The Longing (29 page)

Though her knees felt weak, she pushed off the tree. “We should not speak further on this.”

Everard watched her distance herself, told himself it was wise for her to do so, for each time he drew near her, it was harder than the time before to pull away. Forsooth, he did not know what he felt for Susanna, nor could he be certain how much of what he felt was because of Judith. But as he had told her, it was not merely guilt or desire, for those alone would never had caused him to open himself up to her as he had done—as he had not done with anyone, not even his brothers.

Wondering where he went from here, and knowing it could not be any place that might cause her further hurt, he shifted his gaze from where she walked downstream and looked to the horses that grazed on the lush grass along the bank.

When a quarter hour passed and Susanna continued to grow distant, he retrieved the stallion and mare and followed. As he neared, she bent before a group of low-lying shrubs, out from under which spread bright green ground cover dotted with white flowers.

She surely heard his approach, for she called over her shoulder, “Sweet woodruff.”

He halted in back of her and watched as she plucked the tiny, star-shaped blooms from their tender stalks. The scent, not unlike fresh cut hay, and yet much more than that, stirred a memory.

She picked a few more, then peered over her shoulder and said, with what sounded like apology, “I know ’tis common and has not the beauty of other flowers, but I have always been fond of their delicacy and, especially, the scent.”

“I know.”

She blinked. “You do?”

He released the reins and lowered to his haunches beside her. “It is that which floated about you when you were a girl. I am guessing you filled your pendant with its petals and leaves.”

Her face tightened, fingers closed around the blossoms.

Regretting that he had once more made her uncomfortable, he shifted his regard to the ground cover. “Forgive me. ’Tis just that I have an unnatural sense of smell, one that sometimes seems as much a curse as a blessing.”

“Then you have smelled roses upon me since my arrival at Wulfen.”

“I have. ’Tis how I confirmed it was you who entered my solar that first time.”

She lowered her chin and opened her hand to consider the blossoms. “And now you are wondering why roses when I favor sweet woodruff.”

“It does raise the question.”

After a long moment, she said, “When Judith wore my pendant, she preferred roses, and when she returned it to me ere her death… The scent reminded me of her, so much that sometimes it seemed as if she were beside Judas and me.”

“You truly loved her.”

She jerked her chin. “I did. And I shall ever miss her.”

Dear Lord, she has lost so much.

He picked a blossom from her hand and carried it to his nose. “’Tis a better scent for you,” he said and, so she would not think he believed her unworthy of the more lavish rose, added, “Sweet. Clean. Pure.”

Her head came up sharply, and he saw her eyes were bright with tears. “You think such words fit me, Everard Wulfrith? You who saw me with Sir Elias, who knows
that
was not just a kiss?”

He knew he should not touch her again, but he released the blossom and slid a hand along her jaw. “What I know, Susanna, is that I am not the only one who struggles with guilt. And just as you would have me released from mine, I would see you free of yours—that you make peace with God and be done with it as I said you should last eve. Ask forgiveness and put it behind you.”

In the curve of his hand he felt her swallow. Lowering his gaze past the temptation presented by her mouth, he settled it on the smooth column of her throat and, when she swallowed again, caught the glimmer of the chain at the neck of her mantle.

She startled when he hooked a finger beneath it, pulled slightly back when he drew the empty pendant free of the tunic.

He turned it in his hand. “Aye, sweet woodruff. It fits you, Susanna.” He lowered the pendant and straightened. “We should start back.”

She nodded, opened the purse on her belt, and shook the handful of woodruff into it.

It took little time to confirm the saddles were properly cinched, and then Everard once more lifted Susanna into the saddle. He handed the reins to her, and that was when he felt a presence that did not belong—one not of the wood though that was where it crouched.

More heavily aware of the sword and dagger upon his belt, he turned, searched his gaze over the ridge above, and picked out and dismissed all sound and movement that did belong in this place.

“What is it?” Susanna asked.

Nothing that could be seen or heard. Perhaps nothing at all. And yet the presence persisted. Upon their return to Wulfen Castle, he would send a patrol to scout the area.

“Naught,” he said, not wishing to alarm her, and strode to the stallion and mounted.

Not until they were out of sight of the waterfall did his senses settle—all the more reason to believe he had not imagined there was something back there. Rather, someone.

As he and Susanna rode side by side and the trees began to thin and allow glimpses of the land before the castle, his senses rose up again. However, this time they were borne along by the sound of hooves quickly covering ground. At the edge of the wood, Everard reined in.

“Who do you think ’tis?” Susanna’s voice was tight with worry.

Keeping his gaze fixed to the far left where they would soon appear, he said, “Likely my brother, come earlier than expected.” It was as he hoped, for though he had wished to speak to Abel about Susanna before introducing them, discomfort was preferable to her fear being realized with another visit by those from Cheverel.

Shortly, four riders on three horses came into sight, and there could be no doubt that the man at the center with the boy in front of him was Abel.

“My brother,” Everard said and looked across his shoulder at Susanna. “Let us meet him.”

As he started to urge his horse forward, she said, “Would it not be best to allow him to pass so we might return once he is within the walls?”

He raised his eyebrows. “He might as well know of you sooner, rather than later.”

Susanna felt her heart lurch. “You are sure?”

“You have naught to fear. Now let us show ourselves ere they are past us.”

She nodded and drew the hood over her head.

“That is not necessary,” he said.

“Even so, I shall wear it.”

Everard looked like he might object again, but a glance at the riders made him urge his horse ahead.

She followed but remained at his back.

No sooner did they come out from among the trees than the riders veered toward them, and it seemed only moments before they reined in before Everard.

Susanna knew immediately that Abel Wulfrith was the one who shared his mount with a boy, for though his face bore a deep scar, he had Everard’s eyes, broad cheekbones, and strong jaw. And nearly as deep a voice when he said, “Such a welcome I did not expect, Brother.”

“Such an early arrival
I
did not expect,” Everard rejoined, then the two drew alongside and clasped arms—and for those spare moments, Abel Wulfrith’s gaze fell upon Susanna, probed the depths of her hood, and travelled down her and up again.

She remained unmoving, only to startle when he grinned.

“’Tis good to see you,” Everard said as the brothers drew apart, then he leaned toward the boy who could not be more than seven or eight years of age. “And you, John. You have grown quite a bit. Indeed, I wager ’tis not a wooden sword you swing these days.”

The boy grinned. “Father has given me a real one. The edges are dull, but only for now.”

“I look forward to seeing all he has taught you.” Everard returned his attention to his brother. “How is your lady wife?”

“Helene is quite well.”

The boy snapped his chin up. “Can I tell him, Father?”

Abel Wulfrith smiled. “You may.”

“I am going to be a brother, Uncle Everard, and Father is going to be…” He frowned. “…a father again.”

Everard chuckled. “I am glad to hear it.” He looked back at his brother. “Most glad to hear it.”

“I thank you.” Abel Wulfrith eased his destrier aside and nodded at the riders behind. “As told in my missive, I am accompanied by Baron Lavonne’s newest knights, Sir Otto and Sir Rainald.”

Everard inclined his head. “You are welcome at Wulfen.”

“My lord,” the men acknowledged him.

“However,” Abel Wulfrith said, “as
not
told, I do not yet know who accompanies you, Everard. Will your companion not come out from under yon hood?”

Once more falling beneath the gaze of the youngest Wulfrith brother—and the others of his party—Susanna closed her hands tighter upon the reins and wished it had not been decided that sooner was better than later.

Everard turned in the saddle, smiled reassuringly, and beckoned her forward. “This is a guest of Wulfen,” he said as she nudged the mare alongside his.

At his nod, she lowered the hood.

No surprise rose upon his brother’s face, only what appeared to be amusement.

“Lady Susanna de Balliol,” Everard said, “my brother, Sir Abel Wulfrith.”

“Sir Abel,” she said, and winced at how small her voice sounded.

The younger man drew near, peered down at her, and mused, “Now this is most curious, Brother.”

“As is your lack of manners,
Brother
,” Everard said.

Sir Abel arched an eyebrow at Susanna. “He is right, of course. Forgive me, my lady. My only excuse is that this is not a moment ever anticipated. Indeed, I would not even have dreamed it.”

“Abel!”

The recipient of the growl grinned. “That is not to say I do not welcome it. Forsooth, I take great pleasure in meeting you, Lady Susanna, and I look forward to knowing more about Wulfen’s unusual guest.”

Susanna detected no sarcasm in his tone, but still she was wary. “I am glad to meet you as well, Sir Abel.”

He looked past her. “It seems we have much more to discuss than thought, Everard.”

“We will talk at Wulfen.” Everard urged his horse forward.

As Susanna did the same and moved past his brother, she heard the boy say, “Father?”

“Son?”

“I remembered not to speak before thinking.”

“I am pleased.” Abel Wulfrith’s voice carried easily as he came behind Susanna. “Now, what are you thinking?”

“Did you see she is dressed as a boy?”

“Aye.”

“But still she is a girl.”

“Very much so.”

“A girl…at Wulfen,” John said, slowly, distinctly, as if to make his father understand the seriousness of the matter.

Susanna nearly smiled.

“There most certainly is a girl at Wulfen, John.”

“But girls are not allowed here.”

“That is true. However, rare exceptions are made, and I am sure your uncle has good cause to grant Lady Susanna admittance.”

Susanna considered Everard where he rode several lengths ahead, wondered if he was also privy to the conversation.

“Do you think she is like Aunt Annyn?” John asked.

Remembering Sir Rowan’s tale of the lady who had stolen into Wulfen and shown she was as adept at wielding arms as men, Susanna let the smile onto her lips.

“Nay,” Sir Abel said. “Methinks this lady is very different from your aunt.”

Susanna tensed, then firmly told herself his words were not meant to insult, for she had not sensed any dislike of her person. Too, he had to know she could hear them.

“Is Uncle Everard going to marry her?”

She startled so violently she knew her reaction was not lost on any who looked her way.

“Now that is a good question.” There seemed a smile in Sir Abel’s voice. “We shall have to ask him, hmm?”

He could not know there was nothing amusing in the suggestion, that it was so unthinkable it made her nose prickle.

She prodded the mare to greater speed so she might lose their conversation beneath the beat of hooves. When she came alongside Everard, he smiled. But it was a strained smile, one that almost made her wish she had not joined him for a ride—almost, for there was comfort in the woodruff he had remembered about her and thought more fitting with its sweet, clean, pure scent.

Oh, Everard, I wish I were merely besotted, but I do love you. And I am sorry for it.

Side by side, they rode on Wulfen Castle and, when they drew near, she once more donned the hood. And prepared herself to return to the tower room.

They were here—had been here when Sir Talbot had circled back to inquire of the lord of the renowned stronghold if he’d had word or sight of a lady and boy in the company of an errant knight. And that hulking bald man had denied it and refused to admit those from Cheverel within the hallowed walls of Wulfen Castle.

“Arrogant, deceitful, God-forsaken liar,” Morris muttered where he sat with his back against the tree as he had done for the past quarter hour.

Not that he was afeared. He was merely wary. And he had cause to be, for he had made no sound that could be heard above the great fall of water, nothing that would have caused Everard Wulfrith to turn and search out the ridge. But search it the knave had done, as if he had another sense about him as it was said some possessed.

Likely by way of the devil,
he assured himself, for he did not care to envy any man anything he himself could not own. That way lay helplessness and worthlessness as keenly honed as any blade that had ever sliced through flesh and bone, and he’d had enough of that from the sire who had openly lamented that his third son was cursed with his mother’s slight build—had said Morris would have been better born a girl.

“Poltroon,” Morris spat, then wrenched his thoughts forward to his present circumstances and decided it would cost him nothing to give God a nod for drawing him to the waterfall this day and hour.

You did well, Lord. I thank You for favoring me.

Not that the Almighty had been in a hurry to do so. Two days and nights Morris had spent in this wood, pacing and cursing at being unable to draw near enough the castle to determine if Judas de Balliol, who was far more deserving of a father’s disgust, was among those who trained at Wulfen. More frustrating was this morning’s exercise, a run through the wood that, had there been a better moon to identify the boy, would have allowed Morris to draw near enough to drive a blade through his heart and be far gone before the body was discovered.