So Great A Love (3 page)

Taking care lest her expression give away any
hint of her tumultuous feelings, Margaret watched the shivering
Catherine hurry across the garden toward the door that led into the
castle, where roaring fires and hot, spiced wine awaited the
arriving wedding guests. Beneath her calm exterior, Margaret's
courage was close to failing her.

“Oh, Cat,” she whispered when her friend was
gone, “dearest Cat, please say you will help me escape. For, if you
will not, who will?”

In the great hall of Sutton Castle, with its
dozens of dusty, unraveling tapestries hung in overlapping rows
upon the damp walls, with all of the gold-washed candlesticks,
pitchers, and basins that Phelan the baron of Sutton owned making a
tawdry display on each and every table, the midday banquet to
welcome the newly arrived bridegroom was in progress. The first of
many courses had been served and eaten and Lord Phelan was waiting
with some impatience for the next course before he bothered to look
at his daughter long enough to note her attire.

Clad in a dark blue woolen gown made with a
high neck and long, full sleeves, and with her white linen wimple
completely covering her hair, Margaret was standing near the
screens passage, directing the servants.

They were not happy to be directed by
Margaret. Since her homecoming she had made several attempts to
have them clean the castle, using the blessed Christmas season and
her upcoming wedding as excuses to put the staff to work, for she
could not bear the dirt or the untidiness she found at Sutton.

The staff was accustomed to a more relaxed
style of housekeeping, so every order Margaret issued was promptly
reported to and countermanded by Lord Phelan's current mistress, a
wool merchant's daughter from Flanders by the name of Ermengarde.
It was only because Ermengarde preferred to sit at the high table
with her lover that Margaret was permitted to organize the feast.
She did so with a wry twist to her mouth, knowing she, and not
Ermengarde, should have been the lady honored at this day's
banquet. It did not disturb Margaret in the least that she was not
in a seat of honor. She only wished she could forgo the feast – and
the wedding – entirely.

“Margaret!” Lord Phelan roared over the
murmur of conversation and the clatter of dishes. “Come here!”

“Yes, Father.” Dismissing the servant to whom
she was speaking, Margaret hastened to the dais where the high
table was, to stand before it looking up at her parent. “Is there
something I can do for you?”

“There certainly is!” Lord Phelan leaned
across the table to shout at her. “God's Holy Teeth, you stupid
wench, what are you wearing?”

“Proper clothing for a widow,” Margaret
replied. “This is my usual attire.”

“You are no longer a widow,” her father
reminded her. “You are a bride. Where is the red silk dress that
Lord Adhemar sent to you?”

“I chose to wear this dress instead.”
Margaret could feel the eyes of those sitting at the lower tables,
and of the servants carrying platters and bowls of food, all of
them staring at her back, which was turned to them. The guests who
sat facing her at the high table also stared at her.

Margaret had not been considered important
enough to be summoned to greet her prospective bridegroom when he
arrived. Her opinion of him mattered not at all to the men who were
arranging her future without consulting her, for she was but a pawn
in the game of power they played. She was merely expected to keep
quiet if she had any objections, and to do her duty as her male
relatives saw it. So far as Margaret knew, Lord Adhemar was not
interested in her appearance or in discovering what kind of person
she was. All the men cared about was the land and the chests of
plate and jewels they would exchange when the marriage contract was
signed, the alliance between two families that would be to their
advantage in years to come – and their wicked schemes that bordered
on treason.

“Have you deliberately chosen to insult our
guest?” Phelan demanded.

“No, my lord,” Margaret responded in a quiet
voice. Gazing at her father, she wished with all her heart that he
was an honest man who loved her, or at least valued her as a
person. He did not love her; he never had, and her practical nature
usually prevented her from feeling sorry for herself over a fact
that could not be changed. But on this occasion she blinked back
tears of humiliation and wounded pride that Catherine should be
present to observe how little Margaret counted in her family. While
her father glared at her and let her wait for his next remarks,
Margaret turned her attention from him to the guests sitting before
her.

There were fourteen people occupying the
places of honor at the long high table, and one vacant seat. Lord
Phelan was in the lord's chair at the center of the table. The
gray-haired man with the harsh, heavily lined face, who sat at her
father's right hand was the bridegroom, Lord Adhemar. The place
between Adhemar and Eustace was vacant, for it was where Margaret
was intended to sit. Next to Eustace was Catherine and on
Catherine's left was Lord Adhemar's chaplain. Margaret knew who he
was by his robes. He was the only person in the hall who was
wearing clerical garb and there was no resident priest at Sutton
Castle.

Sitting on the chaplain's other hand at the
far end of the table was Eustace's pale and timorous wife. Gertrude
met Margaret's cool gaze for only an instant before breaking the
contact to stare down at her trencher in a way that told Margaret
her sister-in-law was feeling guilty for talking too much on the
previous day.

On Lord Phelan's left sat Ermengarde,
resplendent in pale blue silk with entirely too many necklaces and
bracelets draped about her voluptuous figure. Next were four
noblemen and three ladies, all folk who had come to Sutton with
Lord Adhemar and who were, presumably, either his relatives or his
close friends.

No representatives of Margaret's family were
present except for her father, her brother, and Eustace's
fear-ridden wife. No aunts, uncles, or cousins were there to
witness the marriage, perhaps because of the hasty nature of the
arrangements Phelan had made. Save for Catherine, there was no one
present in the great hall whom Margaret could call her friend.

Margaret had glimpsed her intended bridegroom
upon his arrival and she was not impressed with him. She took this
opportunity to have a closer look at him from a distance of just a
few feet. She noted the sour twist to Lord Adhemar's thin lips, the
unhealthy color to his complexion, and the irritated way in which
he glowered at her. Margaret shuddered at the thought of belonging
to the man, of going into his household, and into his bed.
Nevertheless, she recalled the lessons she had learned as the wife
of Lord Pendance and stepmother to his contentious son. It was
always wiser not to show fear. She inclined her head to Lord
Adhemar and smiled at him. In response, he frowned at her.

“I am honored to meet you at last, my lord,”
Margaret said boldly. She was fully aware of the implied insult in
her words, to her father for not introducing her properly
immediately upon Adhemar's arrival at Sutton Castle, and to both
men for the way they had ignored her since.

“Did you not like the red dress?” Lord
Adhemar said to her.

“It is a beautiful dress,” Margaret
responded, making a polite curtsey. In fact, she thought the dress
was garish and over-decorated, but it was not wise to let anyone
know her true opinion of so expensive a gift. “I thank you for it,
my lord Adhemar, and for the kind thought that prompted the
giving.” There, that ought to soothe his ruffled feelings, though
she doubted if kind thoughts were the true reason for the
present.

“If you like it so much, why are you not
wearing it?” demanded Lord Adhemar.

“Because, sir, it is exactly one month ago
today that Lord Pendance died. It seemed to me that you would
approve of a wife who wishes to show respect and reverence to her
late husband's memory upon so solemn an anniversary.”

“Very proper,” murmured Lord Adhemar's
chaplain, nodding his approval of Margaret's sentiments. For his
trouble, he received a baleful glare from Lord Adhemar.

“Do not trifle with me, wench,” Lord Adhemar
said, returning his attention to Margaret. “Are you daring to
suggest that I will soon follow your first husband into the
ground?”

“Indeed not, my lord. I would never wish such
a thing,” Margaret responded. “But I do believe a wife ought to
honor her lord and master, even when he is no longer present.” It
cost her much to quell her spirit enough to speak the servile
words, but Margaret could see by her father's reddening face that
he was working himself into a high temper, and Eustace also looked
angry. Eustace's wife was even paler than usual and was trembling
in her seat. For Gertrude's sake, as well as for Margaret's own, a
bit of judicious placating seemed to be a good idea.

“If you wish it, my lord,” Margaret said to
Adhemar, “I will be happy to wear the red dress tomorrow, for the
Twelfth Night celebrations.” She did not add her opinion that the
dress was suitable only for that one uproarious night, when the
social order of the castle was turned upside down and the servants
pretended to rule. It occurred to her that the dress could be a
useful ingredient in her plan of escape. While she was considering
the idea, her father spoke to Adhemar.

“I trust,” said Phelan, “that you will prove
a sterner husband than Lord Pendance was. Margaret was raised to be
obedient, but clearly she has been allowed too much freedom during
the years of her first marriage.”

“I do believe I will enjoy taming her proud
spirit,” Lord Adhemar said. With a look in Margaret's direction
that boded ill for her future, he commanded her, “Lady Margaret,
come and sit beside me.”

“My lord,” Margaret objected, “the servants
need direction.”

“It's you who need direction,” Lord Adhemar
said. “Will you honor the dead husband while neglecting the living
one? Come here at once!”

“At once,” Phelan reiterated his guest's
command, “or by God, Margaret, I'll beat you right here before all
the guests!”

“Do as our father says, wench,” Eustace
shouted, “or I'll hold you while he administers the beating you so
richly deserve!” He slammed his wine goblet down on the table so
hard that red droplets stained the white linen cloth. Poor
Gertrude, seated three places away from him, flinched as if fearful
that he would hit her.

Margaret was humiliated to be so treated
before Catherine and a dais full of strangers, but she was not
surprised. She knew her male relatives too well to be shocked by
their behavior. And she well knew that she was much too proud; it
was a sin she would have to overcome once she was safe inside
convent walls – if only she could get to the convent she had
chosen.

Margaret risked a glance at Catherine and saw
that Catherine
was
shocked by the way her friend was being
treated. Catherine's face was white, the gray-green eyes she fixed
on Margaret were huge and round, and Catherine's hand was clenched
tightly about the handle of her eating knife, as if she longed to
use it for a weapon. But then, the baron of Wortham was known to
love his daughter. Margaret was certain that Catherine's father
would never embarrass her at her own pre-nuptial feast, nor would
he neglect to introduce her to the man she was to wed.

When Margaret looked back at the three men
who had commanded her to do their bidding or suffer a public
beating, she saw no sympathy in any of them, nor in the other
guests at the high table, except for Catherine. Even the chaplain
was frowning at her in stern disapproval, and Gertrude sat quaking
in her chair as if terrified that if Margaret were punished, she
would be next in line for a beating. Silently, knowing she had no
choice, Margaret mounted the dais and went to the place reserved
for her between her brother and Lord Adhemar.

Throughout the long meal that followed she
displayed no emotion at all, not even when Lord Adhemar pinched her
thigh as if to judge the quality of the flesh he had purchased, not
when he put his arm around her, slid his hand up her side, and
tweaked her breast. Eustace saw what Adhemar was doing and grinned
at him, man to man. But when Adhemar, who had been drinking deeply
– though, surely, drink was no excuse for treating a noblewoman in
so blatantly disrespectful a manner – began to press his fingers
between Margaret's thighs to rub against the place where her legs
joined, she leapt to her feet.

“My lord!” Margaret exclaimed, lifting her
hand as if to slap her bridegroom.

“Just so, Margaret!” Catherine cried, jumping
to her feet, too, and catching Margaret's hand before she could
bring it down on Adhemar's face. “You have perceived the need for
more wine before these good noblemen were aware of the lack. Oh,
what a fine chatelaine you are acquiring, my lord Adhemar. You can
be justly proud of your wife-to-be. Come, Margaret, I'll go with
you to help you carry in the new pitchers of wine and we will
personally serve your father's guests.” Tugging at Margaret's hand,
Catherine stepped off the dais, heading for the screens
passage.

“Now, there's a well-trained girl,” said Lord
Phelan, sending the two young women on their errand with a drunken
wave of one hand. “My compliments to your father, Lady
Catherine.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Catherine said. She
kept Margaret's hand in a tight grip, continuing to pull her away
from the dais and toward the screens passage and the kitchen beyond
it.

“You do know, don't you, Adhemar, that Lady
Catherine's father is Royce of Wortham?” said Phelan, his loud
voice easily carrying to Margaret's ears. “Your future wife's best
friend is the daughter of a wealthy and powerful baron, who is
well-loved by King Henry. Margaret brings with her excellent
connections.”