by Speer, Flora
“But, where are they?” shouted Phelan. “I want Margaret found and returned at once!”
“I do not know where they are, my lord,” Royce responded in a voice that by its very quietness chided Phelan for his loud and angry manner. “I had no knowledge of your daughter's flight from her wedding until you came to my home just now to tell me of it.”
“Are you saying she's not here?” Phelan demanded.
“He has already told you she's not,” Eustace said. “Why should she come here? Father, we've both heard over and over again the nonsense my idiot sister was spouting about wanting to enter a convent, and the promises she imagined we once made to her that she could.”
“Well, then,” said Royce, who had read into the words spoken by Phelan and his son far more than they meant him to understand, “have you asked for Lady Margaret at any religious houses?”
“Of course we have!” Phelan yelled. His face turned red with his anger. “I tell you, I will not let Margaret defy me in this way. When I get my hands on her, she'll be properly punished, I can promise you that much. She has to be punished, not only for what she has done, but because she has proven to be a bad influence on her sister-in-law.”
“Father,” Eustace said, “I'll thank you not to air my problems with my wife in public. This affair is about Margaret, not Gertrude.”
“It certainly is about Margaret,” Phelan declared, his rage further inflamed by his son's interruption. “I'll beat the ungrateful wench until she can't stand up, and then I'll starve her for a while, till she's learned some respect for her father and is willing to do as she's told. I trust you will likewise see to your daughter's punishment,” he ended with a fierce scowl for Royce.
“You may be certain,” said Royce in the same quiet voice he had used throughout the conversation, “when I find Catherine, I will treat her as she ought to be treated. And Aldis, too.”
“That's right.” Phelan nodded his head, seemingly placated by the promise. “Women are willful creatures, till a man beats the willfulness out of them. I'm glad we are in agreement on the matter. Now, have you any thoughts on where your girl and my wicked Margaret might have gone?”
“We have already asked for them at every castle, manor, or religious house that we know of,” said Lord Adhemar to Royce. “Even the deep snow did not stop Lord Phelan from his unceasing quest.”
Royce looked from the elderly and obviously weary man who had expected to be a bridegroom, to the red-faced, coarse Lord Phelan, to the flabby-muscled, apparently unintelligent Eustace, and he briefly wondered what kind of person Lady Margaret could be that Catherine called her friend. He felt a spurt of pity for the unknown Margaret. Royce had never struck a woman and never would, and he did not like to think of what Phelan would do to his runaway daughter, once she was found. For found she must be, and Catherine and Aldis with her, though after the last half hour Royce thought he understood what had motivated both his daughter and his niece to aid in Margaret's escape.
Still, Margaret belonged to Lord Phelan. As her father, he was her legal guardian until she was wed again, at which point her husband would have charge of her. Royce rather thought Lord Adhemar would be a gentler ruler than Phelan. Perhaps he could convince Lady Margaret to marry the elderly baron after all, and as quickly as possible, in order to avoid the full weight of Phelan's planned punishment.
“Well, my lord,” said Phelan, still loud and angry, “what are you going to do about this intolerable situation? Will you see it resolved by peaceful means, or do you and I go to war against each other?”
“I prefer a peaceful resolution,” Royce said, still outwardly calm. “Warfare amongst his barons will not please King Henry, who has enough grief to deal with at the moment. Armed conflict is not necessary in this case.” He tilted his head and Sir William was at his shoulder, alert, attentive, ready for action.
“Choose a dozen of your best trackers among the men-at-arms,” Royce said to William. “Tell them to prepare to leave at first light. I will join the search for my daughter, my niece, and Lady Margaret. I can do no less.”
“We three are going with you,” said Phelan, in a voice that suggested he did not entirely trust Royce's intentions.
“Of course,” Royce agreed at once. “You are more than welcome. However, since there is little we can accomplish now that night has fallen, and since I feel certain in my heart that all three ladies are in a warm, safe place and well-guarded by my own men-at-arms, I am not overly worried about them.
“Come, my lords,” Royce continued with a gesture toward the high table, “let us eat the evening meal together in peace, and then go early to our beds, so we may set out refreshed on the morrow.”
The patience and the exquisite manners Royce displayed in the face of Phelan's belligerence dispelled some of the irate father's wrath and the evening passed in a relative calm broken only by Eustace's insistence that one of the prettiest maidservants should accompany him to his bed. Since it was obvious Eustace had consumed too much wine, Royce refused to take offense at his guest's oafish behavior. Instead, he called two strong male servants to see Eustace safely to his night's rest.
On the morrow, well before either Phelan or his son appeared in the great hall, Lord Adhemar came there and spoke to Royce.
“I intend to leave for my own home this morning,” Adhemar said. “I am too old and my joints are too stiff for me to spend day after day on a cold ride to find a girl who has made it clear that she does not want to marry me. If we do find Margaret, and Phelan then beats her into submission, what kind of wife will she be? I agreed to take her because I had heard how she nursed old Lord Pendance kindly in his last months, and I hoped she'd do the same for me. But I've seen her. She's scrawny and too tall, and far too sharp-tongued for my liking. I'd rather have a softer, plumper wench to warm my aging bones.
“As for Phelan,” Lord Adhemar continued, “what he wants most from the marriage is the land I was going to give him in exchange for his daughter, and the connections I have to the king, which exist primarily because Henry's father and mine were friends in the days of the Conquest. I've no love for Lady Margaret, and having observed Phelan and his son over these last few weeks, I'd rather not call them my friends, much less my relatives.”
“I understand your feelings,” Royce said. “But what of the marriage contract?”
“It was never signed,” Adhemar answered. “Lady Margaret ran away before we got that far in the final arrangements. As for the betrothal agreement, it was an informal thing, no more than verbal consent between Phelan and me, because Lord Pendance was still alive at the time, though on his deathbed. Thus, I am not legally bound to Margaret, nor she to me. I have only Phelan's wrath to consider, and at my age his anger troubles me little.
“I've sent my squire to tell my men to saddle their horses,” Adhemar said. “I'll speak to Phelan the moment he steps outside his bedchamber door, and tell him what I've decided. Then I'll depart at once, before he has time to recover from his surprise and to begin to bluster again. I am weary of listening to his rage against mere women. He ought to save his spleen for more worthwhile objects of hatred.” Adhemar started to leave the great hall. Then, apparently thinking better of the action, he returned to Royce.
“My lord, there is another reason why I've decided to call off my marriage to Margaret and I think you ought to hear it,” Adhemar said in a lowered voice. “You have been hospitable under difficult circumstances. I will repay your hospitality with a word of advice and a warning, knowing you have the king's ear as few men have.”
“Yes?” Royce said cautiously. “What warning is that?”
“If you are wise, you will have no more dealings than absolutely necessary with Phelan and his son. Since I first arrived at Sutton Castle, I have listened to them talk. Some of what they say borders on treason.”
“How so?” Royce asked.
“It's one thing to seize another baron's lands when the man is too weak to defend himself and his pro
perty, and the king is too consumed with grief to pay attention,” Adhemar said. “It is another matter entirely to plot against the king, himself. When I go to court early in the spring, I will try to sway King Henry's decision on whether he ought to marry again, and who his bride should be. I'll tell him he ought to marry out of England, a move that I believe will go far to prevent further disputes among his barons as to who will rule England after him. Beyond the giving of that advice I refuse to venture.”
“That's wise of you. Thank you for the warning,” Royce said. “As it happens, I agree with you, and I will tell the king so when next I see him.” Royce did not find it necessary to add that loyalty to his royal friend would lead him to abide by Henry's decision on the succession, whether or not he approved of the king's final choice.
“There are those,” Adhemar said, meeting Royce's eyes with no sign of evasion, “who believe Robert of Gloucester would make a fine king.”
“Robert of Gloucester is illegitimate,” Royce responded, aware that Adhemar knew it as well as he did. “He is also an honorable man and loyal to his father, the king. Robert would never try to seize the throne.”
“Unfortunately, other men are not so scrupulous,” Adhemar said. He cocked an eyebrow and wisely left the rest of his thoughts on the subject unspoken.
“Farewell, and my thanks for your hospitality, my lord,” Adhemar said after a moment or two, when he saw that Royce was not going to respond to his provocative remark. “I'll meet with Phelan and then I'll be on my way.”
Adhemar departed an hour later, and Royce was left to deal with the choleric Phelan. While Phelan fumed and ranted, striding about the great hall and tossing chicken bones into first one fireplace and then the other as he consumed enough breakfast for three men, Eustace sat glumly at the high table, drinking but not eating.
“My lord Royce.” Sir William appeared in the great hall, bringing with him a cloaked and gloved man who, by his red cheeks and nose, was newly arrived after a long ride. “Here's a messenger from Sir Tristan of Cliffmore.”
“I'm glad to see you,” said Royce to the newcomer. He was speaking no more than the truth. The new arrival, fresh-faced and bright-eyed, was a pleasant relief from Phelan and his son. The messenger bowed, pulled a folded parchment from his tunic, and presented it to Royce.
“Help yourself to food and drink,” Royce said, indicating the morning meal spread out on a table placed near to the warmth of the fire. “Sir Tristan and I have not met for many years, not since before he left for the Holy Land, and I was unaware that he has returned to England. Does he expect an answer from me?”
“I am not certain, my lord, but if you wish to send one, I will gladly take it to him,” said the messenger.
Royce broke the seal and read. A slow smile curved his lips and his eyes began to sparkle.
“Of course,” said Royce, his eyes on the parchment. “I should have thought of it, myself.”
“Thought of what, my lord?” asked Sir William. For the moment he and Royce stood alone together in the center of the hall. The seneschal sent a quick glance in Phelan's direction and kept his voice just above a whisper when he spoke again. “You do not look displeased over what you are reading.”
“This letter brings wonderful news,” Royce said. “Arden is already at Bowen Manor, and Sir Tristan is on his way to join him there, before the two of them, along with Tristan's lady, come here for a visit. The letter is to tell me of their plans and ask leave for them to stay at Wortham for a week or two. Tristan adds that he and Arden have information they believe I will want to take to King Henry.”
“Bowen, eh?” Sir William repeated thoughtfully. “My lord, are we of like mind on this?”
“We are, indeed,” Royce said. “Catherine loves Bowen, and so does Aldis. They always go with me when I make an inspection there. It's a hard ride to Bowen from Sutton Castle, and it's not a place Phelan would think of. It's well hidden, and so many miles off the main road that it's not likely he'd consider it, especially if the snow is deep enough to hide the path that leads to it. All of which will have made Bowen appealing to my clever Catherine.”
“You think we'll find the ladies there?” Sir William asked.
“I hope so,” Royce said. “I believe so. But if I've guessed wrong, Bowen is the ideal place from which to mount a search. It's nearer to Sutton than Wortham is, and from it my men can fan out across the border country and into Wales, if necessary. What's more, we can enroll Arden and Tristan and the men-at-arms who are with them in our efforts to locate Catherine and her friend.
“Unfortunately,” Royce continued, “we will have to take our guests along, and they will want their own men with them. William, see to it that my men-at-arms outnumber Phelan's. And let's not tell them where we are going. I don't want anyone, especially Phelan, to ride ahead of us and reach Bowen before we do. I will not allow Phelan to take out his anger on Catherine if she's there, as I expect. Or on Aldis, either.”
“Sir Wace will be overwhelmed,” William said. “Bowen is scarcely large enough to hold so many people.”
“We'll manage. When I visited last autumn, the cellars were packed full of supplies for the winter. No one will starve. Except, possibly, poor Lady Margaret, if her father decides to withhold food from her,” Royce finished with a grimace of disgust for Phelan's lack of tenderness toward his daughter. Royce dearly loved his own daughter and he would listen to what Catherine had to say before deciding how best to punish her for the present escapade.
“So, William, we will set out for Bowen just as soon as I can convince my two remaining guests to mount their horses,” Royce said. He took a step in Phelan's direction, then paused, considering a fresh idea. “I will also ask Father Aymon to ride with us. We may have need of a priest as peacemaker, if the present state of Phelan's temper is any gauge of what he may yet do.”
“Or a priest to bury the dead,” William added wryly, “in case Phelan's temper runs out of control. And if it does, may heaven help us all, for I fear that angry man will not stop without a full-scale battle over the advantages he imagines he has lost as a result of his daughter's recalcitrance and Lady Catherine's clever planning.”
Chapter 16
“Merciful Lord of Heaven!” Arden swore, staring in shock at the red and blue banner borne high by the mounted man who was just entering the palisade. Arden knew that banner, had known it all of his life, and the riders who followed the first horseman impressed themselves upon his vision with the awful inevitability of a nightmare from which he could not awaken, no matter how hard he tried.
He stood on the landing at the top of the flight of stone stairs that led from courtyard to manor house entrance. In order to see clearly he was forced to squint against the bright sunshine that sparkled on the ice and snow covering ground and trees and buildings. The tops of the logs that formed the palisade wall shone as if they were tipped with beaten silver, and above the scene the sky arched blue and cold.
As Arden watched with a sense of growing despair, a mounted band of fully armored knights, men-at-arms, and squires came pouring through the palisade gate and into the courtyard. The horses' hooves churned up the mud and ice beneath the partially melted snow, turning the area between gatehouse and manor entrance into an unappetizing brown stew. Arden counted twenty-five men in full chainmail and more than a dozen others in padded tunics and boiled leather helmets. He stopped counting when he realized the futility of the exercise.
“I came to Bowen because I wanted to be alone,” Arden exclaimed, unable to hold back his mounting frustration. “The more fool I, for since I've come here seeking solitude, I have had to deal first with my sister, my cousin, and my – my sister's friend,” he stammered, unable to think of a better term to apply to the woman who haunted his dreams and his every waking hour.
Seeking the sight of her as if just seeing her could save him from the inevitable pain of the next few hours, Arden looked behind him, glancing past Tristan, who stood at his right shoulder,
and into the entry hall where Margaret waited with Catherine, Aldis, and Isabel. All of them had been brought to the doorway by the shouts of the sentries and by the hastily delivered message of a squire who was sent to Arden by Sir Wace with news that the baron of Wortham was approaching Bowen.
“Next you arrived, Tristan, and your wife, and all the party with you. Now my father is here.” Arden's mouth clamped shut on the irritated words. He wished he could wave a magical wand and send every one of the unwelcome intruders away until he was ready to deal with them.
“You knew we were coming,” Tristan said, unmoved by Arden's complaints. “Old friend, you invited Isabel and me. Furthermore, many of the men who came with us are your own people, who would be at Bowen even if Isabel and I were not here.”
“My men are not the problem,” Arden snapped. He felt cornered, as if he were a wounded boar backed against a rock with a pack of dogs and a dozen armed hunters about to bring him down and slay him. “Tristan, you should not have sent a message to my father. I did not invite you to do so, and you know why. I explained to you that I wanted to meet my father on my own terms, and in my good time.”
“Whereas, I wanted Royce to have adequate time to prepare to receive Isabel,” Tristan said, speaking with all the ease of a man who understands his friend and knows from long experience when to discount his grievances. “I deemed it no more than common courtesy to inform your father of our plans, and to inform him that we have serious news to impart. I never thought Royce would decide to come to Bowen to meet us. I assumed he'd stay at Wortham, to await us there. It's what most men would do.”
Arden was about to remind Tristan that Royce of Wortham was not like most men, a fact which Tristan had apparently forgotten during their long absence from England, when he was prevented from speaking by two feminine voices in the entry hall.