The Longing (41 page)

“You will tell her?”

Would he? If he did, would she yet think him motivated only by those things she thought had roused him to kiss her? And were she to believe him, would it not be all the worse for them both if Judas was acknowledged as heir and the queen wed Susanna to another? But if Judas was denied—

Nay, he would not wish there. Judas was heir to Cheverel, and Everard would do all in his power and at prayer to see him acknowledged as such—including taking to heart Sir Durand’s warning that he hold close his feeling for Susanna when he gave testimony.

Garr spoke again. “Our father told that a man should love nothing save his destrier, sword, and shield—warned that always a woman turned a man from his purpose. What he did not tell, likely did not know, was that such purpose is best tempered by the love of a good woman.” His hand gripped Everard’s shoulder. “Tell her. Do not wait ’til it is too late as it nearly was for Annyn and me.”

“I thank you for hearing me, Brother,” Everard said, “and I shall consider what you have said. However, much depends on the morrow.”

He thought Garr might press him further, felt the unspoken words in the space between them, but his brother released his shoulder and said, “Then sleep, for there is much to do to prepare the boy to stand before Henry’s queen.”

So there was. And, Everard knew, Susanna would not like it.

Determined to settle his mind, he turned onto his side and sent up a prayer that Judas would be heard and justice done.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“He says I must marry him, but I do not want to. He is too pretty.”

Issie Wulfrith’s words lacked the petulance one might expect from a child who had not yet attained the age of six. There was no whine to them, no hint that another should intervene. It seemed only the expression of an opinion.

Susanna felt the constriction in her chest ease. After four hours of standing in the alcove watching the queen’s man call forth the petitioners who sought redress, she embraced the diversion offered by Baron Wulfrith and his daughter. The queen having called for a break in the proceedings and exited the great hall, the dark-haired girl had raced through the throng and met her father as he descended the dais.

Now as they neared, her hand clasped in the baron’s, he said, “Lord Henry may be pretty now, but he will make a handsome man, just as you will make a beautiful woman—like your mother.”

“Still I do not think I will want to marry him.”

“Then ’tis good he is betrothed to the daughter of the king of France.”

She gasped. “Oh, that is good. But has no one told him?”

“I am sure he knows, Issie. Mayhap he just finds a girl with a sword, even if only a stick sword, more interesting than one without. I did.”

Susanna smiled, and in that moment, the baron’s gaze lifted from his daughter’s upturned face to hers. Though certain his destination had been the inner bailey to take in fresh air after the press of too many bodies that summer’s heat had turned foul, he altered his course.

A moment later, he stood before her.

“Lady Susanna, you have met my daughter, Issie?”

“Not formally.” Susanna moved her smile to the girl. “I am pleased to meet you, Lady Issie.”

The girl considered her, and Susanna felt as if she were being measured. Then, bright as sunshine punching a hole through the clouds, Issie Wulfrith smiled. “I am glad to meet you, my lady. I am sorry I did not greet you in the garden yesterday, but my brother…” She sighed. “Boys can be difficult, do you not think?”

As on the day past, Susanna was once more tempted to laughter, but though she longed to allow that rare emotion to roll through her, she said as solemnly as possible, “So they can be, Lady Issie.”

The girl looked up at her father and raised her eyebrows as if to prove herself right on the matter.

He looked back at Susanna. “I trust your observations of the proceedings have provided insight into what to expect?”

Though his mother had informed Susanna that, unlike most of the other petitioners, her presence in the great hall was not required until the matter of Cheverel was brought before the queen, Susanna had ventured belowstairs to be better prepared for what was to come. Such a relief it was that Lady Richenda had not done the same.

She inclined her head. “It has provided good insight.”

“Some of it troublesome?”

Did it show on her face, or had he also been bothered by several of the decisions handed down? “Mostly, I think the queen is wise, but there are times her determinations seem more a result of whim.”

“I fear that is the prerogative of royalty.” He must have sensed her rising unease, for he added, “I do not believe the matter of Cheverel will be so lightly dealt with, and for that it saves for last.”

She blinked. “Does it?”

“Another prerogative of royalty, though this one is welcome since it means the hall will be cleared of spectators.”

Welcome, indeed, the prospect of a large audience such as that which attended the proceedings this day with their tittering, rude asides, and foul gestures, having unsettled Susanna. The fewer in attendance the better, not only for Judas’s sake and hers, but Everard’s. In defending her nephew’s claim to Cheverel, he would be flaying open his past.

She frowned. Had Baron Wulfrith arranged it thus? She nearly asked, but his daughter exclaimed, “Uncle Everard!”

Susanna followed the girl’s gaze to the one who strode toward them and felt her heart convulse. It was the first she had seen of him since supper on the night past when he had been seated at the high table amongst family. He looked more grave this day. And deeply fatigued.

“Little Lady Isobel,” he acknowledged his niece with a smile that, though it appeared genuine, was strained.

“Issie,” she corrected. “That way you do not have to say ‘little,’ which I am no longer.”

“Apologies, Lady Issie.” He looked to his brother. “We are next?”

“It has not been spoken, but I would make ready.”

A shiver went through Susanna. This was what they had long awaited, but now that it was upon them…

“I will leave you and Lady Susanna to prepare.” The baron started to turn away.

“I thank you, Baron Wulfrith,” Susanna said.

He considered her, then said, “You may call me Garr, my lady.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you, Garr.”

He turned to his daughter. “A ride, Issie? Or are you too big?”

“I am not
that
big!”

He chuckled and swung her up and onto his back.

When they passed through the doors, Susanna looked back at Everard.

He held out a hunk of bread. “Eat.”

That one word spoken by him after all these weeks momentarily squeezed the breath from her. He was as firm as when he had commanded the same of her so that he would not be inconvenienced by her infirmity, but there was more to it now.

She turned her hand around the warm bread. However, as her fingertips brushed his palm, he closed his fingers around hers and said, “I remember, too, Susanna.”

Tears rushed her eyes, but though tempted to avert her gaze, she held. “Much has changed.”

“And will yet change.” It was said with the intensity of a promise, then he released her.

“I thank you,” she said, “and for the consideration at supper last eve.” Nothing had been spoken by the serving girl who had placed a trencher before her, but her meal had been as absent sharp spices as those prepared for her at Wulfen.

Everard nodded and, as she broke off a piece of bread, said, “There is something we must needs discuss,” and stepped into the alcove alongside her.

“Aye?” She popped the piece in her mouth.

“When we go before the queen, you will serve as a witness.”

She chewed, swallowed. “Of course I shall.”

“A witness only. You will not present Judas’s claim to Cheverel.”

She frowned. “You will?”

“Nay, I also will serve as a witness only.”

“I do not understand.”

“Last eve, Judas told that he wishes to be the one to defend his claim. Thus, Sir Elias and I have been preparing him—”

“Nay!” She dropped the bread and took a step toward him. “What are you thinking? He is but ten!”

“In years, Susanna. Though I also had doubts, he presents well—”

“Before you, mayhap, but before the queen—”

“Susanna”—he lowered his hands to her shoulders—“hear me.”

She did not want to hear him. What she wanted was to find Judas and make him see sense. She did not count herself an orator, but she was an adult and more capable of ensuring she was heard, especially above the voices of those from Cheverel. And—oh!—what perverse glee would pulse through Lady Richenda if Judas was the one against whom her grandson’s claim must be defended.

Realizing how quickly her breath came and went, knowing Everard was prepared should she try to break free, she drew on years of experience with repulsing advances and drew a deep breath. Upon the exhale, she let her shoulders slump and lowered her chin.

Everard eased his hold.

She twisted out of his hands, but as she set foot outside the alcove, he hooked an arm around her waist. He pulled her to him and pressed her against the side wall.

She snapped her chin up. “Release me!”

His eyes drifted to her mouth. “Would that I could, Susanna, for now is not the time to be thinking of you in any way other than as Judas’s aunt.”

She stilled.

“Now listen. I know Judas is yet a boy in many ways. However, his circumstances and the attempts upon his life have thrust him nearer manhood than one his age ought to be. He knows it and is determined to do this—to be done with peering out from behind your skirts while you defend him and take his blows.”

She drew a sharp breath. “He said this?”

“He did, and he will not be argued down from it.”

“Perhaps you did not try hard enough.”

“In the beginning I did, but then I saw the good of it.”

“Good?”

Everard laid a calloused palm to her jaw and, despite her churning, she was tempted to close her eyes and savor his touch. “Judas will not be alone,” he said. “We will be near. And do not forget that, unbeknownst to those who would steal Cheverel from him, we have Sir Morris. If he can be made to talk, it will greatly aid Judas’s defense.”

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Do you think he will talk?”

“’Tis all in the timing.”

She wanted to know more about that timing, but before she could press him, he continued, “If Judas can do this for himself, I believe it will be a balm to all he has suffered.”

“And if he cannot?”

“Then he shall return to Wulfen, nearer manhood for having made the attempt.”

Oh, Lord, let it be so. Should Judas lose Cheverel, let it not break him.

This time there was no feigning acquiescence. Lowering her tense shoulders, she said, “I will not argue it, then.”

Everard drew the pad of his thumb across her lips, lowered his head. For a moment, it seemed he might forget to think of her only as Judas’s aunt, but he stopped while there was yet space between their mouths. “No matter the outcome, when this is done, I would speak with you.”

“About?”

“Us.”

Was there another word of so few letters that held as much meaning? That had the potential to so beautifully remedy the state of loneliness?

Only in its purest form. Only if it does not spring from a need to atone.
Was it possible with Everard? Was it too much to hope that even if he could never come near to loving her as he had loved Judith, he might feel enough for her that there would be some happiness for them?

“Susanna?”

She nodded. “We should speak. Too, I have something I must needs give you.”

He drew his head back, but though she expected a frown, his expression held a smile. “I am glad to hear it.” He released her.

He could not know she had found the ruby, could he? But if not that, it had to be the poem to which he referred. If so, would he truly be pleased for her to give it to him—to reveal the truth of her feelings?

“Lord Wulfrith, Lady Susanna.”

She turned with Everard to face the knight who had come to Queen Eleanor in the garden on the day past.

“Sir Durand?” Everard said.

“I am to tell you the queen will hear the matter of Cheverel when she returns to the hall a quarter hour hence.”

Susanna’s mouth went dry.

“We shall be ready,” Everard said.

Sir Durand inclined his head and strode opposite.

“Come.” Everard took Susanna’s arm. “I will see you abovestairs so you might freshen yourself.”

She was grateful for his escort and, when they parted outside her chamber, she was more grateful for the words he spoke near her ear.

“I will be with you.”

In that moment, she knew it was time to repent of her lie—no matter the consequence.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

All was silent as Judas stood erect before the queen who had called forth those representing the claimants to Cheverel. A stride to his right was Lady Richenda who had been first to answer the summons and whose head had snapped so quickly around when Judas came alongside her that it seemed impossible she could not have broken something in her neck.

“What is this?” Lady Richenda squawked.

“That, Lady Richenda,” Eleanor said, “is the one you hope to set aside in favor of your grandson.”

From where Susanna sat alone upon a bench against the wall, across from the bench upon which sat Lady Blanche with her babe and, beside her, Sir Talbot, she heard Lady Richenda gulp. And then the woman rushed to words with, “Forgive me, Your Majesty. ’Tis just unseemly, do you not think?”

Susanna was surprised by her vehemence, certain the lady would be delighted at the prospect of matching wits against a boy she deemed incapable of offering up a good defense.

At the queen’s silence, Lady Richenda continued, “What I mean is that he is but a child—”