grounded in sorrow and regret. And though, like that other one, neither was there light at the end of it when he tried to peer down its length, it was darker yet.

I want Susanna. For my own. Not to atone. To love.

Everard stared at the darkened ceiling above the bed he shared with his brother who was no more asleep than he, as told by the rhythm of Garr’s breathing that lacked the depth of Sir Elias’s and Judas’s who occupied the pallets.

Everard turned his head and asked low, “Is there something you wish to say, Brother?”

Garr’s eyes glittered. “Only if there is something you wish to ask.”

Everard grunted. “Would that I had the words.”

Silence, and then Garr said, “I watched you during supper.”

“I am aware.”

A short release of breath, almost a laugh. “I saw how you watched her.”

And it had made Everard uncomfortable. But to ensure Susanna and Judas were not bothered where they dined among the masses gathered for the evening meal, he had borne the scrutiny of his brother—he who claimed the eyes were the seat of emotion from which truth could not hide. Fortunately, Lady Annyn had ensured that those from Cheverel were placed distant enough to cause no trouble. Too, the meal had been half as long as it might have been had the queen presided over it. Instead, Eleanor had sent word that she and her children would take their meals in the solar.

Grudgingly grateful his brother awaited an invitation to elaborate, Everard said, “And?”

“It seems you regard her as once I regarded my wife when I thought her beyond my reach. Do you believe Lady Susanna beyond your reach, Everard?”

It was a conversation he had never expected to have, one he had been certain he would not want to have, and yet relief began to peel away his jealously guarded layers.

He listened, confirmed Sir Elias and Judas yet slept, and said, “She has feelings for me, but I have given her good cause not to trust what I feel for her. Indeed, until this day, I was not certain I trusted it myself. I feared, as she does, that my emotions were more heavily weighted by guilt and the need to right wrongs. But even were I able to set aside the longing to atone, still I would want her. And were she absent, I believe that ever would I feel the emptiness she left behind.”