The Kindling (39 page)

“Your brother wishes to know of your plans now that Parsings is behind you,” Abel said low.

She gave him a smile, then looked back at Christian. “I thank you for all you did to make it so…Brother.” How she wished her own acknowledgment of their kinship rolled off her tongue as easily as it did his. “Know that I am gladdened to once more call Abingdale my home.”

He considered her, then inclined his head and called an end to the modest meal hastily brought to table upon his return home—a time well before the appointed supper hour that had allowed for a gathering of family members absent the usual retainers who shared food and drink in the great hall.

“It will come more easily with practice,” Abel murmured as he took Helene’s elbow to assist her in rising from the bench.

Warmed by his concern, she said, “I suppose it is good that I am so easily read by you.”

“’Tis, just as I would be as easily read that there be no more misunderstandings between us so unwieldy as to cause either of us pain.” As he led her from the dais, he added, “After all, my heart is in your keeping, my lady.”

His lady… Wishing they were alone so she might put her arms around him, she said, “As mine is in yours.”

No sooner did they step down amid the floor rushes than Lady Isobel called to Abel from the opposite end of the dais where she appeared to be in no hurry to relinquish the chair in which she marveled over her grandson. And at her back stood her daughter, the regal Lady Gaenor.

Abel must have felt Helene tense, for he drew her nearer his side and said, “I believe my mother is curious about what goes between us, though if John can see it, surely she can as well.”

Helene jerked her chin up. “John knows?”

“He does.”

“But I have said naught to him.” Not that she did not believe Abel was sincere in his desire to make a life with her and her son. Rather, she wanted the time to be right, and that required her and Abel to discuss the best means of broaching the subject.

“’Tis what he has seen with his own eyes that informed him,” Abel said quietly as they neared his mother. “This morn, after he and I left you to your ablutions, he did tell me upon the stairs that he liked well that I love you.”

Feeling the warmth in her breast spread, Helene drew her arm back, slid it out of his hold, and replaced it with her hand in his. “As do I, Abel Wulfrith.”

He wove his fingers with hers and, together, they ascended the dais.

Lady Isobel looked from one face to the other, to their joined hands, then once more to the babe who had begun to fuss—likely in anticipation of his next feeding that was made all the more urgent by the presence of his mother.

“Is Lyulf not among the most handsome of babes?” Lady Isobel said.

Finding the woman’s eyes upon her, Helene inclined her head. “He is, my lady.”

Lady Isobel shifted her gaze to her son. “One’s children’s children are the greatest blessing. Thus, I hope I will have many more little ones to fill my arms ere life’s end.”

“I do not doubt you shall,” Abel said.

She smiled. “As we are of the same mind, methinks I shall extend my stay—providing your sister and her husband are willing to accommodate me.”

Hardly ignorant of what was implied by their exchange, Helene searched the older woman’s face for a glimpse of the lie—a flicker of distress over Abel’s choice of wife.

But then Lady Gaenor leaned down and the fall of her hair blocked Helene’s view of Lady Isobel’s countenance. “We shall be most happy for you to remain with us as long as you like,” she said and kissed her mother’s cheek.

Immediately, her infant son’s fussing turned more vigorous, and it was with a mewl of disappointment that his grandmother relinquished him.

As Lady Gaenor straightened, she bestowed a beautiful smile upon Helene and Abel. Then, eager to feed little Lyulf, she withdrew from the hall.

“So tell, Abel,” his mother said, “how much longer should I remain at Broehne?”

He looked to Helene. “If my lady agrees, we shall speak vows the moment the allotted time has passed following the reading of the banns.”

Wondering if she had the capacity to be any happier, Helene said, “I most ardently agree.”

“Before the end of the month, then,” Lady Isobel pronounced. “That suits me very well.”

A whoop sounded, and Helene and Abel looked around to see John burst upon the hall, having secured his release from the kitchen maid to whom he had been entrusted so his young ears would not learn the truth of their departure from Parsings.

“Sir Abel!” John called. “’Tis time!”

Helene glanced at Abel. “For what?”

He grinned. “He wishes me to teach him the quarterstaff.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Not under my instruction.” He raised his eyebrows, and she inclined her head, acceding to his silent request to begin the process of guiding their son toward manhood. “You would like to observe?”

“I would.”

“If you do not mind, Helene,” Lady Isobel said, “I would speak with you a few minutes.”

She tensed.

Abel squeezed her hand and gave her a smile that told she had nothing to fear.

“Of course, my lady.” She slid her hand out of his.

No sooner did he step off the dais than John was upon him. A moment after that, her squealing son was scooped up and tucked beneath the warrior’s arm.

“Come, Helene.” Lady Isobel said once father and son had passed through the great doors and out of sight. She gestured at the bench beside her. “Sit with me.”

Helene calmed herself with the reminder that no matter what the lady thought of her, it was Abel who mattered. Still, it was no minor thing to be easy in the woman’s presence, especially now that there were no others to offer a distraction.

As she lowered to the bench, Lady Isobel said, “Your boy takes well to my son.”

Helene put her chin up. “He does, indeed, my lady. Sir Abel has been most kind to John.”

“And shall make him a good father.”

Her words seemed without censure, but Helene determined that she would pursue what was in Lady Isobel’s heart. “Are you true, my lady?”

The woman angled her body nearer. “True?”

“I did not expect you to be so accepting of the one upon whom your son has bestowed his affections, especially considering what we last spoke of at Castle Soaring.”

Lady Isobel’s brow smoothed. “Dear Helene, though methinks the treacherous sea between those of noble and common birth must be near impassable, I did not discourage you from pursuing a relationship with my son because I thought you unworthy. I warned you because I did not wish to see you hurt, believing as I did that his first wife had forever ruined him for marriage—he has told you of Rosamund, has he not?”

Helene nodded.

“Then surely it is not so far to believe that, after such a tragedy, it would take an unimagined woman to entice my son to commit again to the keeping of a wife?”

Lord, is she as sincere as she sounds?

“Of course,” the lady continued, “I did not know you then as I hope to come to know you now.”

How Helene longed to believe—to question no further—but there was one more thing. “If you had not learned that one side of me is noble, would you still feel as you do?”

With a smile of apology, the woman said, “I hope you shall come to know me as well. However, in answer to your question, I would feel as I do, for not only am I acquainted with the folly of a loveless marriage, but my Abel has suffered enough from having his future determined for him. I am most eager to see him happy, and I do not doubt that you and your son make him so.”

Helene breathed in, breathed out. “I thank you.”

The lady pushed her chair back and stood. “Now, if it would not make you too uncomfortable, I would embrace the woman whom I shall soon call daughter.”

Helene stared up at her, then slowly rose and stepped into her arms—a mother’s arms, arms that held one close, that lingered. As she savored the embrace, she thought back to Sister Clare who had not lingered but whose stern-faced patience and kindness and—yes—love yet remained.

“I think I must be blessed,” Helene whispered.

The lady laughed softly. “As do I.”

When they parted, Abel’s mother reached up and pulled through her fingers a tress that had escaped Helene’s braid. “Such a lovely color. It will wear well on my grandchildren. Welcome to the Wulfriths, Daughter.”

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Helene and Abel’s love story. Somewhat to my surprise—only
somewhat
since he is a Wulfrith too—Everard is proving as determined as his younger brother in persuading me to write his story. He not only supplied the title, THE LONGING, but generously threw in the first few chapters. And so, I pass them along in the excerpt that follows. Of course, I’m also tempted to peek in on the redeemed Durand—a novella, perhaps?—but he and Everard will have to wait a bit since other delayed projects are calling for the ink in my pen (yes, much of my story weaving still takes place on paper).

Next up, a rewrite of one of my earlier award-winning medieval romances—the 1994 Bantam Books release,
Warrior Bride
, retitled
Lady At Arms.
Though infused with inspirational elements that naturally fit into any tale set during what has been called the Age of Faith,
Lady At Arms
falls more into the “clean read” than the “inspirational” category. For a look at the fabulous new cover, visit:
www.tamaraleigh.com
. For a peek at what’s inside, this book includes not one but two excerpts.

Thank you for joining me on my
Age of Faith
journey. I wish you many hours of inspiring, happily ever-after reading.

TAMARA LEIGH

P/S: If you enjoyed THE KINDLING, would you consider posting a review at your online bookstore, even if only a sentence or two? Thank you!

Amazon

EXCERPT

THE LONGING

Book Five in the Age of Faith series

CHAPTER ONE

Cheverel, England

June, 1159

His name was Judas. Not Judas of the Bible, but a Judas all the same—or so his father believed.

Lady Susanna knew better. Though the blood spoken between the boy and her claimed him as her nephew, the hearts upon which the name of the other was written made them as near to mother and son as they might come. Regardless, for as well as their bond had served her brother all these years by keeping his son from underfoot—at inopportune times, ensuring the boy was almost invisible—Alan de Balliol had scorned them both. Or worse. And for that, in the failing light of day but a month following her brother’s burial, Susanna alternately inhaled and slowly expelled her breath as she and Judas awaited the announcement of whether it was a boy or a girl born to the departed baron’s fourth wife.

A boy.

She did not have to be told it in words, for the joy shouted down from the birthing chamber said it well enough. Feeling herself begin to fold where she sat clasping her hands so tightly she could no longer feel them, she forced herself back in the chair and looked up at Judas where he perched on its arm.

He was but nine years old, though one would not know it to stand him alongside his peers who would fall short by many inches. More, they would not know it to look in eyes that were cursed with a greater depth of experience than they ought to boast. Alan was to blame for that, though there were others as well—and she did not exclude herself, certain that had she tried harder, she could have preserved more of her nephew’s innocence.

“And so I have a brother,” he murmured, no joy in the statement, though neither was there animosity. He was simply wary of how the babe’s arrival changed things.

But Susanna, in spite of one hope after another being ground beneath the ruthlessness of Alan de Balliol, allowed herself the smallest hope that things would not change for the worst. After all, her brother was dead, and his second son by his latest wife was just that—second. No matter the rumors, of which nothing had come before the baron’s auspicious—

Forgive me, Lord.

—death, he had waited to learn the sex of the child before doing what he had surely longed for years to do. Thus, Judas remained heir.

An obstacle between the newborn son of Lady Blanche and the barony,
the learned voice of worry pecked at Susanna. Such an obstacle would not suit the lady, but of greater concern was the woman’s mother who had never made the slightest pretense of having a care for Judas.

That loathsome, beak-nosed harpy would want
her
grandson to inherit the barony, an expectation she had carried high upon her haughty chin since the announcement of her daughter’s pregnancy months past. And that made the situation quite possibly dangerous.

“It does not bode well,” Judas said.

How she hated that his thoughts ran with her own when they ought to be racing with those things upon which other boys of his age indulged—swords and riding and running and wrestling and all manner of mischief for which he absolutely must be chastised on his journey toward manhood. But for Judas de Balliol, those things were second to survival.

Susanna pulled her hands apart and laid one upon his where it gripped his thigh. “It changes naught, Judas. You are your father’s heir.”

He raised his eyebrows. “For how long, Aunt Sanna?”

Until it could be proven otherwise. But it could not. Could it? “I am sure the king will acknowledge you soon.” She squeezed his hand. “And then you will be Lord of Cheverel. Until then…we continue on as always. We stay the course.”

He forced a smile that she wished he felt behind his lips and down to his heart. “We stay the course,” he said, then slipped off the chair arm and crossed to the hearth before which they had sat throughout the endless hours of moaning, screeching, cursing, and the shattering of objects against walls.

He had only just added another log to the fire when the tap-tap-tapping of hard-soled slippers sounded from the stairs.

He straightened and turned as Susanna pushed up out of the chair, both knowing to whom those footsteps belonged.