by Speer, Flora
“Not so,” Margaret said. She expelled a breathy little laugh and suddenly she was no longer nervous. It was as if she had shed all of her fears along with the red dress. She had taken the first steps toward escape, toward controlling her own life, and nothing was going to make her turn back. “All we have to do is tell the truth, that we are exchanging gowns as a Twelfth Night prank. Even Gertrude will have to see that we are not lying.”
When Margaret unlatched and opened the door, Aldis was standing so close to the entrance that she almost fell into the garderobe. The three women burst into nervous giggles, then hastily smothered their laughter.
“Here.” Aldis thrust a bundle of clothing into Margaret's arms before turning to Catherine. “I have packed all of your belongings and have given them to one of the men-at-arms. I concealed some of Margaret's clothes in the baskets and bundles, too.
“Do hurry,” Aldis urged them. “We are much later than we intended and Matthew will be worrying about us. Margaret, bend your head down so I can remove that gold net without unfastening your hair. Won't Ermengarde be furious when she discovers it being worn by a servant?” Aldis stifled another giggle behind one hand.
Having retrieved the gold mesh hairnet, Aldis left to deliver the red and the blue silk gowns, the hairnet, and the pair of face masks to the servants who were to wear them for the remainder of the festivities. With luck, and if Gertrude kept quiet, in all the confusion in the great hall the servants would be taken for Margaret and Catherine for at least an hour or two. When the servants were unmasked at midnight along with everyone else who was in disguise, the deception would be at first considered a great joke, which ought to further delay questions about the whereabouts of Margaret and Catherine.
A few minutes later the two friends emerged from the garderobe wearing plain, dark woolen gowns, with their hair covered with linen wimples, of which Margaret owned a large supply. They had decided while working out the details of the plan on the previous night that Catherine's distinctive red-gold hair would give her away, so until she was out of Sutton Castle she was to assume the disguise offered by the head-covering of a married woman.
Leaving the garderobe, they hurried along a short corridor leading to a flight of stairs down to the storerooms, and thence to a door in the lower level of the keep that opened onto the inner bailey. Though it was only mid-afternoon, the winter sun was setting and the shadows were lengthening across the bailey which, as Margaret had expected, was almost empty of people.
“My father cannot think there is any danger of attack during this holy season,” Margaret said, “and so most of his people will be inside, enjoying themselves.” She was proven correct. There were only a few guards about and they did not question two women dressed like servants and bent upon a hasty errand.
As Margaret and Catherine emerged from the inner gatehouse to the outer bailey where the stables were located, they were met by the six men-at-arms who had come to Sutton with Catherine to protect her along the way. Aldis was already mounted and the men held a pair of saddled horses ready for the other women. One of the men quickly threw a dark, hooded cloak over Margaret, swathing her from wimple to toes. Another man covered Catherine in the same way with a second cloak.
“You don't really need to disguise yourselves, but it's always best to be cautious,” Matthew, the man who was leader of the men-at-arms, said to them. “So many other parties have been coming and going today that the guards are letting folk move freely in and out of the castle until nightfall.
“Also, I took it upon myself to see to it that the guards have been able to celebrate the coming nuptials with wine that was generously, though unknowingly, supplied by Lord Phelan. I do not think they will concern themselves overmuch with a small group of people who are leaving, and we have been careful not to mention any of your names in connection with this group. But I don't think we ought to delay much longer, for the gates will be closed and locked when darkness comes.”
Matthew had judged the guards accurately. No one questioned them. A few moments after the women were mounted their party rode unchallenged through the main gate of Sutton Castle and into the gathering twilight, into cold, windy freedom.
Chapter 4
With a full moon rising early to light their way the little band led by Matthew rode through the late afternoon and into the night, until the moon had set and humans and horses were weary. As the moon sank into the western sky Matthew called a halt by a stream edged with ice. While the men-at-arms tended to the horses, Margaret, Catherine, and Aldis tried to walk some warmth into their chilled bodies.
“How I hate the cold,” Aldis said, rubbing her gloved hands together. “I'll be glad when we are indoors again, in front of a bright fire.”
“My ladies, I know our stop has been a short one, but I think we should be on our way again,” Matthew told them. “The moon has set into a bank of clouds, and this cold, damp air makes me think of snow.”
“How can we travel now that it has grown so dark?” Margaret asked, looking around at the shapes of trees barely visible in the darkness. She could hear the winter-slow sound of the nearby brook, but she could no longer see it. Except for the faint murmur of the brook and the sounds made by their own little group, the night was quiet. No animal stirred in the cold. Even the wind was still. Margaret had assumed they would make camp where they stopped, build fires for warmth, and wait until daylight before continuing.
“We will keep to the old road,” Matthew answered her. “It runs straight, so it's fairly easy to tell the way even in the dark. By the time the sun is fully risen we should be near the River Severn. Let us hope the folk at Sutton Castle will not bestir themselves until late morning after last night's feasting and drinking, and that no early riser has noticed our absence. And that when they do notice we are gone, Lord Phelan will be sober enough to think of the convent and ride there first, before searching elsewhere. That will give us a little more time before they spread out along every road and track from here to Shrewsbury, and on to Chester.”
“Let us also hope that Lady Gertrude has kept quiet about what she has seen and heard,” Catherine added.
They remounted and started off again through the dark which, unfortunately, did not lighten much at sunrise. Thick, gray clouds overspread the sky. The air grew ever colder and damper, and Matthew's concern about snow seemed to be justified.
They crossed the bridge over the Severn at Wroxeter before noon and stopped there briefly to eat and rest both travelers and horses. Then they continued northward, staying well away from Shrewsbury for fear that Phelan would send a search party in that direction.
Margaret spent the ride in a state of constant fear, not for herself, but for those who traveled with her. Her original intention, to separate from her companions as soon as possible after leaving Sutton so they would not be endangered because of her, had been discarded after Catherine's persuasive arguments. Margaret harbored no illusions about what would happen to the rest of her party if her father or worse, Eustace, should catch up with them. While Phelan might have some qualms about drawing weapons upon men belonging to the baron of Wortham, Margaret did not think Eustace would trouble himself to make a careful distinction between abductors and men-at-arms who were acting as escort for three noblewomen. Eustace would very likely charge forward, his sword at the ready, eager to spill blood.
Furthermore, Margaret was beginning to be seriously worried about Catherine's health. She sneezed frequently, fell into occasional bouts of coughing, and it seemed to Margaret her friend was feverish.
Despite her reluctance to stay at Arden's property, Margaret could only feel thankful when Matthew signaled they had reached the place where they were to turn off the main road and onto the narrow track that led through thickly forested land to Bowen. An hour later Matthew called for another rest. All of them, humans and horses alike, drank from a pond on which Matthew and a second man broke the ice with the heels of their boots. Again, the men cared for the horses while Mar
garet, Catherine, and Aldis huddled together for warmth.
“I am sorry to complain,” Aldis said through chattering teeth, “but I am nearly frozen to death.”
Margaret said nothing, though she was thoroughly chilled, too. Unlike Aldis, she felt she had no right to complain, since their present discomforts were undertaken for her sake.
“It won't be much longer now,” Matthew promised. “We've made good time. We ought to reach Bowen by late afternoon.” He helped the women to remount before he swung onto his own horse and they set off again.
A short time later the snow began. Just a few flakes fell at first, but soon a thick, steady downfall of tiny flakes hid everything around the travelers and covered the ground with several inches of white.
“Good,” said Catherine with a confident smile. “The snow will cover our tracks behind us almost as soon as we pass. No one will be able to tell that a party has ridden this way. And, surely, the storm will delay anyone who is searching for us.”
Margaret had not been so cold for years. Pendance Castle was near the southern tip of Cornwall, where winters were wet but seldom bitterly cold. She had not seen a heavy snowfall for more than ten years. While a part of her acknowledged the beauty of the snow, soon she was so numb from the penetrating chill that she felt as though she was riding through a drifting fog of pure white. Gray or black shapes loomed out of the whiteness, only to disappear again before she had a chance to identify them as trees or large boulders. The occasional voices of the men-at-arms seemed ever more distant from her. In some dim recess of her mind she knew Catherine still rode beside her, with Aldis just behind them and the men-at-arms before and behind the women for protection, yet Margaret felt as if she was entirely alone, lost in an alien landscape, never to find her way home.
She told herself it didn't matter. She had never had a true home and never would. The best she could hope for was a place in a convent. She would never bear children, never know a young man's passionate love. If she died of the cold while on her present, endless journey, she would never become a nun, either. Then she scolded herself for her own self-pity, reminding herself that, whatever else she lacked in her earthly existence, she was fortunate to have a pair of true friends in Catherine and Aldis, and faithful servants like Matthew and his men.
As they rode on Margaret became aware that the forest no longer surrounded them. There was only emptiness and the falling snowflakes, until a wall loomed out of the veil of snow. It took her a moment to comprehend that what she saw just ahead was a wooden palisade set in a wide area that was cleared of all forest growth. She heard someone call out in a loud voice and heard Matthew's shouted reply. They rode through an open gap in the palisade and Margaret saw bright flames moving toward her through the snowflakes.
“Torches,” she whispered with a sense of wonder. How beautiful the golden torchlight was against the white snow. How the wet snow sizzled when the flakes met the flames, how large and dark the figures were that carried the torches....
“Margaret!” Catherine's voice brought her out of the near stupor that was caused by the chill and the blinding curtain of snow. “We are here. We have reached Bowen. You can dismount now.”
Margaret tried, only to discover she was too stiff and cold to move. She fell off her horse and into the arms of a young man-at-arms, who staggered under her sudden weight. She attempted to walk and found she could not. The man-at-arms, recognizing her plight, simply slung her over his shoulder and carried her up a steep flight of steps to an open door, from which torchlight streamed outward into the falling snow.
“Take them all to the great hall,” someone shouted. “It's warmest there. I'll fetch Sir Wace.”
When Margaret fully regained her senses and began to realize where she was, she found herself stretched upon a long bench set before a huge fireplace in which logs snapped and crackled with welcoming heat. Catherine sat at the end of the bench with her shoes off, holding her fingers and toes toward the fire. Aldis was on the floor beside her cousin, crouched as close to the fire as she could get without singing her clothes or her hair, with her hands outstretched to the flames. Margaret's own hands and feet were wrapped in warm cloths. Like Aldis, the men-at-arms who had come with them were crowded as close to the fire's heat as they could get.
“Drink some mulled wine,” Catherine said to her. “It will warm you inside.”
Margaret accepted a mug from a maidservant who put an arm around her to help her raise her head from the bench while she drank.
“My lady Catherine.” A portly, middle-aged man rushed into the hall. “We did not expect you or we would have been prepared to receive you properly.”
“It's all right.” Catherine extended her hand to the man, who bowed over it. Turning to Margaret, Catherine said, “Lady Margaret, this is Sir Wace, who is my father's seneschal here at Bowen. Sir Wace, Lady Margaret does not want her visit known, not to anyone at all, no matter who may ask for her.”
“I understand, my lady.” Sir Wace's graying eyebrows rose in surprise at Catherine's instructions, but he asked her only one question. “Does your father know of your presence here?”
“He will, very soon,” Catherine said. “I intend to write to him tomorrow. When he knows our reasons for coming to Bowen so unexpectedly, I am certain he will approve of what we have done.”
“As you wish, my lady, though I doubt if any messenger will be able to leave Bowen until this storm is over.”
“Sir Wace, please see that my men-at-arms are fed and warmly housed,” Catherine then directed. “I am sure they will appreciate dry clothes. You will have someone care for our horses, won't you? They have been pushed hard today.”
“They are in the stables already,” Wace said. “You need have no concern for your horses, or for your men. I'll see them well taken care of.”
“I knew you would,” Catherine said with a pleased smile. She continued to give instructions, speaking next to the maidservants who, upon hearing strange voices, had come into the hall from the kitchen to see what was happening. “I want the lord's chamber prepared for Lady Margaret.”
“Oh, no,” Margaret protested. “Any room will do. All I need is a bed and a quilt.”
“Nonsense. You think too little of yourself,” Catherine said, flashing her an encouraging look. “The lord's chamber is the best and the most private room in the manor. It is also the only suitable bedchamber for an honored guest. You may as well take it, Margaret. My father sleeps there twice a year when he comes to inspect Bowen, but otherwise, with Arden absent from home, it goes unused.”
“You should have it.” Margaret spoke somewhat weakly, for she was feeling too exhausted to argue, or even to think of Arden.
“Not I,” Catherine informed her. “Not ever. I have my own room, that I first used when I came to the manor as a little girl. I wouldn't sleep anywhere else when I am here. Aldis has the room next to mine. We are quite content at that end of the corridor, aren't we, Aldis?”
“Yes, indeed,” Aldis said at once. “We are very comfortable. I do like it here at Bowen.”
In a remarkably short time they were warmed by the roaring fire, amply fed and given plenty of hot, mulled wine to wash down the food, and then sent to their respective beds to sleep off the rigors of a long, cold journey.
In the lord's chamber Margaret lay awake for a little while, thinking over the events of the last few days, of her escape from Sutton Castle and her ride through snow and cold to safety at Bowen. For she was safe here. She could feel it deep inside her. Lord Adhemar and her father would not find her, would not drag her away to be wed against her will. She was free of them.
As she drifted gently past the edge of sleep, she thought of Arden, who had been gone from England for so long. With the gates of memory unlocked she was free to remember him for a few moments and to wonder if he had ever slept in the bed where she was sleeping now.
Chapter 5
Because Sir Wace was a responsible seneschal he made it a part of h
is routine to see that the manor entrusted to his care was kept reasonably clean and in good repair. But Wace was a soldier at heart, and a widower to boot, and so Bowen Manor, though well maintained, lacked a woman's fine touch. On the morning after their arrival Catherine, Margaret, and Aldis set about changing that.
The initial impulse to inspect the entire house and to have any room not meeting her high personal standards cleaned and rearranged was Catherine's. She went at her work with a dedicated energy that was almost feverish.
“If we are clever enough to plot a successful escape from Sutton Castle,” she said, pulling the straw mattress off one of the guest beds, “then it will take us no more than a single day to set Bowen Manor into proper order. Oh, the dust makes me sneeze! Aldis, come and help me turn the mattress over. I must say, the straw smells clean.”
“When I asked about the last housecleaning the maidservants told me all of the mattresses were re-stuffed only a month ago,” Aldis said. She caught the edge of the mattress and the two of them flipped it over. A small cloud of dust arose and Catherine sneezed again.
With the bedrooms cleaned and restored to order, Catherine moved on to the solar and then to the great hall. The servants she conscripted to her cause obediently scrubbed wherever she pointed.
Margaret gladly joined her friends in their work, hoping vigorous physical activity would keep her thoughts away from renewed concern over the search for her that her father would undoubtedly mount. She had slept wonderfully well, yet she had awakened that morning with a sense of unease that grew as the day progressed. She needed only to look out the window and see how deep the still-falling snow was to be assured that it was unlikely her father would find her, yet she could not shake the eerie impression that something momentous was about to happen.