by Speer, Flora
“Rightful anger,” Arden retorted, bristling a little.
“I am sure you believe that is so.” Margaret spoke quickly, before he could begin to scold her. “However, as Catherine saw the situation, she was in the midst of a joyful reunion with a beloved brother whom she had not seen in years. She thought you would fall in with her plans, as you used to do when you were children.”
“We are no longer children,” Arden noted with a frown.
“I am to blame, too,” Margaret said. “Sorely to blame, as I have already admitted to you.”
“Yes, you are,” Arden said, and did not add that she was also to blame for the unwanted desires he was enduring. “What do you expect me to make of these statements of yours, Lady Margaret? True as they are, I hear nothing in them to help Catherine.”
“Can't you see how problem piled upon problem has overset her?” Margaret cried. “Catherine went to Sutton Castle thinking she was to attend me at a joyful wedding. Instead, I pleaded with her to help me escape, an action she found difficult to accept. Then came the escape, and the cold and frightening ride to Bowen. She knows how violent my father's reaction will be to what we have done if he finds us, yet she took the risk for my sake. Two days after we reached Bowen, you arrived, and on the heels of Catherine's soaring joy at seeing you again came the news about Tristan. So many emotional blows so quickly dealt are enough to drive anyone to take refuge in her bed.”
“All of those blows did not overset you,” Arden said.
“I have not lost a man I love, from whom I had hope of marriage,” Margaret said. “Nor do I have a beloved brother who refuses to acknowledge my unhappiness, nor a severe chill that has settled in my lungs. Catherine suffers from all of these afflictions.”
They were standing close together. Arden's gaze bored into Margaret, but the mysterious veil at the back of his eyes was firmly in place, so she could not begin to guess at his thoughts. She only knew she wanted to touch him. Drawn to him while at the same time frightened by the passionate emotions he evoked in her, she stood quaking like the young girl she had once been, waiting for him to make the first move.
“What do you suggest we do for her?” he asked.
“I thought perhaps you and I could pretend to be friends,” Margaret said, “and include Catherine in our conversations.” She did not mention Aldis, fearing what his reaction would be if she added his cousin to their group.
“Indeed?” Arden's eyebrows went up, as if he did not trust mere conversation to work the necessary changes in his sister.
“We could draw her into a warm and loving circle,” Margaret said, “and make her feel wanted, as she felt with her parents and you, long ago. If Catherine believes we love her and if she begins to take an interest in other matters, then the loss of Tristan may diminish in importance among her thoughts, until she is able to accept the truth of the situation and lay aside her grief for what can never be.”
“Very practical,” Arden said, nodding his approval. “Have you any idea how to achieve such a goal?”
“No,” Margaret admitted, “I have not. My family has never been a loving one, nor was my late husband's family. Since Catherine used to talk about the closeness between your parents and the affection of other relatives whenever they gathered together, I thought you might remember how it is done.”
“I?” he said, recalling family gatherings when he was a child, seeing in his mind the faces of relatives dearly loved and now lost to him. His mother, who had died shortly after he left England, his cousin Roger, who had been killed fighting at his side in the desert, his father's younger brother, Oliver.... Uncle Oliver.
“I know nothing of familial affection,” he stated coldly.
Once again, Margaret looked into bleak, emotionless eyes that were cold as ice. Faced with Arden's coldness, she almost gave up her plan, until she thought of Catherine, who had so boldly aided Margaret when Margaret needed help. Now it was Catherine who needed Margaret's help.
Arden needed help, too. Margaret knew, as surely as she knew the order of the canonical hours, that Arden's spirit was every bit as disturbed and vexed as was Catherine's. The causes were different. Margaret could not begin to imagine what had so sorely wounded Arden's heart, while she did know the sources of Catherine's unhappiness. And the manifestations were different, Catherine withdrawing into overemotional tears and a refusal to eat; Arden also withdrawing, but into cold hostility and denial of all emotion.
“If I agree to do this, you must agree to leave Aldis out of it,” Arden said.
“Why?” Margaret demanded.
“Because I wish it.” He gave no hint as to his reason – if he had a reason.
“Very well, for Catherine's sake, I will agree,” Margaret said. “I'll explain to Aldis what we are doing.”
Margaret hoped to become the conduit through which Arden and Catherine could reach toward each other until they were once again as close and loving as they had been when she had first known them as children. Surely, Catherine's restored happiness would be the richest thanks Margaret could bestow upon the best friend she had ever known. With Catherine in good health, smiling and eager for life again, Margaret could enter a convent without hesitation, knowing she had fully repaid all of her friend's loyalty and love.
Furthermore, if Arden could make peace with Catherine, perhaps he would begin to treat Aldis more kindly, too, which would be a blessing for the girl who had so quickly proven herself a friend to Margaret.
Margaret knew she would have to choose her tactics with great care, especially where Arden was concerned. Yet, having been allowed a brief glimpse behind the shields he had erected to protect his suffering heart, could she in good conscience turn away from him? As one who had chosen the religious life, wasn't it her duty to help others whenever she could?
She had yet another matter to consider. She was beginning to care deeply about Bowen and the people who lived there – Sir Wace, Michael and Guy, the good-natured cook, the maidservants and men-at-arms, all of whom were unfailingly kind to her. If Arden's outlook improved, so would the lives of his people. If she succeeded, she would leave Bowen a happier place.
Margaret was aware of the faults in this line of reasoning. She was also aware of the way in which Arden was watching her, and so, in preference to examining her motives more closely, she decided to begin her efforts by suggesting a game.
“You are smiling,” Arden said. “Does that mean you have a useful idea, after all?”
“I believe I have,” Margaret replied. “Do you play chess?”
“I do,” he responded, looking wary of what was to come next.
“Are there chess pieces and a board to be found at Bowen?”
“How should I know, after so long away? No, wait,” Arden said. “I saw a battered old board in Sir Wace's quarters yesterday. I suppose he used to play with his son who, according to Sir Wace, has gone to Wortham Castle as a squire.”
“Would you ask Sir Wace to lend the set to you?”
“Why? You can't think I will teach the game to Catherine?”
“That is exactly what I want you to do,” Margaret said. “Learning to play chess will occupy her full attention and keep her thoughts off Tristan. Furthermore, in order to instruct her in the game, you will have to talk to Catherine and to spend hours sitting with her. All of this will convince her of your affection.”
“What will you be doing while I attempt to play chess with my sister?” Arden asked, speaking as if he had caught her out in a fault.
“Mending,” Margaret said after a moment's thought. “I shall sit beside you and Catherine, with needle and thread in hand and pleasant comments falling from my tongue. When we counted the linens a few days ago we discovered several torn pieces and set them aside to be repaired. If I finish the mending, I shall advance to sewing new tunics for the men-at-arms. There is fabric laid away in one of the storerooms for just that purpose.”
“Where do you propose to conduct this effort to restore Ca
therine's good spirits?” Arden asked. Looking around he said, “Here in the solar, perhaps? With four long windows, there is plenty of light, except on the dreariest day, and the room is always warm, so she won't take a new chill to make her ill all over again.”
“What a good suggestion.” Margaret smiled at him. He stared at her mouth as if he had never seen a woman's lips curve upward before. She noted a slight upward quirk at one side of Arden's mouth and decided she would make a point of smiling more often. Catherine would be encouraged to see a smiling face and, if Margaret smiled, Arden might begin to smile again, too. She would give much to hear the carefree laugh that had once been a part of Arden's younger character.
Warning herself not to expect too much of him too quickly, Margaret went on to suggest to Arden a practical schedule for their therapeutic intervals with Catherine.
* * * * *
Arden knew Margaret was right about Catherine. He could not let his sister waste away over a foolish affection for a man who was aware of her only as the younger relative of a longtime friend. For Catherine's sake Arden would pretend to be friends with Margaret and the two of them would try their best to coax Catherine into a more lighthearted humor. Success with Catherine would provide a small measure of redemption for him, which would be made all the more noble if he was able to keep his growing attraction toward Margaret under control while the two of them acted in concert.
Arden watched her pacing about the solar as she described where a table and chairs ought to be set. Margaret's movements were fluid and graceful, the gestures of her hands expressive yet not overdone. Once, long ago, he would have looked forward to the opportunity to spend hours at a time with Margaret, watching her, listening to her speak. It was not so now, not with blood-guilt laid upon his shoulders, an invisible, silent burden that would be with him for the rest of his life, keeping him eternally separate from all decent folk.
How he was going to tell his father what he had done, Arden did not know. He did know that he ought not to be at Bowen, not with Margaret and Catherine and Aldis there, too. He also knew he did not have the courage to leave.
Unaware of his gloomy thoughts, Margaret continued to talk. She had her entire scheme neatly worked out and was explaining it to Arden as if she were a war leader organizing a battle plan and he was one of her lieutenants. No wonder she had so proudly taken the blame for the scheme to escape from her father and Lord Adhemar. And no wonder Catherine had fallen in with the plan. Margaret possessed a mind for pertinent details. To his surprise, Arden felt an appreciative chuckle rising in his chest and only repressed it with difficulty. He let her speak a little longer, listening to her with growing respect.
“I agree with all you have said,” he told her when she paused for breath.
“You do?” She sounded surprised. “I feared – I mean, I thought – you would want to make changes. Men usually do, when a woman has made a suggestion.”
Her cheeks were slightly flushed. Arden hoped it was with pleasure at his ready acceptance. His wicked heart felt lighter already. If this was the beginning of redemption, it was sweet, indeed. All he needed to do, he told himself, was treat Margaret exactly as he treated his sister. And leave the details to her. It would be a new experience for him to accept a woman's direction, but he trusted her to know better than he what would please Catherine.
“I'll find Sir Wace and ask him for the chess set,” he said.
Chapter 11
Arden did not bother knocking on Catherine's bedroom door. Not wanting to be refused entrance, he just walked in, to discover her lying in bed with her eyes closed and her hands folded upon her bosom. It was a pose so like that of a body prepared for burial that Arden stopped abruptly, his breath catching in his throat.
Margaret, who had come into the room right behind him, bumped into his back. When Arden began to breathe again he inhaled the mixed-flower scent of her perfume. A pure, sweet longing pierced through him. No, he corrected himself, what he was feeling was far from pure, though it was infinitely sweet.
“Speak to her,” Margaret whispered, with one hand on Arden's shoulder to urge him forward.
“Catherine.” Sternly pushing aside all thought of his improper desire for Margaret, Arden went to the bed and bent over it, taking both of his sister's hands in his. “I have come to talk to you.”
“To berate me again?” Catherine asked. She opened sad, gray-green eyes to look directly into his eyes. “To tell me how much you hate me?”
Arden felt the full weight of guilt for what he had done to her pressing upon his heart. His selfish need to find a nest where he could hide like a wounded animal had made him treat his sister as if she mattered not at all to him. Wanting to be alone at Bowen and angry because he was not, he had refused to accept either Catherine's explanation for her presence there, or the reasoning behind her actions, and then he had told her of Tristan's marriage with rude coldness. He, and he alone, was the cause of Catherine's unhappiness.
“I have done with scolding,” he said in a voice roughened by the sudden tightness in his throat. “We will speak no more of my anger at finding you here. Dear Cat, will you join us for the evening meal?”
“I do not want to go to the great hall,” she said. “It is filled with men, and all the noise and bustle makes my head ache. I just want to be quiet.”
“My invitation is not to the hall,” Arden told her, “but to the solar. Lady Margaret and Aldis have arranged a light meal for us, and I have built up the fire so you won't be cold, as you might be in the hall, where it can be drafty. We will eat, and talk, and drink a little wine and, I promise, I will speak no unkind word to you.”
“I can't eat,” Catherine said in a low voice. “I have no appetite. I am sure food will only make me ill again.”
“Then just sit with us and bear us company,” Margaret suggested. “I have missed your conversation.”
“I haven't been a very good hostess recently, have I?” Catherine asked.
“If I am to act as host to Lady Margaret, I will need you by my side,” Arden said. “Don't disappoint us, Cat.”
“I have been inexcusably rude to both of you,” Catherine said. As if invigorated by Arden's repeated use of her childhood name, she pushed herself up until she was sitting. “I’ve left all of my duties as chatelaine to Margaret.”
“Only because you have been so ill,” Margaret responded. “I do understand, my dear.”
“The fault is not entirely yours, Cat,” Arden admitted, lifting his sister's hands to his lips. “I also bear some responsibility. Let there be peace between us.”
“Oh, Arden.” Catherine pulled her hands out of his grasp so she could throw her arms around his neck. “I do love you so. And I want to hear all about your adventures in the Holy Land. I will gladly join you and Margaret and Aldis in the solar. Thank you for the invitation.”
Margaret saw the way Arden's back stiffened when Catherine spoke of the Holy Land, and she took the sudden straightness of his spine as a signal that he did not want to talk about the years he had spent there. She would have to find a way to distract Catherine from the subject, at least for this first evening. On another night, perhaps Arden would be more relaxed and willing to reveal something of that time.
When she was invited, Aldis asked to be excused from the gathering, claiming she wanted to attend to personal matters after spending so much time at Catherine's bedside. Privately, Margaret thought the girl was trying to avoid Arden, but she did not press the issue.
Catherine was still pale and wan after her bout of chest congestion and the deep, racking cough remained. But it was clear that she was not going to be stopped by the remnants of illness, not when she could be with her brother and Margaret. She rose from her bed and walked to the solar without help. There she sat in the chair Arden placed for her near the roaring fire and she allowed him to drape a warm shawl about her shoulders and a quilt over her knees. She even made an attempt to eat something of the meal of bread, cheese, and cold, p
ickled meat, and she sipped from a cup that was filled with hot mulled wine.
As soon as the three of them were settled at the table Margaret raised the subject of chess. Arden then suggested that he teach his sister to play. Catherine readily agreed to the idea, so as soon as the servants were finished clearing away the last of the food, Arden set up the chessboard. When he and Catherine were seated across from each other at the table Margaret moved to a nearby stool. With two candles placed close for lighting she went to work on the mending.
For the next few hours the talk was all of chess moves, or whether it was time to put another log on the fire, or whether Sir Wace was correct in his prediction that yet more snow would fall soon.
“Do you know how he makes his predictions?” Margaret asked her companions. She was unable to keep her lips from twitching and she noticed Arden's puzzled glance in her direction at the humorous tone of her voice.
“I cannot begin to guess,” said Catherine, “though I do recall that he is almost always accurate.”
“It’s his toe,” Margaret said. “Sir Wace's left big toe always aches when a storm is coming.”
“No!” exclaimed Catherine, shaking her head in disbelief.
“He told me so himself,” Margaret said. “Sir Wace claims it has been the case ever since his foot was injured in battle and his toe healed crooked. The entire kitchen staff and all of the men-at-arms agree it's true. The seneschal's aching big toe is a signal that never fails.”
Catherine giggled at this information and, for a moment or two, Arden actually seemed to be amused. When they returned to their game, Margaret smiled at them, delighted by the effect of her remarks.
As the evening progressed Margaret noticed how often Arden avoided giving direct answers to Catherine's questions about his years in the Holy Land. He did so by making unexpected moves with his chessmen, followed by demands that Catherine prove her understanding of the game by explaining the consequences of his moves.
