So Great A Love (11 page)

Clearly, she had not behaved the way a
would-be nun ought to behave. In fact, her enjoyment of the carnal
advances made upon her body was nothing short of reprehensible. How
was she going to face Arden on the morrow, how look him in the eye
without blushing until everyone at Bowen Manor knew, or guessed,
that something highly improper had happened between them?

Had something happened, or was it only in her
own fevered thoughts? Arden was so changed, so cold and distant, as
if human emotion could never touch him again. Except at first, in
the dark, when he did not yet know who she was, when he had
whispered to her and held her close and caressed her with gentle
hands....

* * * * *

Arden craved sleep and the release from guilt
that only sleep could bring. But if he slept the chances were good
that he would dream, and the oft-repeated nightmare would waken him
and keep him awake until dawn. He rolled over, closing his eyes and
pulling the quilt up to his ears as if to shut out all evidence of
the world outside his bed. He, who had no right to ask anything of
heaven, prayed that on this night he would not dream at all.

While he waited for sleep to come he tried
not to think about the woman he had found in his bed, tried to keep
the vision of her out of his mind. He was unsuccessful to a
frightening degree. Margaret of Sutton's huge silver eyes in her
perfect, pale oval face swam before him as if she had returned to
his room to torture him. His hands itched to feel again the thick,
silky length of her smooth black hair sliding between his fingers.
His body burned with the imprint of Margaret's slender shape
against his. Her breasts were exquisite, high and small, with rosy
tips. He had felt them first, and then had seen them when he turned
to her holding the candle, before she had so hastily drawn the
sheet over her beautiful nakedness.

Arden had banished passion from his life
along with all other joys, yet Margaret stirred his senses as if he
were a youthful squire again. He regretted that he could not
remember her from his years at Cliffmore Castle, though if she was
near to his sister in age she would have been too young for him to
notice her then. Yet now he could not stop thinking of her.

The sheets were permeated with Margaret's
scent. When he buried his face in them at the place where he had
first discovered her sleeping, the fragrance of an early summer day
once again filled his nostrils. It was more than a dozen years
since he had enjoyed the sights and sounds and sweet smells of an
English June, since he had stood in a flower-filled meadow while a
sudden shower cooled him, and then had watched the clouds roll away
and the sky turn blue again. It was twelve years since he had last
seen a rainbow, but for just a few moments Arden felt as if he were
in a field strewn with wildflowers, with bees and butterflies going
about their work and birds singing for the sheer joy of living,
while above him the glorious colors of a rainbow arced across a
clearing English sky.

A tightly sealed door in his heart opened a
tiny crack as he breathed in Margaret's perfume. His eyes burned
with unshed tears and his throat ached. He fought to regain full
control of himself. Even alone in bed, where no one else could see
him, he dared not give way to any emotion. It took him a while,
especially the fight against the unwanted and unexpected heat in
his loins, but he won the battle and regained his tight
self-control, as he always did.

When at last he slept, with his long legs
tangled in the sweetly perfumed sheets, there were no terrifying
dreams.

Margaret arose and dressed well before
daylight. She arrived in the kitchen shortly after the cook and her
assistant began to build up the fire in preparation for baking the
day's bread.

“You will want to make a few extra loaves,”
Margaret told the cook. “Your master has come home with his squire
and a man-at-arms. All three will need to be fed.” Amazed at how
steady her voice was, she then went on to explain about Arden's
unexpected presence at Bowen. She finished with the cook and was
just returning to the great hall to see if Arden's men were awake
yet, when Sir Wace appeared.

“Have you spoken with Lord Arden?” the
seneschal asked her. “The sentry who was on duty last night has
reported his arrival to me. I am eager to see him again after so
many years.”

“As soon as I learned he was here I gave up
the lord's chamber to him. He insisted that he wanted only to
sleep,” Margaret said, hoping she would not blush as she continued
to talk about Arden. She did not think Sir Wace was going to press
her to describe the exact details of her initial meeting with his
master. All the same, she forced herself to thrust the recollection
of Arden's seductive touch out of her mind so she could converse
sensibly with the seneschal. “Sir Wace, he seemed to me to be
dreadfully weary, and he is quite thin. Perhaps he has been ill. I
have not seen him since late last night and I think we ought not to
disturb him.”

“There's a clever woman, who knows enough to
let a tired man rest,” said Arden's man-at-arms who had been curled
up asleep before the fire until the sound of voices wakened him. He
got to his feet and introduced himself as Guy. By the time he was
finished speaking, Michael the squire was also awake. At Sir Wace's
invitation the two men joined him, Margaret, and Bowen's
men-at-arms for a morning meal of bread, cheese and ale.

“After you have eaten,” said Sir Wace to the
newcomers, “you are welcome to visit the bathhouse and the barber,
and to leave your clothes at the laundry, if you like. We can
provide clean garments for you to wear until your own are washed.
Then we'll find you a more suitable place than the hall to sleep.
Since Lord Arden has come home at last, you will want permanent
quarters.”

“My lady,” Michael said to Margaret, “it's
not really my place to tell you, but in case Arden should sleep all
day – and well he might – then you ought to be forewarned.”

“Warned of what?” Sir Wace asked, before
Margaret could swallow the bite of hard cheese she was chewing.
“Speak up, squire, and don't worry whether you are overstepping
your place or not. Is there some danger we should know about?”

“No danger at all, Sir Wace,” Michael
hastened to assure him. “It's only that more guests will be coming,
and I thought Lady Margaret would want to tell the cook, and to
order rooms prepared for them. It's what my mother used to do, you
see, whenever we had guests,” he ended with a shy smile for
Margaret.

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Michael.
How many guests?” Margaret asked, returning his smile.

“About twenty or thirty people altogether,”
Michael answered her. “Tristan of Cliffmore and his lady and her
maidservant, a dozen men-at-arms, a few squires. Then there will be
the carts Sir Tristan was to hire in Portsmouth, and their drivers
and animals. They've brought a lot of baggage back from the Holy
Land and Aquitaine, though not all of it is to stay here at Bowen.
Some will go on to Cliffmore with Sir Tristan when he leaves.”
Michael lapsed into silence again, looking a bit uncomfortable
after having said so much.

Margaret's smile slowly faded during
Michael's listing of who was soon to appear at Bowen Manor, as she
began to comprehend some of the problems that were likely to arise.
Sir Wace, in the universal way of men who were concerned with
defense first and who seldom troubled themselves with the minor
details of housekeeping, saw no difficulty at all in housing or
feeding so many people. Nor had Sir Wace any inkling of the
emotional complications suggested by the information Michael so
innocently offered, though in his bluff soldier's way the seneschal
did try to be helpful.

“The men-at-arms and the squires we can
easily accommodate in the barracks,” Sir Wace said to Margaret.
“The servants and the carters can sleep in the stable, or in the
kitchen if the stable proves to be too cold for them. There's no
lack of space here at Bowen, as we are not overstaffed, and I know
we have enough food laid away in the storerooms. But this Sir
Tristan and his womenfolk will require guestrooms and, most likely,
more delicate dishes than we ordinarily eat,” he concluded in a way
that plainly turned those particular details over to the women to
resolve.

“How fortunate that Catherine and I
supervised a thorough housecleaning yesterday,” Margaret said, her
thoughts still spinning at all the implications of Michael's news.
“If you will excuse me, Sir Wace, I think I ought to consult with
the cook. She will want to know how many people she will be
expected to feed.” It was Catherine's place to plan the meals but
Margaret had a feeling that once Catherine learned what was about
to occur she would not be in any state to think of food.

“You needn't hurry,” Sir Wace said. “Our new
guests won't come today, and probably not tomorrow, either. It's
still snowing hard. No one can travel in this weather.”

“So you said last night,” Margaret reminded
him, “but Lord Arden got through, along with his two men.”

“Aye,” said Sir Wace. “Three men got through
the drifts. A party with women among them won't travel in such foul
weather.”

“Especially not Sir Tristan,” Michael put in.
“He's always careful of his lady's welfare. He won't let her take a
step without offering his arm for her to lean upon, till she teases
him about his concern.”

“This lady,” Margaret said, feeling the need
for precise clarification, “is she Sir Tristan's wife?”

“She is,” Michael answered, “and they'll
require but a single guest room, if that's what concerns you, Lady
Margaret. They never sleep apart.”

“I see.” Margaret spoke in a weak voice, her
thoughts on Catherine. But Margaret was used to accepting news she
did not want to hear, and to hiding her true feelings, so she
recovered quickly. “Thank you for this information, Michael. It
will help me decide which room they ought to be given. After I
discuss the matter with Lady Catherine, of course,” Margaret added,
seeing how strangely Sir Wace was looking at her and the thoughtful
way in which he was chewing his bread and cheese, as if he was
wondering by what right she would allot a guest room at Bowen
Manor.

Margaret discovered that she had lost all
desire for food. The one small piece of cheese she had swallowed
lay like a chunk of stone in her stomach. Finally making good her
exit from the hall, she went to the kitchen again, this time to
tell the cook about the expected guests who might not arrive for
several days yet, depending upon the weather, but who would require
both food and drink as soon as they did reach Bowen Manor.

That duty discharged, and fearing Catherine
would descend to the hall and learn the news of Tristan's marriage
without being properly prepared for it, Margaret piled bread, half
a cold chicken, a wedge of cheese, and a pitcher of wine onto a
tray and took it to the solar. There, after adding logs to the
fireplace, she settled down on a bench before the fire to wait.

It was not long before Catherine appeared.
She did not look well. Her cheeks were badly flushed and she came
into the solar coughing.

“How nice of you to prepare this for me,
though I fear I have little appetite this morning,” Catherine said,
spying the tray of food. Looking more closely at Margaret, she
asked, “What has happened? There's more noise than usual in the
great hall. Never tell me your father has found us?”

“No,” Margaret said, “but your brother
has.”

“My – Arden is here?” Under other
circumstances Margaret would have been amused to see how quickly
Catherine recovered from her fit of coughing. Her eyes began to
sparkle. “How wonderful! Why didn't you wake me at once?”

“It was very late at night,” Margaret said.
“Arden was tired after riding through the storm. He wanted only to
rest.”

“Where is he?” Catherine cried. “Is he below,
in the hall? I must go to him.”

“As far as I know, he is sleeping still,”
Margaret said. “He is in the lord's chamber. I moved into one of
the guest rooms,” she added hastily. She rose from the bench to
stand near the long windows. She made her back rigid and kept her
chin high, anticipating the teasing remarks that Catherine was sure
to make, and wishing this first, happy piece of news was all she
was obliged to tell her dearest friend.

“Oh, Margaret, do you mean Arden burst in on
you and wakened you from sleep?” Catherine cried, laughing at the
thought. “How naughty of him. And how generous of you to leave your
warm bed.”

“The bed is his,” Margaret said, feeling a
telltale blush begin in her cheeks. “It is Arden's indisputable
right to sleep in that room.”

“I know it is but, still, he could have
waited until morning to tell you so,” Catherine said. Her laughter
degenerated into another burst of coughing, which lasted for
several minutes. When it was over, Catherine became serious. “Why
that solemn look? Don't you see, this is the best thing that could
have happened? Now you may forget any lingering fears about your
father forcing you to return home. Arden will help us.”

“I do not understand how you think he is
going to do that,” Margaret said, confused by the changing
direction of Catherine's thoughts.

“Neither do I,” said a deep, masculine voice
from the doorway of the lord's chamber.

“Arden!” Catherine cried, flinging herself at
him. “I thought never to see you again, my dearest, most beloved
brother!”

“Most beloved, indeed,” said Arden, “since I
am your only brother.”

Catherine laughed, her flushed face glowing
with happiness. Her arms were wrapped around Arden's neck, her
cheek was pressed against his. After a moment of hesitation Arden
put his own arms around his sister, hugging her and patting her
shoulder as if to reassure her that he was truly there, safe and
well. He kissed Catherine's cheek and stroked her red-gold hair
which, as usual, was threatening to come undone from its loose
braid. For a brief while, with his eyes closed and a tender smile
on his lips, he resembled the carefree young man he had once
been.