“Indeed?” Arden's eyebrows went up, as if he
did not trust mere conversation to work the necessary changes in
his sister.
“We could draw her into a warm and loving
circle,” Margaret said, “and make her feel wanted, as she felt with
her parents and you, long ago. If Catherine believes we love her
and if she begins to take an interest in other matters, then the
loss of Tristan may diminish in importance among her thoughts,
until she is able to accept the truth of the situation and lay
aside her grief for what can never be.”
“Very practical,” Arden said, nodding his
approval. “Have you any idea how to achieve such a goal?”
“No,” Margaret admitted, “I have not. My
family has never been a loving one, nor was my late husband's
family. Since Catherine used to talk about the closeness between
your parents and the affection of other relatives whenever they
gathered together, I thought you might remember how it is
done.”
“I?” he said, recalling family gatherings
when he was a child, seeing in his mind the faces of relatives
dearly loved and now lost to him. His mother, who had died shortly
after he left England, his cousin Roger, who had been killed
fighting at his side in the desert, his father's younger brother,
Oliver....
Uncle Oliver.
“I know nothing of familial affection,” he
stated coldly.
Once again, Margaret looked into bleak,
emotionless eyes that were cold as ice. Faced with Arden's
coldness, she almost gave up her plan, until she thought of
Catherine, who had so boldly aided Margaret when Margaret needed
help. Now it was Catherine who needed Margaret's help.
Arden needed help, too. Margaret knew, as
surely as she knew the order of the canonical hours, that Arden's
spirit was every bit as disturbed and vexed as was Catherine's. The
causes were different. Margaret could not begin to imagine what had
so sorely wounded Arden's heart, while she did know the sources of
Catherine's unhappiness. And the manifestations were different,
Catherine withdrawing into overemotional tears and a refusal to
eat; Arden also withdrawing, but into cold hostility and denial of
all emotion.
“If I agree to do this, you must agree to
leave Aldis out of it,” Arden said.
“Why?” Margaret demanded.
“Because I wish it.” He gave no hint as to
his reason – if he had a reason.
“Very well, for Catherine's sake, I will
agree,” Margaret said. “I'll explain to Aldis what we are
doing.”
Margaret hoped to become the conduit through
which Arden and Catherine could reach toward each other until they
were once again as close and loving as they had been when she had
first known them as children. Surely, Catherine's restored
happiness would be the richest thanks Margaret could bestow upon
the best friend she had ever known. With Catherine in good health,
smiling and eager for life again, Margaret could enter a convent
without hesitation, knowing she had fully repaid all of her
friend's loyalty and love.
Furthermore, if Arden could make peace with
Catherine, perhaps he would begin to treat Aldis more kindly, too,
which would be a blessing for the girl who had so quickly proven
herself a friend to Margaret.
Margaret knew she would have to choose her
tactics with great care, especially where Arden was concerned. Yet,
having been allowed a brief glimpse behind the shields he had
erected to protect his suffering heart, could she in good
conscience turn away from him? As one who had chosen the religious
life, wasn't it her duty to help others whenever she could?
She had yet another matter to consider. She
was beginning to care deeply about Bowen and the people who lived
there – Sir Wace, Michael and Guy, the good-natured cook, the
maidservants and men-at-arms, all of whom were unfailingly kind to
her. If Arden's outlook improved, so would the lives of his people.
If she succeeded, she would leave Bowen a happier place.
Margaret was aware of the faults in this line
of reasoning. She was also aware of the way in which Arden was
watching her, and so, in preference to examining her motives more
closely, she decided to begin her efforts by suggesting a game.
“You are smiling,” Arden said. “Does that
mean you have a useful idea, after all?”
“I believe I have,” Margaret replied. “Do you
play chess?”
“I do,” he responded, looking wary of what
was to come next.
“Are there chess pieces and a board to be
found at Bowen?”
“How should I know, after so long away? No,
wait,” Arden said. “I saw a battered old board in Sir Wace's
quarters yesterday. I suppose he used to play with his son who,
according to Sir Wace, has gone to Wortham Castle as a squire.”
“Would you ask Sir Wace to lend the set to
you?”
“Why? You can't think I will teach the game
to Catherine?”
“That is exactly what I want you to do,”
Margaret said. “Learning to play chess will occupy her full
attention and keep her thoughts off Tristan. Furthermore, in order
to instruct her in the game, you will have to talk to Catherine and
to spend hours sitting with her. All of this will convince her of
your affection.”
“What will you be doing while I attempt to
play chess with my sister?” Arden asked, speaking as if he had
caught her out in a fault.
“Mending,” Margaret said after a moment's
thought. “I shall sit beside you and Catherine, with needle and
thread in hand and pleasant comments falling from my tongue. When
we counted the linens a few days ago we discovered several torn
pieces and set them aside to be repaired. If I finish the mending,
I shall advance to sewing new tunics for the men-at-arms. There is
fabric laid away in one of the storerooms for just that
purpose.”
“Where do you propose to conduct this effort
to restore Catherine's good spirits?” Arden asked. Looking around
he said, “Here in the solar, perhaps? With four long windows, there
is plenty of light, except on the dreariest day, and the room is
always warm, so she won't take a new chill to make her ill all over
again.”
“What a good suggestion.” Margaret smiled at
him. He stared at her mouth as if he had never seen a woman's lips
curve upward before. She noted a slight upward quirk at one side of
Arden's mouth and decided she would make a point of smiling more
often. Catherine would be encouraged to see a smiling face and, if
Margaret smiled, Arden might begin to smile again, too. She would
give much to hear the carefree laugh that had once been a part of
Arden's younger character.
Warning herself not to expect too much of him
too quickly, Margaret went on to suggest to Arden a practical
schedule for their therapeutic intervals with Catherine.
* * * * *
Arden knew Margaret was right about
Catherine. He could not let his sister waste away over a foolish
affection for a man who was aware of her only as the younger
relative of a longtime friend. For Catherine's sake Arden would
pretend to be friends with Margaret and the two of them would try
their best to coax Catherine into a more lighthearted humor.
Success with Catherine would provide a small measure of redemption
for him, which would be made all the more noble if he was able to
keep his growing attraction toward Margaret under control while the
two of them acted in concert.
Arden watched her pacing about the solar as
she described where a table and chairs ought to be set. Margaret's
movements were fluid and graceful, the gestures of her hands
expressive yet not overdone. Once, long ago, he would have looked
forward to the opportunity to spend hours at a time with Margaret,
watching her, listening to her speak. It was not so now, not with
blood-guilt laid upon his shoulders, an invisible, silent burden
that would be with him for the rest of his life, keeping him
eternally separate from all decent folk.
How he was going to tell his father what he
had done, Arden did not know. He did know that he ought not to be
at Bowen, not with Margaret and Catherine and Aldis there, too. He
also knew he did not have the courage to leave.
Unaware of his gloomy thoughts, Margaret
continued to talk. She had her entire scheme neatly worked out and
was explaining it to Arden as if she were a war leader organizing a
battle plan and he was one of her lieutenants. No wonder she had so
proudly taken the blame for the scheme to escape from her father
and Lord Adhemar. And no wonder Catherine had fallen in with the
plan. Margaret possessed a mind for pertinent details. To his
surprise, Arden felt an appreciative chuckle rising in his chest
and only repressed it with difficulty. He let her speak a little
longer, listening to her with growing respect.
“I agree with all you have said,” he told her
when she paused for breath.
“You do?” She sounded surprised. “I feared –
I mean, I thought – you would want to make changes. Men usually do,
when a woman has made a suggestion.”
Her cheeks were slightly flushed. Arden hoped
it was with pleasure at his ready acceptance. His wicked heart felt
lighter already. If this was the beginning of redemption, it was
sweet, indeed. All he needed to do, he told himself, was treat
Margaret exactly as he treated his sister. And leave the details to
her. It would be a new experience for him to accept a woman's
direction, but he trusted her to know better than he what would
please Catherine.
“I'll find Sir Wace and ask him for the chess
set,” he said.
Arden did not bother knocking on Catherine's
bedroom door. Not wanting to be refused entrance, he just walked
in, to discover her lying in bed with her eyes closed and her hands
folded upon her bosom. It was a pose so like that of a body
prepared for burial that Arden stopped abruptly, his breath
catching in his throat.
Margaret, who had come into the room right
behind him, bumped into his back. When Arden began to breathe again
he inhaled the mixed-flower scent of her perfume. A pure, sweet
longing pierced through him. No, he corrected himself, what he was
feeling was far from pure, though it was infinitely sweet.
“Speak to her,” Margaret whispered, with one
hand on Arden's shoulder to urge him forward.
“Catherine.” Sternly pushing aside all
thought of his improper desire for Margaret, Arden went to the bed
and bent over it, taking both of his sister's hands in his. “I have
come to talk to you.”
“To berate me again?” Catherine asked. She
opened sad, gray-green eyes to look directly into his eyes. “To
tell me how much you hate me?”
Arden felt the full weight of guilt for what
he had done to her pressing upon his heart. His selfish need to
find a nest where he could hide like a wounded animal had made him
treat his sister as if she mattered not at all to him. Wanting to
be alone at Bowen and angry because he was not, he had refused to
accept either Catherine's explanation for her presence there, or
the reasoning behind her actions, and then he had told her of
Tristan's marriage with rude coldness. He, and he alone, was the
cause of Catherine's unhappiness.
“I have done with scolding,” he said in a
voice roughened by the sudden tightness in his throat. “We will
speak no more of my anger at finding you here. Dear Cat, will you
join us for the evening meal?”
“I do not want to go to the great hall,” she
said. “It is filled with men, and all the noise and bustle makes my
head ache. I just want to be quiet.”
“My invitation is not to the hall,” Arden
told her, “but to the solar. Lady Margaret and Aldis have arranged
a light meal for us, and I have built up the fire so you won't be
cold, as you might be in the hall, where it can be drafty. We will
eat, and talk, and drink a little wine and, I promise, I will speak
no unkind word to you.”
“I can't eat,” Catherine said in a low voice.
“I have no appetite. I am sure food will only make me ill
again.”
“Then just sit with us and bear us company,”
Margaret suggested. “I have missed your conversation.”
“I haven't been a very good hostess recently,
have I?” Catherine asked.
“If I am to act as host to Lady Margaret, I
will need you by my side,” Arden said. “Don't disappoint us,
Cat.”
“I have been inexcusably rude to both of
you,” Catherine said. As if invigorated by Arden's repeated use of
her childhood name, she pushed herself up until she was sitting.
“I’ve left all of my duties as chatelaine to Margaret.”
“Only because you have been so ill,” Margaret
responded. “I do understand, my dear.”
“The fault is not entirely yours, Cat,” Arden
admitted, lifting his sister's hands to his lips. “I also bear some
responsibility. Let there be peace between us.”
“Oh, Arden.” Catherine pulled her hands out
of his grasp so she could throw her arms around his neck. “I do
love you so. And I want to hear all about your adventures in the
Holy Land. I will gladly join you and Margaret and Aldis in the
solar. Thank you for the invitation.”
Margaret saw the way Arden's back stiffened
when Catherine spoke of the Holy Land, and she took the sudden
straightness of his spine as a signal that he did not want to talk
about the years he had spent there. She would have to find a way to
distract Catherine from the subject, at least for this first
evening. On another night, perhaps Arden would be more relaxed and
willing to reveal something of that time.
When she was invited, Aldis asked to be
excused from the gathering, claiming she wanted to attend to
personal matters after spending so much time at Catherine's
bedside. Privately, Margaret thought the girl was trying to avoid
Arden, but she did not press the issue.
Catherine was still pale and wan after her
bout of chest congestion and the deep, racking cough remained. But
it was clear that she was not going to be stopped by the remnants
of illness, not when she could be with her brother and Margaret.
She rose from her bed and walked to the solar without help. There
she sat in the chair Arden placed for her near the roaring fire and
she allowed him to drape a warm shawl about her shoulders and a
quilt over her knees. She even made an attempt to eat something of
the meal of bread, cheese, and cold, pickled meat, and she sipped
from a cup that was filled with hot mulled wine.