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
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
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