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.
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, Margaret; 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.
Isabel was no fool; her sharp eyes were
searching Margaret's face and her gaze rested on Margaret's misty
eyes. Isabel responded to the moment with healing laughter.
“
Ah, la,
Margaret, you are blushing,”
she teased. “You are thinking of the strong young man who will take
you into his arms tomorrow night, are you not? But you have been
married before, so you will not require instruction in the bedroom
arts.”
“No, I suppose not,” Margaret said, hoping
Catherine would hold her peace and not mention to Isabel just how
old Lord Pendance had been. But Isabel's humor had produced the
intended reaction. Margaret no longer felt like weeping over the
unexpected kindnesses of new friends. She was ready to deal with
practical matters again, and she gave her full attention to what
Isabel was saying.
Isabel's idea was to lengthen the wedding
gown by sewing a wide strip of glittering silver brocade along the
hem. The brocade was stiffer than the silk of the dress and once
basted into place it made the skirt stand out at the bottom in
graceful folds that rippled when Margaret walked. Laure suggested
using leftover pieces of the brocade to edge and line the sleeves,
so they would bell out over the tighter sleeves of the linen
underdress Margaret would wear beneath the gown.
“It will be beautiful,” Aldis said. “Laure, I
am a fair seamstress. Let me help, too. It won't take so long to
finish with both of us sewing, and I would like to do this for
Margaret.”
While Aldis and the maid set to work in the
solar with plenty of candles to provide the light they needed,
Catherine and Isabel escorted Margaret to the bathhouse. After she
was bathed and shampooed to their liking, they took her back to
Catherine's room. There Margaret spent a mostly sleepless night in
the too-narrow bed she was sharing with Catherine. During the quiet
hours after midnight she had time to think in practical, realistic
terms, to consider how to deal with a bridegroom who had clearly
and publicly stated that he did not want to marry.
With her father threatening warfare against
Arden and Royce, a threat Margaret was certain her enraged parent
would carry out with as much bloodshed and destruction as possible,
she could think of no way to relieve Arden of the burden of an
unwanted wife. Besides, the terms of the contract were settled. All
she could do now was vow to heaven and to herself to be a good wife
to Arden, and pray he would in time find some measure of
contentment with the wife who loved him.
For, Margaret admitted to herself in the
darkest hour of the night, she who had once cringed at the thought
of a man's hands upon her body was a most willing bride. Arden was
different from all other men. His slightest touch thrilled her,
exorcising every trace of her previous revulsion. Indeed, since the
night when Arden had caressed her into a state of intoxicated
passion, proving how much secular life had to offer, Margaret had
not really wanted to join a convent. She would gladly have done so
for Arden's sake, but not for her own.
Not until shortly before the midmorning
wedding ceremony did Margaret finally put on the altered green
gown. She could judge her own appearance only in bits and pieces as
Catherine moved her small hand mirror around to give glimpses of
her attire, while Isabel kept up an excited chatter that Margaret
suspected was meant to distract the bride from pre-nuptial
nervousness.
“I like the effect so well that I may have
Laure modify my best red gown in the same way, using a piece of
blue and gold brocade Tristan has given me,” Isabel said, her head
tilted to one side while she looked Margaret over from the crown of
her head to her toes. “Of course, it does help if one is as tall
and graceful as you are. Then any style looks attractive.”
Aldis braided Margaret's hair and pinned it
into a knot at the back of her neck. This arrangement was topped by
a sheer silver gauze veil that just barely reached Margaret's
shoulders. The veil was held in place by a narrow gold circlet that
sat low on her brow, a circlet provided by Sir Wace at Catherine's
request. According to Wace, the circlet had belonged to his late
wife and he was honored to lend it to Margaret.
Catherine was wearing a bright blue gown,
also taken from Isabel's trunks, but not requiring alteration,
since Catherine was only an inch or two taller than Isabel. Aldis
was in a rich shade of red and Isabel herself was in forest green
silk, worn with the waist lacings loosely tied to accommodate her
rounded abdomen. Even Laure was gowned in silk, in a lovely shade
of russet-brown.
Once Margaret was prepared she put her
serious, deep-night thoughts behind her, save for her resolution to
be the best wife she could possibly be to Arden. With her
attendants chattering and fussing over the details of each other's
costumes as cheerfully as if the occasion were a normal wedding,
Margaret discovered her earlier nervousness had disappeared. She
went calmly down the few steps from the solar to the great hall,
where she found Arden awaiting her.