“There is no need for us to go to war over
this,” Royce said in a tone meant to calm the irate father.
“I think there is,” Phelan responded,
unwilling to be calmed. “Barons have fought for less cause than the
despoliation of a reckless daughter. Furthermore, I know of half a
dozen other noblemen who will agree to back me up with men-at-arms
and supplies, beginning with Margaret's stepson, Geoffrey of
Pendance, who will most certainly feel the slight upon his late
father's honor. Aye, there will be blood shed, both here and at
Wortham, before I am satisfied that I have taken adequate
restitution for this shameful escapade.”
Arden rubbed his hands across his face,
wishing he could wave Phelan and his son away like the gnats that
had swarmed around his head when he was in the desert, constantly
buzzing in his ears, biting and raising painful welts. He did not
want to be the cause of his father going to war, though he did not
doubt that Royce would win any battle against Phelan.
Bloody warfare seemed unimportant in the face
of a far more serious issue. Arden looked at Margaret, the only
person in his immediate vicinity who remained quiet. He was certain
her refusal to marry him was a decision made for his sake, because
she recognized the emptiness that lay inside him. He saw Margaret's
gentleness, and the fear of her father that she tried so hard to
hide. And he saw the red mark of Phelan's hand against her cheek
and knew he could not turn her over to the brutish punishments her
father and brother would inflict on her.
He could give Margaret his protection, if he
could give her nothing else. As her husband, he would become her
legal guardian. After the formal marriage agreement was made and
her male kin were gone from Bowen, he and Margaret could make their
own private agreement.
“Speak to me and not to your father, or
mine,” he said to her, taking her hand. “Is there any circumstance
under which you would be willing to marry me?”
“I will wed you only if you truly wish it, my
lord,” she said in a low voice.
“I wish it,” Arden said, and prayed that
Margaret would not regret her trust in him.
“Good,” said Phelan, restored in humor now
that he had his way. “I thought you'd see the sense of this. Let's
arrange the terms at once.” He put out a hand to clasp Royce on the
shoulder.
“I'll call Father Aymon to assist us,” Royce
said. Evading Phelan's congratulatory touch he headed for the
fireplace, where the priest was warming his hands while pretending
not to hear the quarrel that had been going on behind his back.
Phelan did not appear to notice the slight.
He seized Eustace by the arm and began to talk with great
excitement about the profit he intended to force from Royce and
Arden through the terms of the marriage contract. Phelan did not
even trouble to lower his voice.
“Margaret?” Arden still held her hand. “Are
you content?”
“Thank you for rescuing me, my lord,” she
said. “Despite your claim of wishing to marry me, I believe you
only offered for me in order to prevent a serious conflict between
our families. I understand and agree with your reasoning and I
promise, I will try my best to see that you do not regret your
kindness, for it was never my intention to entrap you in this way.
I truly did mean to enter a convent.”
Margaret's voice trailed off into silence and
Arden was left uncertain as to whether or not she regretted the
abrupt alteration in the course of her life.
“I'll keep you safe, Margaret,” he said,
knowing this one promise was all he had to give her. “Neither
Phelan nor Eustace will ever strike you again.” Later, when he
found a few uninterrupted moments, he would speak to her more
privately and explain the kind of marriage theirs must be. He
would, indeed, keep her safe from her brutal male relatives. He
would also keep her safe from him.
“If you will excuse me, my lord,” Margaret
said, smiling shyly at him, “I think I ought to confer with
Catherine and Isabel over what is available for me to wear for the
ceremony. Since I only have one dress, I expect I'll have to borrow
something from Isabel, who is most generous, and we will have to
alter it to make it fit.”
“Of course.” He released her hand. “My father
and I have important terms to discuss with your father.” He let her
go, watching her slender shape as she moved across the hall, and he
grieved for the loving husband she deserved, that he could not be
to her, and for the children she undoubtedly wanted, that he could
never give her. When Royce came to him and said it was time to sit
down and talk about the marriage contract, Arden told himself again
that he was doing what was best for Margaret. And then he made
himself think of practical matters, rather than the remembered,
fragrant softness of her skin, or her eager tenderness when she lay
in his bed.
* * * * *
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
with 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.”