by Speer, Flora
* * * * *
The first matter the women needed to address was not the question of wedding clothes, but where to put all of the guests. The members of the large troop of fighting men who had arrived with Royce and Lord Phelan could easily be housed in the barracks or the stables under the charge of Sir Wace, and there was a small priest's cell next to the chapel, where Father Aymon could find the privacy he required. It was the three most important guests who presented the problem, and the ladies gathered near the tall yellow glass windows to discuss how to handle the arrangements.
“Here is what we'll do,” said Catherine, assuming her role of chatelaine. “Margaret, I will take you and Aldis into my room with me, and that will free the rooms you have been using. It's only for tonight, you know. Tomorrow you will sleep in the lord's chamber, with Arden.”
“Very well. Thank you.” It was all Margaret could do to speak. She discovered she was suddenly short of breath. In the big bed in the lord's chamber, where she and Arden had already lain together twice, she would spend the entire night with him – and every night thereafter.
Her conscience was clear on the matter of her marriage to Arden. She had tried her best to avoid what she knew he did not want, and she had not relented in her refusal through all of her father's bluster and Royce's questioning, until Arden, himself, had asked her to marry him. She knew and accepted that he did not love her, for it was the usual case with noble marriages, which were arranged for property or for dynastic reasons. Arden's kindness and consideration of her feelings would make up for his lack of affection. Her previous experiences with him eliminated any concern on her part that he would be rough or uncaring.
However, Arden's reluctance to marry at all was another matter. Margaret did not understand his reasoning. Any man with land ought to want heirs to inherit his property. She would be proud and happy to bear Arden's children and, in time, she hoped to touch the man beneath the cold surface and convince him that marriage to her was no very bad idea after all, that it was, in fact, the way to contentment and a useful life. Margaret told herself she would not ask for more than that from Arden. She would not even think of love from him, and she would hide her deepest emotions so as not to annoy or embarrass him.
“Since my maid, Laure, has been using the trundle bed in Aldis's room, I shall take her into the room I share with Tristan,” Isabel said to Catherine. “We've done the same before, during our travels from Aquitaine. Laure will not object to a pallet on the floor. As for Tristan, my poor love must be patient and restrain his ardor for a few months more, until after our child is born, so there's no need to worry over any lack of privacy. Now, then, we have freed up two guest rooms. How shall we dispose of them?”
“Put Lord Royce in the room I have been using,” Margaret said, her thoughts momentarily distracted from Arden by Isabel's words and by her interest in Catherine's reaction to them. “Mine is the larger of the two rooms. Let my father and Eustace share the smaller room. They can decide for themselves who sleeps on the trundle. If they complain, we'll tell them it's because we expect them to go home immediately after the wedding, while Lord Royce will be staying to visit for a while.”
“Ah, Margaret,” said Isabel, putting her hand over Margaret's hand and giving her a mischievous smile, “I am glad to see your spirit remains unbroken. It cannot be easy to have such a family. Forgive me if I offend you,” she added hastily.
“You haven't,” Margaret assured her. “I know exactly what my father and Eustace are. It's why I ran away.” She did not add that there was an additional reason for her flight from Sutton, a reason she was honor-bound to divulge to Lord Royce at her first opportunity.
“Yours is a story a troubadour could easily make into a great romance,” Isabel said with an exaggerated sigh, “for you have discovered a man who will always treat you with honor and respect. And I see the way he looks at you. Ah la! C’est l’amour!”
When Isabel went off to find Laure and Aldis and inform them of the changes in sleeping arrangements, Margaret looked hard at Catherine, searching for tears or other signs of distress. She saw none. Catherine was chuckling and shaking her head in amusement at Isabel's comments.
“She truly loves Tristan,” Catherine said, linking her arm with Margaret's, “and he loves her.”
“How fortunate for both of them,” Margaret responded dryly. She wished that she and Arden could someday achieve a similar, loving relationship, while knowing it was highly unlikely. Her best hope was that, if she gave him a son, Arden's feelings toward her would begin to warm. The thought of what they would have to do in order to get a child made her cheeks turn warm. Catherine did not appear to notice. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
“I expected to dislike Isabel,” Catherine said. “To my surprise, I find that I like her very much. She makes Tristan happy, and I cannot be angry that she does. What's more important from my point of view, she readily stood with you against Lord Phelan's false accusations.”
“Catherine,” Margaret said, “I value our friendship and the honesty we have always cherished between us, so I am compelled to tell you that my father's accusations were not entirely false. There were a few occasions, while you were ill, when Arden and I kissed, and touched, with considerable emotion.”
“How glad I am to know my brother is not as indifferent as he pretends to be,” Catherine said. Then, with a worried expression she asked, “You did not actually lie with him, did you? There's no chance you could be carrying Arden's child and your father could count the months and accuse you again, later?”
“No,” Margaret said, blushing at the memory of what she and Arden had done together and recalling Arden's firm declaration on that very subject. “There is no chance at all that I am with child.”
“Well, then, I don't see the harm in men and women knowing each other better in that way,” Catherine said. “Personal knowledge of that sort could prevent women from becoming caught up in romantic nonsense, as I was about Tristan.”
“I'm not sure you have it right,” Margaret objected, painfully aware of the way in which she had been caught up in romantic emotions over Arden.
“I am absolutely sure I do have it right,” Catherine insisted. “Unlike me, Isabel loves Tristan for what he is, not for what she imagines him to be. And from what I have seen, you care for Arden in the same way – realistically. You have a very practical nature, Margaret, and in the future with you as my beloved sister and friend to guide me, I shall try to be practical, too. You see, I have finally learned my lesson, and learned it well. I have at last put aside my childhood dream of a chivalrous knight who will love me forever. Never again will I allow myself to care for a man without knowing him thoroughly first.”
Catherine paused in her remarks to look across the hall to the table where the four men involved and Father Aymon were still thrashing out the terms of the marriage contract. Eustace was holding out his winecup to be refilled by a servant who circled the table with a pitcher in hand. Arden and the priest were talking together with great seriousness. Phelan sat frowning into space. Catching Catherine's eye, Royce rose from the table and beckoned to his daughter.
“Oh, dear,” Catherine said with a sigh, “it appears my father has made his final offer to your father and will give Lord Phelan time to think about it. And while he waits for Lord Phelan's decision, Father wants to hear my explanation of why I fled from Sutton with you.”
“Shall I go with you?” Margaret offered.
“No.” Catherine squared her shoulders. “I can only tell him the truth and accept my punishment. It won't be nearly as harsh as yours would have been, had you been left to your father's mercy.”
“Then, while you talk to Lord Royce, I will go and speak with the cook about how she is going to feed all of our unexpected guests, and afterward I'll talk to the maidservants about fresh linens for the beds,” Margaret said.
An hour later she and Catherine met again in the great hall and when Margaret inquired about her friend's talk w
ith Lord Royce, Catherine smiled, her eyes dancing.
“Father listened to my explanation in complete silence, which is his custom,” Catherine said. “When I was finished he scolded me for putting my life into danger, and Aldis's life and yours, too, and he threatened me with eternal imprisonment if I ever again indulge in such an adventure. And then he kissed me and thanked me for bringing him a second daughter to love.”
“He said that?” Margaret gasped, sudden tears stinging her eyes.
“I knew he wouldn't impose any severe punishment on me,” Catherine said with all the confidence of a child who knows beyond doubt that she is loved. “My father is the most kind-hearted man in the world.”
So Royce might be to his daughter, Margaret thought, but she would not wager on his kindness when he was dealing with an enemy. Beneath the warmth and charm and the ready smiles, the handsome baron of Wortham possessed a core of steel. She could see it in the way he kept her father bargaining at the high table for hours, and hear it in Lord Phelan's disgruntled exclamations as, bit by bit, Phelan gave up much of the profit he had been insisting upon in return for his daughter's hand in marriage.
Eventually, the deliberations reached a conclusion and the meeting broke up. Father Aymon, carrying a sheaf of notes and the ink pot, headed for the priest's cell to write out all the copies of the contract that would be required. Under Catherine's direction the servants began to set up the trestle tables in preparation for the evening meal, with Margaret helping Catherine.
“Father,” Arden said, approaching Royce, “we must talk, in private.”
“Excuse me, Lord Arden,” said Sir Wace, stopping him. “There are several matters that require your attention.”
“Not now,” Arden exclaimed with some irritation. “I need an hour alone with my father.”
“My lord, it is urgent,” Sir Wace insisted.
“Go with Wace,” Royce said to his son. “You and I can talk later. Let all further discussions wait until after your wedding, tomorrow.”
“Until after the wedding,” Arden repeated. He was close to despair, damning himself for a coward for not pressing the issue with his father. Then he reminded himself that, if he told his father everything before he married Margaret, Royce would surely feel compelled to cancel the wedding. And then Margaret would be carried off to Sutton by her father, and Arden's promise to keep her safe would come to naught.
It was also possible that in order to hold on to the marriage contract linking him to a powerful baron, and through Royce to the king, Phelan would even prove ruthless enough to insist that Royce ought to marry Margaret in Arden's place. Such alterations were not unknown among noble families.
That kind of change in Phelan's plans, Arden realized with a pang at his breast, would result in a variation of Hell darker and more horrible than the netherworld in which he already dwelt. He saw, all too plainly, the need to keep silence, to say nothing to his father until Phelan and Eustace were gone from Bowen.
“Lead on, then, Sir Wace,” Arden said with a sigh of resignation. “You have my full attention.”
As Arden followed his seneschal out of the hall, Royce cast a curious glance after them.
“Do you know what Arden wants to say to me?” Royce asked of Margaret.
“Not the exact content,” she responded. Her domestic duties completed for the present, she joined Royce by the fireplace. “I only know Arden has mentioned how vital it is that he speak with you in the strictest privacy.”
“He'll not soon get the privacy he apparently requires,” Royce said. “There are too many people crowded together here at Bowen, nor could we be certain of no interruptions should we try to talk outdoors. Arden will just have to wait, though not for you. The agreement is made and tomorrow we will see you and Arden wed and bedded. On the following day, or the day after that at the latest, we will send Lord Phelan and Eustace home before we are all snowbound together by another storm. I like you well, Margaret, and in time I do not doubt I will grow to love you as a true daughter, but I do not like your father, and if Eustace remains at Bowen for more than a day or two he will drink Arden's cellar dry.”
“Eustace thinks hard drinking is a sign of manhood,” Margaret noted.
“In that, as in so many other matters, Eustace is wrong. I will be glad to see the last of him. And of your father,” Royce said.
“So will I,” Margaret told him, speaking with no shred of embarrassment for her feelings toward her relatives. When Royce treated her to one of his broad and charming smiles she seized her courage in both hands. After a quick glance around to be sure no one was within hearing distance, she began to speak rapidly, fearing the interruption Royce had mentioned.
“My lord, Catherine suggested I write to you, but I found I could not put the words on parchment. What I needed to say seemed like a betrayal. However, after today I realize how ruthless my father is. He has to be stopped before he does great harm. He has been working with a group of barons, including a nobleman from Normandy, to make Robert of Gloucester King Henry's heir.” There, she had said it, and Margaret could only feel relief.
“I know about your father's activities,” Royce said.
“You do?” She gaped at him in surprise.
“Before Lord Adhemar departed from Wortham Castle in disgust with Phelan, he told me much the same story and warned me against dealing with Phelan.”
“Then, I needn't have said anything.”
“I'm glad you did,” Royce told her with another warm smile. “It's comforting to know my new daughter is an honest woman in spite of her father. Do you happen to know the name of the nobleman from Normandy?” he asked, his gaze sharpening.
“I never heard it,” Margaret answered truthfully. “What will you do about my father?”
“For the present, nothing. I've no taste for hauling relatives, even unpleasant ones, before the king to accuse them of treason. I'll warn Phelan as sternly as I can, and then I'll have him closely watched. What happens in the future will depend on him.”
“Thank you.” Margaret was near to tears at Royce's kindness, yet there was something else she wanted to say, and she thought he would understand.
“My father hasn't acted out of passionate conviction,” she said. “I'd still consider his decisions wrong, though I would think better of him if he cared deeply who rules after King Henry. But all that matters to him is his own advancement. He will do anything to climb to a higher estate, even try to help a bastard to the throne of England. That's what frightens me about him, the deliberate coldness of his schemes and the way he will use anyone to get what he wants. As he has used Arden and me in an effort to forge a link to you.”
“The man is a fool,” Royce said, looking into her eyes. “He never guessed the true quality of his own daughter. I promise, I will value you more highly, and so will Arden. I trust this particular scheme of Phelan's will end in lifelong happiness for you.”
The words were sweet balm upon Margaret's shame and sorrow over her uncaring parent, though she could not believe Royce was correct about Arden's opinion of her. All the same, she decided she would be very happy indeed to have the baron of Wortham for her new father.
Chapter 18
With accommodations arranged for the guests, and the cook in agreement with the menus Catherine and Margaret had suggested, the women gathered in Catherine's room to decide on Margaret's wedding clothes. The gown Isabel offered from her wardrobe was made of pale green silk, simply cut, with a wide, round neckline and loose sleeves that on Margaret reached to just below her elbows. The lacing at either side of the waist took care of extra material through the body of the dress when Laure drew the laces tight. The only remaining problem was in the length, for Margaret stood a full foot taller than the diminutive Isabel. It was only Margaret's extreme slenderness that allowed her to get into the dress at all.
“I know just the thing to fix the skirt,” Isabel said, and gave hasty instructions to her maid, who left the room. “Don’t worry, Ma
rgaret; my Laure is an expert needlewoman. Now, you will need a veil to replace your wimple, and I do not think you have one with you. I have several in my trunks, so you may have your choice. What about a circlet to wear over the veil?”
“There must be a gold circlet here at Bowen,” Catherine said after considering the matter for a moment. “I will speak to my father, or to Sir Wace, about it.”
Margaret said nothing. She was overwhelmed by Isabel's generosity. Except for Catherine, who was always a true friend to her, Margaret was not used to anyone considering her well-being. Yet Arden had defended her against her father and Eustace, Royce and Tristan had unquestionably been on her side in that dispute, and now Isabel, whom she had known for only a few days, was cheerfully giving away a beautiful and very expensive gown so Margaret could have a wedding dress. She scarcely knew how to act when faced with such kindness.
“You will want to have a bath and wash your hair before the ceremony,” Isabel continued her suggestions for the bride. “And you will surely want perfume.”
“I do have my own perfume,” Margaret said. She experienced some trouble in using her voice over the sudden constriction in her throat that was the product of too much strong emotion. She blinked several times, so the moisture in her eyes would not fall as tears. Isabel's mention of perfume reminded her of Arden's reaction to the fragrance she used. She must remember to apply some just before she went to him on their wedding night.
