by Speer, Flora
“I am sorry.” Margaret smoothed back the few red-gold curls that had come loose from Catherine's braid.
“Don't be,” Catherine said with a watery smile. “Or, if you must, be sorry for the years I wasted, when I could have married one of the decent men who asked for my hand, and had children and a pleasant life. Shall I tell you a secret, Margaret?”
“What secret, my dear?”
“I cherished my childish love for Tristan for so long that it was beginning to grow tedious, even to me. I suppose it was because my feelings were all one-sided. I can admit now that never did Tristan indicate any special affection for me. He only treated me in the same polite way in which he treated all the girls at Cliffmore. It was I who made more of his good manners than he ever intended. I am the one who invented my romance and kept it burning for long years, though Tristan provided me with no fuel. And now I am left with ashes.”
“I have always thought,” Margaret said, “that Tristan was at a disadvantage, staying at home as he did, under his father's tutelage, instead of going elsewhere to be fostered, as so many boys do. And I think because of the unusual arrangement, he felt himself compelled to excel as a page, as a squire, and in his politesse toward the ladies, in order to prove he was as good as the other boys and not just a lad favored by a doting parent. I suspect it would have been better for Tristan and easier for him, too, if he had gone away to another castle for those years.”
“I am sure it would have been better for me,” Catherine said. “Still, there's no point in blaming Tristan for my girlish fantasies. Seeing him with Isabel, faced with the reality of his devotion to her, I have come to my senses at last. I am released from those fantasies.”
“I'm glad of it,” Margaret said, kissing her.
“It will take me some time to recover completely from my lovesickness,” Catherine said with a wry, little laugh. “Unfortunately, at four-and-twenty, I have grown so old that men are no longer asking for my hand. As a result of my foolishness, I fear I shall remain a spinster for the rest of my days.”
“I cannot think so,” Margaret cried.
“Ah, well, there are worse fates than living at Wortham Castle and caring for my father,” Catherine said.
* * * * *
“My lady Margaret.”
“My lord Tristan.” Margaret regarded him warily, thinking that he knew how to choose his time and place well. The day was still young, Isabel had not yet appeared in the great hall, Catherine was in the kitchen, and Arden was conferring with Sir Wace at the high table. Tristan's approach left Margaret with her back to the fireplace and no means of escape from him, unless she could think of a suitable excuse. His next words prevented even that release from what she feared was going to be an embarrassing confrontation.
“My lady,” Tristan said, going straight to the point, “I do fear from your manner that I have unknowingly offended you in some way.”
“How could you, my lord, when you have not been at Bowen for a full day yet?” Margaret asked.
“Is it simply because Isabel and I are here?” Tristan asked. “While we broke our fast this morning Arden told me about your flight from an unwanted marriage. You need have no fear that Isabel or I will say a single word of your whereabouts. Your secret is safe with us.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Need we be so formal? I am sure when we were children, we used each other's given names. Shall we agree to do so again?” Tristan said, smiling at her.
Margaret saw his open, boyish face, gazed into his clear, blue eyes, and was struck by the idea that Tristan was not quite as guileless as he appeared to be. It was entirely possible that he knew other secrets than hers.
“You and Arden have been friends for many years,” she said, feeling her way cautiously toward the subject dearest to her heart.
“Since we were pages,” Tristan said.
“You left for the Holy Land some months after Arden did.”
“After Arden was gone, I decided I had been coddled and protected by my parents for too long,” Tristan responded. “However, it took a fair amount of arguing before I could convince them it was time for me to leave the shelter of Cliffmore Castle and set out to see the world on my own.”
“Then, you met Arden again in the Holy Land?”
“Actually, I found him in Sicily, where he and his party were waiting for a ship. We have been together for most of the time since that day.” Tristan looked at her in silence for a moment, before asking, “What is it you wish to know, Lady Margaret?”
“Arden is much changed from the boy I remember. I know he was wounded.” Feeling herself begin to blush, Margaret stopped. She could scarcely admit how familiar she was with the scars on Arden's body.
“Several times wounded,” Tristan said. “It's no secret that Arden was one of the bravest men in the Christian armies. His valor saved many a life, including mine. I would not be here today, were it not for Arden.”
“Were you wounded, too?” Margaret asked.
“Once a minor wound, the second time more severely,” Tristan said. “I was never as badly hurt as Arden. Everyone who knew him in those days admired his courage in battle. We admired even more the brave way he struggled to recover from his grievous injuries, and from the illness that was the result of overlong exposure to the desert heat and sun. I doubt if I could have survived so grim a challenge, or so great a tragedy.”
“Tragedy?” Margaret repeated.
“You claim Arden has changed since you knew him long ago,” Tristan said. “It's the result of warfare, of the terrible sights and sounds of battle, of seeing good friends killed before his eyes, or watching them die of disease or festering wounds. It takes a man a long time to recover from witnessing such horrors. I have known men who probably will never recover.”
“There you are, Tristan, my dear.” Isabel's light voice interrupted a conversation that Margaret was finding more interesting by the moment.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said, smiling to hide her disappointment at Isabel's untimely appearance. “Have you broken your fast yet?”
“I thought I would join Tristan,” Isabel replied. She linked her arm with her husband's and looked up at him in an adoring way.
“I'll find a maidservant to attend you,” Margaret said, and headed for the kitchen door.
She had learned more than she expected from Tristan, yet there remained tantalizing gaps in her knowledge of Arden's past. She wondered if he would recover in time, or if he would prove to be one of the men Tristan had mentioned, whose soul was so badly scarred by warfare that he could never be restored to his former self.
Chapter 15
Wortham Castle was so well fortified that the guards posted along the high battlements were not overly concerned when they sighted a troop of at least two dozen riders approaching. Nor did they feel at all threatened by the irate manner of the nobleman who was leading the riders, when he declared his name and title and demanded in a loud voice that the gate be opened at once.
“If you will wait just a short time, Lord Phelan,” the watchman politely called down from the gate tower, “our captain of the guard will be informed of your presence, and of your desire to enter.”
“To the devil with your captain of the guard!” Phelan shouted back. “I want to speak with Royce, and I want to do it at once!”
A short discussion ensued above on the gate tower. Neither Phelan nor any other member of his company could distinguish what was being said, although none of the castle guards seemed to be alarmed or even excited by the presence of armed men insisting upon prompt entrance.
To Phelan's chagrin, he and those with him could do naught but wait as they were bidden. It was past mid-afternoon and the winter sun was fast sinking behind the trees of the distant forest. The air was still, with no wind stirring along the wide farmlands that stretched on all sides of Wortham Castle. In the village a mile or so down the road a few lights could be seen, though most windows were shuttered against th
e cold. In Phelan's troop each man's breath made a small cloud upon exhalation, noses were red and dripping from the chill, and here and there a man tucked gloved hands beneath his arms to preserve his fingers from frostbite.
It was but a short wait, as the watchman had promised, though it seemed long to those sitting impatiently upon their horses before the response came, shouted from the gate tower by the same watchman.
“My lord, will you be pleased to enter? The hospitality of Wortham is yours.”
“It's about time,” muttered Eustace, who rode at his father's left side. “I was beginning to think they were going to leave us to freeze out here. What kind of treatment is this from a baron famed for his hospitality?”
Eustace's remarks generated no response from his father. With a muttered curse Phelan kicked his horse's sides and started across the drawbridge before the portcullis was fully lifted. Lord Adhemar, who had been rather phlegmatically awaiting the invitation to enter while sitting upon his mount at Phelan's right hand, edged forward behind Phelan, his movement forcing Eustace to drop into third place. The rest of the men-at-arms and squires fell into double file.
As he passed through the narrow opening in the gatehouse, Phelan looked up and saw the murder holes just above his head, through which arrows or flaming oil could be sent to wreak havoc upon invaders. Men were posted at the holes; Phelan could see the torchlight shining in their watching eyes, and their bows poised and ready for use. The order to loose the arrows was not given, and Phelan's company passed unchallenged into the large outer bailey, where a man in leather tunic and short cloak was waiting. Stableboys ran forward to catch the reins of the horses belonging to Phelan's men and hold them in place.
“I am Sir William, the seneschal here,” the man awaiting them said. “In the name of our baron, I welcome you to Wortham Castle. If you will dismount, my lords, I will escort you to Lord Royce while your men and horses are being cared for. No doubt all of you are uncomfortable after a ride in this cold weather, and will be pleased to have a chance to warm yourselves.”
“Now, see here,” Phelan began, the irritations of recent days rising anew at Sir William's smooth tones.
“An order has been sent to the kitchen to prepare a large meal that is both hot and hearty,” Sir William continued as if Phelan had not interrupted him. He raised his voice so all the riders crowding through the gatehouse and into the bailey could hear what he said. “The tables will be set in the great hall in one hour and every man among you is invited to partake of Lord Royce's hospitality.”
A murmur of approval at these arrangements went through the group of weary, still-mounted men, though not everyone was pleased at the invitation.
“Curse your eyes, I don't want Royce's hospitality!” Phelan shouted at the seneschal. “I want to see him now. This minute! Bring him here.”
“My lord, I must ask you again to dismount.” Sir William's voice was still courteous, but the outer bailey was suddenly full of men-at-arms. They offered no threat to Phelan and his party, yet the message sent by their presence could not be mistaken.
“Phelan,” said Lord Adhemar, “you may stay here and do battle if you wish, but I shall walk to the keep and speak with Lord Royce. If he offers me decent wine to drink and a warm bed for the night, I'll thank him for it and count myself in his debt.” Upon those words Lord Adhemar dismounted, grumbling at the pain in his aging joints.
“Have you no pride?” Phelan demanded of him. “It is an insult to expect a nobleman to give up his horse. Next the baron of Wortham will demand our swords.”
“He will if he's heard about the present state of your temper,” said Adhemar. “Don't be a fool, Phelan; everyone dismounts when visiting inside a castle. Get off that nag and come press your complaint with Royce while you have the chance. Lead on, Sir William. I, at least, will follow you.” Adhemar nodded at the seneschal.
Adhemar's actions left his companions with little choice. Both Phelan and Eustace dismounted and went on foot through the inner gatehouse, then across the inner bailey to a long, steep flight of steps that led to a well-guarded entrance hall, and thence into the great hall.
Phelan looked around, his expression growing more disgruntled by the moment. He was rightly proud of the richness of Sutton Castle. His late wife had brought him chest upon chest of valuable plate and fine wall hangings in her dowry and, since his wife's death, Phelan's youthful mistress had spent lavishly to add to Sutton's glories.
The great hall of Wortham Castle immediately produced an uneasy feeling in Phelan's breast. Without fully comprehending why it was so, the tasteful appointments of Wortham made him vaguely ashamed of the barbaric splendour of his own castle.
The hall that Phelan, Adhemar, and Eustace entered behind Sir William was spotlessly clean. Finely detailed and richly colored tapestries depicting hunting scenes or famous martial triumphs hung upon every wall. Torches flared in metal sconces placed so their flames illuminated the tapestries. Beneath the tapestries massive carved wooden chests sat, with a discreet display of the baron's gold and silver plate on top of each chest. Every chest also bore a many-branched candelabrum, with wax candles lit in each arm. In the fireplaces at either end of the hall huge logs burned, sending out a welcome heat.
Servants moved about the hall, not in haste as might be expected when so many sudden guests were invited to a meal within the hour, but in orderly pursuit of their tasks. The high table looked most inviting, spread with a fine white linen cloth topped by more candelabra and well-polished silver plates and goblets. A row of cushioned chairs waited behind the table.
While Phelan and his companions stared around the hall in awe, their host came forward to greet them, closely followed by a servant bearing wine goblets upon a tray.
Royce the baron of Wortham was a tall man in his early forties and still as hale and strong as he had been during his youth. There were few lines on his face and his thick mane of red-gold hair shone bright, without a single strand of silver in it. The color of his hair was set off by his bright green wool tunic and hose and was matched in brilliance by the heavy gold chain around his neck. The chain bore a medallion given to him by King Henry I. Royce was, and always would be, Henry's man. He had been Henry's friend when William Rufus still ruled England, and he had been handsomely rewarded by Henry for his enduring loyalty, as the adornment of the great hall of Wortham Castle attested. Few men in England could match Royce of Wortham in honors or wealth.
“Come in, my lords, and be welcome,” Royce said. “Here's a fire waiting, and wine to warm you after your cold ride.” He gestured and the servant with him stepped forward, offering the tray of filled goblets. Royce took one goblet, Adhemar took another, while Eustace seized a third goblet and drank from it as if he were a parched man who had just been rescued from a desert.
Phelan did not accept the offered wine. He glared at Royce and spoke in a voice shaking with outrage.
“Where is my daughter?” Phelan demanded.
“I might well ask the same of you,” Royce said calmly, regarding Phelan over the rim of his silver goblet. “Catherine is much later than I expected in returning home from Lady Margaret's wedding. I assumed the heavy snow was keeping her at Sutton Castle. When Sir William announced that you were at the gate, I thought you had undertaken to escort her and my niece, Aldis, home as a gesture of friendship. I must say, Lord Adhemar, I am surprised to see you here. I would expect a bridegroom to be with his new wife.”
“I have no wife,” said Adhemar. “Lady Margaret left Sutton Castle before the wedding could take place. I knew I should have bedded her the first night I was at Sutton. If I had, she'd have been in no condition to defy her father, or me, and we would have no need to trouble you, my lord.”
“Indeed?” Royce said, and set down his still full wine goblet.
Adhemar, having finished his wine, put his goblet on the tray, too. Eustace, who had drained his goblet at a gulp, slammed it noisily onto the tray being held by the servant. Seeing that
his father was not going to drink Royce's wine, Eustace plucked from the tray the untouched goblet meant for Phelan and drank it, too.
“Lady Catherine and her companion vanished from Sutton at the same time as my daughter,” Phelan informed Royce. “I am convinced your daughter had something to do with Margaret's flight. Either she thought up the whole idea, or she and that Aldis girl agreed to help Margaret.”
“Flight? My Catherine? And Aldis, too?” Royce echoed, looking from man to man for further enlightenment.
“They've run away,” Eustace declared, his tongue lubricated by the wine. “They rode out of the gate at nightfall after one of your precious daughter's men-at-arms regaled our watchman with a tale about returning home to tend a sick relative. As far as we can determine, Margaret left Sutton with Lady Catherine's party, in disguise as one of the servants.”
“Why would either of them do such a thing?” Royce asked, and again it was Eustace who answered.
“My fool of a sister has expressed the desire to enter a convent, rather than to remarry,” Eustace said. He looked into the goblet he was holding, as if surprised to see it was empty.
“Do I understand this correctly, Lord Phelan?” Royce asked, turning to the outraged father. “Catherine took her cousin, Aldis, with her on her unexpected departure, as well as the men-at-arms who were her escort to Sutton?”
“Aye,” said Phelan, “and my daughter with them. My well-laid plans are now in ruins, thanks to those silly females.”
“Sir Matthew and his best men-at-arms rode to Sutton with Lady Catherine,” Sir William said to Royce, having listened to the discussion in silence. “They will all be safe enough. Matthew is trustworthy, Catherine is a sensible girl, and any friend of hers must be sensible, too.”
“Not sensible!” Phelan roared his fury. “They are willfully disobedient, all of them. How dare they hide from me?”
“Mark my words, Lord Phelan,” said Sir William, “the men-at-arms who escorted Lady Catherine and Lady Aldis are all completely loyal and dependable. I'd stake my life on their honesty. Matthew has found a safe place for the ladies to stay till the weather clears, that's all.”