So Great A Love Page 3

  Margaret was humiliated to be so treated before Catherine and a dais full of strangers, but she was not surprised. She knew her male relatives too well to be shocked by their behavior. And she well knew that she was much too proud; it was a sin she would have to overcome once she was safe inside convent walls – if only she could get to the convent she had chosen.

  Margaret risked a glance at Catherine and saw that Catherine was shocked by the way her friend was being treated. Catherine's face was white, the gray-green eyes she fixed on Margaret were huge and round, and Catherine's hand was clenched tightly about the handle of her eating knife, as if she longed to use it for a weapon. But then, the baron of Wortham was known to love his daughter. Margaret was certain that Catherine's father would never embarrass her at her own pre-nuptial feast, nor would he neglect to introduce her to the man she was to wed.

  When Margaret looked back at the three men who had commanded her to do their bidding or suffer a public beating, she saw no sympathy in any of them, nor in the other guests at the high table, except for Catherine. Even the chaplain was frowning at her in stern disapproval, and Gertrude sat quaking in her chair as if terrified that if Margaret were punished, she would be next in line for a beating. Silently, knowing she had no choice, Margaret mounted the dais and went to the place reserved for her between her brother and Lord Adhemar.

  Throughout the long meal that followed she displayed no emotion at all, not even when Lord Adhemar pinched her thigh as if to judge the quality of the flesh he had purchased, not when he put his arm around her, slid his hand up her side, and tweaked her breast. Eustace saw what Adhemar was doing and grinned at him, man to man. But when Adhemar, who had been drinking deeply – though, surely, drink was no excuse for treating a noblewoman in so blatantly disrespectful a manner – began to press his fingers between Margaret's thighs to rub against the place where her legs joined, she leapt to her feet.

  “My lord!” Margaret exclaimed, lifting her hand as if to slap her bridegroom.

  “Just so, Margaret!” Catherine cried, jumping to her feet, too, and catching Margaret's hand before she could bring it down on Adhemar's face. “You have perceived the need for more wine before these good noblemen were aware of the lack. Oh, what a fine chatelaine you are acquiring, my lord Adhemar. You can be justly proud of your wife-to-be. Come, Margaret, I'll go with you to help you carry in the new pitchers of wine and we will personally serve your father's guests.” Tugging at Margaret's hand, Catherine stepped off the dais, heading for the screens passage.

  “Now, there's a well-trained girl,” said Lord Phelan, sending the two young women on their errand with a drunken wave of one hand. “My compliments to your father, Lady Catherine.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Catherine said. She kept Margaret's hand in a tight grip, continuing to pull her away from the dais and toward the screens passage and the kitchen beyond it.

  “You do know, don't you, Adhemar, that Lady Catherine's father is Royce of Wortham?” said Phelan, his loud voice easily carrying to Margaret's ears. “Your future wife's best friend is the daughter of a wealthy and powerful baron, who is well-loved by King Henry. Margaret brings with her excellent connections.”

  “She does, if King Henry ever begins to pay any attention to his friends again,” Adhemar answered in a sour tone. “I have heard he is sunk so deep in grief over the drowning of his sons this past autumn that he can seldom be brought to attend to affairs of state.”

  “If the king pays no heed to governing,” Phelan said in a conspiratorial tone, “it means he is not watching what his barons do. In his distraction lies opportunity.”

  The two men fell into a discussion about King Henry's intentions regarding the succession. Adhemar claimed he had heard on good authority that the king would soon take a new wife and attempt to produce with her a second brood of sons to replace those so tragically lost in the sinking of The White Ship, while Phelan insisted that the king's favorite nephew, Stephen of Blois, would soon be designated as heir.

  “There is always the possibility,” said one of the other noblemen sitting at the high table, “that the Holy Roman Emperor will die before Henry does, which would make Henry's daughter, Matilda, a widow. She is his only remaining legitimate child. He may decide to name her as his heir.”

  “Not a female ruler!” Adhemar declared loudly. “No self-respecting Norman baron will ever take orders from a woman. Speaking for myself, I'd sooner die!”

  “If Henry were to marry his daughter off again to the right man,” said Phelan thoughtfully, “perhaps we could follow the husband and forget all about Matilda.”

  This suggestion led Adhemar and Phelan into so involved an argument, with other guests offering their various opinions on the subject, that no one complained when neither Margaret nor Catherine returned to the table, but instead lingered in the kitchen and the screens passage.

  Margaret was doubly glad to be away from the high table during the discussion. King Henry's personal tragedy was one of her father's favorite current topics and Margaret deplored his arrogant assumption that he, with Adhemar's help, was going to influence the king's decision about an heir. She was aware that her father's choice of husband for her had a great deal to do with Phelan's political ambitions and if what Gertrude had revealed was true, Phelan was already deeply involved in activities that put his entire family into danger.

  By the time the feasting ended that evening most of the men in the hall were well under the influence of wine and several of them, including Eustace, needed to be carried to their beds.

  Margaret had arranged for Catherine to share her room, which was the one spot in the castle she knew was suitably clean. Lacking a personal servant, she had swept the room and aired the bedding herself, and had brought in linens fresh from the laundry. Catherine's companion, Aldis, was also to sleep in the room with them, on a trundle bed.

  “We may speak freely in front of Aldis,” Catherine said when the three of them were tucked under the quilts, with a single candle left burning until they were ready to sleep. “Aldis is my cousin. She is living at Wortham Castle until Uncle Oliver returns from the Holy Land. I am certain she will not repeat a word we say.”

  “Indeed, I will not,” Aldis declared, adding a further explanation of her presence with Catherine. “My father is Lord Royce's younger brother and Uncle Royce is my guardian while Father is away.” She sat up in the trundle bed, pulling the quilt high for warmth as she waited expectantly to hear what Margaret would say.

  “Catherine, have you thought about the favor I asked of you earlier today?” Margaret asked. “Have you come to a decision?”

  “I could not approve of the idea at first,” Catherine replied. “That was before I had a chance to observe the way your menfolk treat you, or to see what a poor, spiritless creature Lady Gertrude is. Forgive me if I forget what is due to my host and to the rest of your family by stating my opinion that both your father and your brother are unfeeling brutes, without a shred of respect for any woman, and that you and Gertrude, too, deserve much better from them.

  “As for Lord Adhemar and the way he was pawing at you,” Catherine continued, “Margaret, I do not know how you bore his attentions with such dignity. I am sure if I had been in your place, I would have whacked him over the head with the nearest platter! It was your father's duty to stop the old goat. If any man had treated me that way in public, my father would have drawn his sword and stricken him dead on the spot.

  “After this evening, I can well understand why you do not want to marry Lord Adhemar and why you want to flee from your father's rule,” Catherine summed up her impressions of the situation at Sutton Castle.

  “Does that mean you will help me?” Margaret asked, at last daring to hope there was a way for her to avoid a future that would be unpleasant at best.

  “Yes,” Catherine said. “I will.”

  “And so will I,” said Aldis. “I have spoken to a few of the guests and some of the servants. It's common knowledge tha
t Lord Adhemar has had three wives and buried all of them. Lady Margaret, if anyone tries to prevent us from seeing you safely out of that man's clutches, then we will just send one of the men-at-arms riding off to Uncle Royce at Wortham Castle, to ask him to rescue us, and he will come at once.” Aldis finished this speech in a manner that expressed her complete confidence in her powerful relative.

  “No, Aldis,” Margaret said in her firmest voice. “We will involve no one else. We will do this ourselves, just we three women and the men-at-arms who came to Sutton with you.”

  “I agree, it's better if we don't let my father know what we are doing,” Catherine said, “unless we find ourselves in extremely desperate straits. After you are finally safe from Lord Adhemar, I will tell Father everything, and I am sure he will understand, for he does revere women.

  “Now, Margaret,” Catherine went on, “tell us your plan in all its details, for you revealed only the barest outline when you and I spoke in the garden.”

  “I thought we could make use of the Twelfth Night celebration,” Margaret said. “Everyone dresses up and some wear masks to conceal their identities while they indulge in improper activities. I have noticed how people frequently drink too much on these occasions and, here at Sutton, the proceedings are certain to become chaotic, with the servants attempting to rule the affair and my father objecting to almost everything they want to do. We can make good use of the confusion. I have an idea of how to use the indecent red dress that Lord Adhemar gave me. I know of a serving woman who will think it a great joke to wear it in my stead, after I have worn it for a while and have let everyone see me in it.” She talked on, explaining more details, while Catherine and Aldis listened in silence.

  “I perceive a flaw in your scheme,” Catherine said when Margaret finished speaking.

  “What flaw?” Margaret cried. “My plan is simple and quickly completed, so there can be no danger to you or Aldis, and no blame to be placed on you after I am gone. The moment we are outside these walls you are to go home to Wortham Castle, where Lord Royce can protect both of you if my father or Lord Adhemar should decide to question you in hope of learning where I have fled. Just provide me with the escort of a single man-at-arms and bid him see me to St. Helfritha's convent. As soon as I am admitted to St. Helfritha's, I will send your man off to you at Wortham. His arrival there will signal the end of your involvement.”

  “You cannot go to St. Helfritha's,” Catherine said in a most determined way.

  “It is where I will go,” Margaret insisted. “My mother was schooled there and while she lived, she often made contributions to the convent. When I was little I went there with her on her visits. I have every confidence that the Mother Superior will remember my mother and me, and take me in.”

  “Certainly, she will,” Catherine responded, “and then she will hand you over to your father when he knocks at the gate, searching for you. Only think, Margaret! Lord Phelan knows you prefer a convent to a second marriage. You have made no secret of your feelings. St. Helfritha's is the first place he and Eustace and Lord Adhemar will look for you. Together, three Norman noblemen can convince any convent to give you up, simply by making a large enough donation – and by displaying the combined armed forces they are able to bring to bear against the convent.”

  “My father would not dare to attack a convent!” Margaret gasped. “Nor do I think Lord Adhemar would, either.”

  “They won't have to attack,” Catherine said. “All they will have to do is ride up to the entrance and order their men to sit there on their horses, fully armed and with their banners flying, while your father and Lord Adhemar pay a little visit to Mother Superior and bemoan to her the fact that you are a naughty, disruptive person, just the kind of postulant no convent wants to admit into its ranks. With enough money or the deed to a wealthy property in his hands that he is willing to offer to the convent in return for the lady's compliance, and enough men-at-arms behind him, your father will have no difficulty in getting you back.”

  “You are not as innocent as I supposed,” Margaret said, looking at her friend with new respect. “You have considered important details that have not even occurred to me. Ever since I arrived at Sutton and my father greeted me with the news that he had arranged for my remarriage, all I could think of was how to get away before I was forced to wed Lord Adhemar.”

  “My father has taught me to weigh every possibility whenever danger threatens,” Catherine said, “in case I ever need to defend Wortham Castle on my own. I have conceived a much better plan than taking you to St. Helfritha's.”

  “Please listen to Catherine,” Aldis begged. “She's very clever.”

  “What shall I do, then?” Margaret asked, giving up her own scheme with a sigh. Her sensible nature told her that Catherine was correct in all she had said and that further argument was useless. After listening to Catherine's description of what Lord Phelan would probably do to remove her from St. Helfritha's, she was willing to depend upon her friend's wits to get her to a safer sanctuary. “Do you know of a more distant convent, one so isolated that my father will never think of it?”

  “I know of a place your father will never consider at all,” Catherine said. “It's not a convent. Margaret, my dear, you are going to have to postpone your dream of a cloistered life for a time.”

  “What place are you thinking of?” Margaret asked.

  “Bowen Manor.”

  “Perfect!” Aldis exclaimed. “I knew Catherine would think of something clever.”

  “Bowen?” Margaret cried. “Isn't that Arden's manor house? No, I cannot go there.”

  “Why not?” Catherine asked.

  “It will involve your family too deeply in my plans,” Margaret answered, searching wildly for an excuse that Catherine would accept. She could not, could not, go to any place belonging to Arden, even though he was not there.

  “You involved my family when you asked me to help you escape an unwanted marriage,” Catherine responded. She shook her head in perplexity at her friend's statement. “Margaret, I am beginning to wonder if you are really as practical as I always imagined. Or has the fear of a second forced marriage temporarily addled your wits? Or terror of what your menfolk will do if we are caught?” Catherine paused to sneeze before continuing.

  “Bowen is in an isolated location, in the middle of a forest. Since Arden has been away my father has kept a seneschal, a few servants, and a small troop of men-at-arms there. All of them are completely loyal to my family. Once I give them the order that we wish to be private and to receive no visitors, they will die before revealing that you are in residence. We can stay hidden at Bowen for as long as we want, and no one will know where we are.”

  “Your father will worry about you if you are from home for too long,” Margaret protested. Why, oh why, couldn't she think of a sensible reason to stay away from Bowen, instead of inventing flimsy excuses that clever Catherine would find it easy to override?

  “I will write a letter to Father and send it to Wortham with the seneschal's monthly report,” Catherine said. “It seems to me that flight to Bowen is the only sensible course for us. There is no safer place for us to go. But if you are still for St. Helfritha's after all I've said, then I and my men-at-arms will take you there. The choice is yours.”

  “It was foolish of me to think of St. Helfritha's,” Margaret said. She knew it was equally foolish of her to think of Bowen Manor or of Arden, but she could not tell Catherine so. On the matter of Arden, she would have to keep her own council. Reluctantly, she gave in to circumstances she was unable to alter. “I accept the good sense of all you have said, and of your warnings, Catherine. Very well, we will go to Bowen Manor, but I will only stay there for a few days, just until I can think of another likely convent.”

  * * * * *

  Arden's way led from Portsmouth to Winchester and then northward along an old Roman road, now much overgrown and with many of its paving stones pried up and removed over the centuries so they could be used for
building materials. Even so, the ancient track ran straight through forest and farmland and was easy enough to follow. It was a long ride to Bowen and Arden and his companions did not dally on the way, for the weather was growing steadily colder.

  When they did pause it was to see to the needs of their horses, rather than to accommodate the requirements of men for food, drink, or rest. They were seasoned campaigners, all of them were well used to bodily discomfort, and no one of the three made any complaint. They simply pressed onward, in silence for the most part, and Arden had ample time in which to think.

  The wintery landscape through which they were passing lay peaceful around them, its frozen emptiness echoing the cold void in Arden's heart. Thanks to the firm hand of King Henry, the roads were relatively safe from brigands. There were few other travelers in that winter season. No person stopped or delayed them.

  Not that they offered an inviting target for thieves. Arden had long ago given up the bright colors he had favored as a youth. Blue and green had given way to shades of gray or black, his somber attire unrelieved by any of the jeweled rings or gold chains so favored by other noblemen.

  His belt was of plain leather and the sword he wore was also unornamented. Both were gifts from Isabel's father, and Arden suspected Tristan of suggesting the gifts. At the time the sword was given to him, he had not touched a weapon in more than a year. Since receiving it he had practiced with the sword almost every day, knowing there was no better way for him to rebuild the strength lost to injury and illness.

  His original sword, presented to him by his own father at his knighting, had vanished in the desert wastes of the Holy Land. Arden preferred not to think of the uses to which it was presently being put against Christian men. Had he dared address any prayer to the Deity, he would have prayed to God and all the saints to destroy the old sword before it could do further harm, and to preserve him from ever having to draw and use the new one in battle. He had no desire to shed any more blood.