The Longing (11 page)

She drew a deep breath, rolled onto her back, and silently gave thanks when her discomfort proved relatively mild.

As expected, the doorway was not empty. There was the older knight who had initially refused Judas and Sir Elias and her entrance to Wulfen and who had also been present to send them away.

“My lady,” he said.

By what name was he called? Rowan?

“I shall send for food and drink,” he said. “Is there anything else you require?”

Whether or nor she required Everard Wulfrith, she guessed he would also be sent for. And though the weak side of her wished to delay their talk, she needed to know the conditions that would allow Judas and her to remain at Wulfen Castle—more, how he intended to save her nephew.

She shook her head.

The knight turned away. Almost immediately, his retreating footsteps sounded as if they descended rather than traversed a corridor, and she realized he was already upon the stairs. She swept her gaze around the walls. Was this a tower room? Likely, since such a room would further distance her from Wulfen’s young men. Too, though the door stood wide open, there were no sounds to be heard from the hall below.

Belly rudely grumbling over its vast emptiness, Susanna assured herself food was coming—as was the man who had held her so she could drink. But she did not want to think about that, for it had felt achingly good to be in those arms even though they belonged to a man who surely hated her more than he pitied her.

Not liking the thought of being vulnerably flat on her back when he returned, she levered onto her elbows and, after another bout with the sensation of being borne upon water, raised herself to sitting and scooted backward until her shoulders met the wall.

Knowing she must look a mess, she peered down her front. Her gown’s bodice was rumpled, but of greater concern was the pendant that lay upon it. She tucked it beneath the neck of her garment and pulled the coverlet up under her arms. Then, putting her head back against the wall, she dragged fingers through the snarls of her hair until it was ordered enough to braid. However, as she began to section it, she abandoned the idea. Not only did it require too much effort, but she had no ribbon with which to secure it.

She dropped her hands into her lap and surveyed the room—bed, bedside table, chair, side table with wash basin and the pack that held the few items she had taken from Cheverel, and a brazier.

That last made her frown, for it was lit in daylight, something rarely required during late spring.

Of course, when last she had awakened, she had been terribly cold. And Everard Wulfrith had surely known it when he had helped pour drink into her and wiped her mouth to save her the humiliation of dribbling upon herself.

Susanna caught her breath, reflected that the task she had set herself would be easier if the man Judith had loved presented no proof he had ever been as Susanna’s adoring fourteen-year-old self had viewed him.

She shifted her gaze to the narrow door to the left behind which, she hoped, a garderobe lay so that she might relieve her bladder after Everard Wulfrith had come and gone. Next, she considered the bedside table and wished a cup of wine there that would be of more use than her dagger.

She reached to the weapon and was grateful her hand did not quake as violently as it had when she had earlier failed to bring the cup to hand. Had Judas’s and Sir Elias’s weapons been returned to them as well? Of course, her dagger was exclusively used to render meat of a size easily chewed.

Footsteps again. Of ascent rather than descent.

She clasped her hands in her lap.

Everard Wulfrith entered, and his gaze immediately fell upon her. However, rather than approach her, he positioned himself beside the doorway as Squire Joseph came behind bearing a platter.

Noting that the lord of Wulfen was freshly clothed as she did not think he could have been earlier when the scent of his body had revealed he had not expected to draw as near her as he had done, she turned her regard upon his squire who kept his gaze averted as he set the platter on the table beside her.

“Good health to you, my lady,” the young man said and turned on his heel.

Too soon, Susanna was alone with Everard Wulfrith, Sir Rowan absent from the doorway.

Busying her eyes with the contents of the platter—bread, cheese, slices of fowl, and a cup of wine whose pale red depths told it was well watered. Grateful for that last since she needed all of her senses about her, she lifted the cup and forced herself to sip from it as it had been impossible to do earlier without Everard Wulfrith’s aid. Throughout, she felt his stare.

She returned the cup to the platter and looked across the chamber. “I am much better,” she said the first thing that came to mind, then the next, “How long did I sleep?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Since this morn when the abuse to which it would seem you regularly subject your body proved too much and you collapsed atop your mount.”

She had, hadn’t she? Feeling her face warm, she wondered what had come afterward. Had he—

“Twas good I was there to pull you down, else you might have found your end beneath your horse’s hooves.”

Imagining herself senseless in his arms, of being carried by him, she felt herself flush deeper. “I am sorry I was such a burden.”

He frowned. “Hardly. You are not much more than bones barely covered in skin.”

His words cut, though she did not think they were meant to be cruel. And even if that was his intent, his observation was nearly the truth, for it was many years since she had eaten for the enjoyment of taste. Her belly was so often in a state of agitation that she had learned not to stuff it full and to limit herself to only a few bites of foodstuffs heavy in spice and floating in fat. It rarely ended well when she indulged.

“Regardless,” she said, “I thank you.”

He jutted his chin at the platter. “Eat.”

Happy for the excuse to look elsewhere, she determined it was best to start with bread. If it stayed down, she would venture further.

As she broke off a piece, she asked, “What of my nephew?”

“He is well.”

 Though tempted to ask
how
he was well—with what he had occupied his day—Everard Wulfrith’s tone suggested his answer was sufficient. More, though, instincts honed by time and adversity told that she need not fear for Judas’s safety while he was under this man’s protection. Of course, on occasion, instincts had failed her.

“Eat, Lady Susanna.”

She blinked at the bread that was fast turning to crumbs upon the coverlet, hurried it to her mouth.

“And listen,” he said.

If not for the seriousness of what she knew he would tell, she might have smiled at him having waited until her mouth was full before beginning what he surely did not intend to be a conversation.

“Here are the conditions with which you shall comply if you wish to remain at Wulfen Castle. This chamber is the limit of your reach. Should I permit you outside it, you shall do so in the company of an escort. Agreed?”

Only the scant space between these walls. She swallowed and reached for the drink to aid the bread in its journey to her belly.

“You have but to nod, Lady Susanna.”

She cleared the lump in her throat. “Then I am to be a prisoner.”

His brow lined. “Call it what you will, I will not have you further distracting the young men who are here to train, not gawk. However, do you find confinement too distasteful, you are welcome to leave.”

Of course she would agree. Consoling herself that her stay in the tower room would not be long, for surely he would see to the matter of Judas’s inheritance quickly, she said, “I agree.”

“I expected you would. Now eat.”

She broke off a smaller piece of bread the easier to swallow it.

“Next,” he said, “no one comes to this chamber without my permission, including Sir Elias.”

Then the knight would also be allowed to remain at Wulfen? It was surely as he would wish to do since he could not return to Cheverel until Judas was lord.

Her next bite of bread going down with little difficulty, she nodded, said, “Excepting Judas, of course,” and reached to the platter again.

“
Not
excepting Judas.”

She was glad her mouth was not full, for she would have choked. She snatched her hand away from the platter. “I will not be allowed to see my nephew? Why?”

“Not only do I believe it best to limit your influence upon the boy, but such is what is required of all who—”

“
My
influence?”

“Aye.
Your
influence.”

She sat forward, the sudden movement momentarily blurring her vision. “You make it sound a bad thing.”

“It is, Susanna de Balliol.”

“Explain yourself, Lord Wulfrith!”

His mouth tightened. “I speak of the influence of a woman who uses her body to gain favors.”

Her belly clenched and face and neck were swept with the numbing sensation of lost color. He knew the truth of her encounter with Sir Elias in the corridor, meaning the knight had revealed their bargain. In her defense? There seemed no other cause for him to do so. Still, it was nothing for which to be grateful.

“All the more reason you cannot be allowed to move freely among our young men,” Everard Wulfrith said.

As if she might attempt to seduce boys who did not yet practice the treachery of men but would soon enough learn it. Just as this man who as good as called her a Daughter of Eve—inherently sinful and inferior—had learned it.

Control yourself,
entreated the sound side of her that acknowledged how badly she needed his aid.
After all, is there really much difference between a woman who freely consorts with a man not her husband and one who allows intimacies only for the sake of gain? Both unseemly. Both sins.

“Eat,” Everard Wulfrith said—one too many times.

She inhaled sharply, told herself to stop, but could not. “One might think you had never done something you should not with a woman you should not,” she snapped.

This time it was his breath heard around the chamber.

Foolish, Susanna! If you could hold your tongue with Alan de Balliol, surely you can hold it with Everard Wulfrith who, despite his condemnation of what he does not understand, has shown you more kindness these past two days than your own brother did these past eleven years.

As she stared at the man who had not drawn any nearer since coming within, whose face had hardened and color had risen, she feared all was lost, that he would quit the chamber and put them out of Wulfen.

She moistened her lips. “Forgive me. ’Tis just…” She shook her head. “You know not what you ask. Judas is like a son to me.”

Though she thought some of his tension eased, she felt his struggle to remain within when he clearly wished to be without. “Regardless,” he finally said, “I do not ask it. I require it. However, if it comforts you, know that there would be few, if any, opportunities for Judas to come to you here. He will be far too occupied.”

She blinked. “With what?”

His gaze flicked to the platter. “Eat.”

The price of an answer…

This time, she chose a piece of firm white cheese. And wished she had not, for it had a sharp, potent taste she would have quickly cleared from her mouth were she alone.

“On the morrow,” Everard Wulfrith continued, “Judas shall begin training with the others. Hence, another reason to separate the two of you as all our young men are separated from their mothers when they undertake the journey toward manhood.”

“I did not bring him to you for training. That he already receives at Cheverel.”

“He will receive it here as well.”

“But we will not be long at Wulfen.”

Annoyance grooved his face. “You are wrong. Though I shall soon send a missive requesting an audience with the queen to defend Judas’s claim to Cheverel, I do not expect we will receive an answer any sooner than a month hence. Indeed, it could be several months. But for however long it proves, I will not allow your nephew to sit idly by when he can benefit from our training.”

A month. Perhaps several. The realization of how long she might be confined abovestairs made the bile rise. And even more she regretted the cheese.

“Therefore,” he said, “all that remains is for you to agree to my conditions.”

At her hesitation, he said, “This morn, you told you would do anything. This is the anything you must do, Lady Susanna, for ’tis everything.”

She dipped her chin. “I agree.”

“Good, then we begin.” Once more, his gaze shifted to the platter. “Now eat and be done with it.”

She loosed a short, defeated laugh. “Do you not tire of telling me to eat and drink?”

His lids narrowed. “I do.”

She sighed. “Again, I am sorry, for though I would accommodate you—indeed, I wish I could—I cannot eat any more.”

She startled when he strode forward, pressed her back more closely to the wall when he leaned over her, caught his scent that was far different from the odor of his body when he had come earlier.

“If I must, I will feed you, Lady Susanna, for I have had enough of your swooning and sickening.”

As she stared up at him and imagined him making good his threat, her belly twinged in a way entirely different from the rousing of bile. “’Tis not defiance that makes me refuse,” she said, “nor any silly female whim, Lord Wulfrith. It is fear that I will mess the rushes, for I do not feel well.”

“Neither would I if I starved myself as you do.”

“I do not starve myself.” At least, not intentionally. “Sometimes my belly troubles me, making it difficult to keep food down, that is all. But I give you my word that, when it settles, I shall eat more.”

He considered her. “See that you do,” he said and pivoted.

He was leaving? Unsettled at the prospect of the confinement that stretched long before her, she called, “Lord Wulfrith?”

He halted in the doorway but did not turn back.

She did not know what to say.
Was
there anything to say? Likely nothing that would change his mind regarding how she would spend the next month or more at Wulfen Castle. But there was something she wished to know. “How much have you hated me these eleven years?”