So Great A Love (18 page)

“What?” Arden said, coming close to where she
stood by a window. “Do you think only of stitches and thread? I
find it difficult to believe of a woman as clever as you, Lady
Margaret.”

“I do not lie, my lord.” She halted in the
act of closing another pair of shutters for the night, to look over
her shoulder at him.

“Let me help you,” he said, stretching out
his hand to catch one of the shutter panels.

Margaret was caught between Arden's heat and
the chill of the window glass. A shiver shook her from head to
foot, and it was not only from the draft. She slammed the shutter
closed. Arden closed the other half and put up his free hand to
latch the two wooden panels, just as Margaret turned around. The
action trapped her, facing him, between his arms.

“You are cold.” Arden's hands were on her
shoulders, drawing her away from the window and toward him. With
his eyes locked on hers, his hands slid down her arms, until his
fingers entwined with her fingers. He pulled her hands out and
around his waist and held them at his back.

Margaret knew she ought to protest, but she
could not speak a word. Slowly Arden lowered his head and Margaret,
entranced, caught in the spell of his tightly reined-in masculine
power, lifted her face for his kiss.

His lips barely brushed across hers. Margaret
closed her eyes, savoring the gentle touch while knowing she should
not.

“Ah,” he said softly, his mouth still against
hers, “sweet as summer's honey. Bowen honey, tasting of apple
blossoms and, once tasted, desired forever after.”

He unwound his fingers from hers and enfolded
her in his arms. With her hands free at his back she could have
pushed him away. Instead, she clasped him more tightly to her.

Arden's mouth was hard on hers, yet warm and
inviting at the same time, demanding yet encouraging. Lost in the
glory of his kiss, Margaret forgot that she did not want any man to
touch her. Somehow, for a reason beyond her comprehension at the
moment, Arden was different from all other men. When his tongue
teased at the corner of her mouth she unthinkingly opened her lips,
not knowing what to expect, for no one had ever put a tongue to her
mouth before. Arden's tongue surged into her in a shocking
imitation of another kind of entry, and for the first time in her
life Margaret tasted the desire of an eager young man.

Feeling as if the sweet, fiery honey he had
spoken of was coursing through her veins, she almost fainted from a
rush of emotion she did not understand. Arden probed every recess
of her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers as Margaret responded
with untutored eagerness.

His hands were on her hips, pulling her
against him until she became aware of a hardness she did
understand. At that point she would have separated herself from
him, were it not for the unexpected aching sensation between her
thighs that urged her to press closer, that made her resent the
barriers of her heavy clothing, and his. Margaret was close to
complete surrender.

Then Arden removed himself from the
overheated proximity of body to body, though his hands upon her
upper arms steadied her until she could regain her bearings and
find her senses again.

When she finally opened her eyes, Arden was
looking above her head, staring out the remaining unshuttered
window at the starry night sky, and his face was hard and
motionless as carved stone.

Margaret was surprised to discover herself
feeling no shame at all for what she had allowed him to do. It had
been so right and so wonderful that she could not think there was
any sin in it. With her departure from Sutton, she had renounced
both her betrothal to Lord Adhemar and her father's guardianship of
her person, so she was free to kiss a man if she wished. What
angered her was her sense of being suddenly abandoned, when she
wanted to be held in Arden's arms and kissed again.

“Was that your expression of thanks for my
help to your sister?” she asked him in a husky voice not at all
like her own. Arden did not answer her for so long that she began
to think he intended to ignore her continued presence in the
solar.

“It was an act of madness,” he said at last.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Margaret. It will not happen again.”

Margaret could not leave it at that, not
after his soul-stirring kiss. She had never guessed it was possible
for a man's kiss to evoke so many conflicting emotions at one and
the same time. Since she was still trembling with the aftereffects
of his embrace, she did not believe his appearance of complete
self-control. However well he hid it, Arden, too, must be
experiencing a similar emotional upheaval.

“Arden.” She touched his face. She heard him
catch his breath, but he did not move or look at her. He kept his
gaze on the sky beyond the window. “Arden, what happened to you
while you were away? What's wrong?”

“You don't want to know,” he said, his voice
just above a whisper.

“If I didn't want to know, why would I ask?”
she said, and waited, her hand still against his cheek.

“Leave me, Margaret.” It was an order. Arden
moved just a little and her hand fell away from his face. “Pretend
that what just happened between us, never happened, and I will do
the same. Concern yourself with Catherine, not with me. Insofar as
I am able I will help you to keep her in good spirits. Do not ask
more of me.”

Never had Margaret seen any man who was so
alone, or so despondent. Her heart ached for his loneliness and for
the loss of joy and hope from his life. With a sigh she
acknowledged that, until she knew the cause of Arden's sorrow, she
could not help him as she wanted to do. She could, however, offer
her friendship.

“Goodnight, Arden.” She kissed him before she
left the solar. It was a light, quick kiss at the corner of his
mouth, the kiss of a close companion and friend.

Arden did not acknowledge the gesture, nor
did he move when Margaret headed for her own room. She paused
outside her door and stood in the dark corridor to look back at
him. He remained motionless, staring at the cold winter sky for a
long, long time before he latched the last set of shutters and
snuffed the remaining candles.

“I fear that for once, Sir Wace is mistaken,”
Margaret remarked, observing the bright and cloudless sky through
the windows of the solar.

“He insists his big toe is aching badly,”
Aldis said. “I heard him tell Michael so, and everyone at Bowen
knows what that means. Another snowstorm will follow within two
days.”

Margaret tried to repress her humorous
reaction to the news and found she could not. She was growing fond
of the seneschal, whose practical mind was similar to hers, at
least as far as running the manor was concerned. If Sir Wace said
more snow was on the way, he was almost certainly right. Since the
manor was self-sufficient and well prepared for winter weather,
Margaret could only think another storm would be a good thing, for
it would keep all of them isolated at Bowen for a while longer,
safe from either Phelan's search for her, or the arrival of Tristan
and his wife.

“Are you ready?” Catherine asked. She came
into the solar while drawing on her gloves. Wrapped in her cloak
and with a shawl pulled over her head, she was dressed for the
out-of-doors. “Margaret, where is your cloak?”

“I'll get it.” Margaret headed for her own
room. She spoke again, over her shoulder. “Aldis, are you coming
with us?”

“I've already been outside once today,” Aldis
responded with a mock shiver. “I stuck my nose out the kitchen door
earlier this morning and I thought I'd freeze before I was inside
again. I would much prefer to spend an hour in the laundry, where
it's nice and warm, and there I'll oversee the maid who is to wash
our shifts and stockings.”

“Oh, by all means, stay as warm as you can,”
said Catherine with a chuckle.

After their time together, Aldis's dislike
for cold weather was as well-known to Margaret as was her skill at
finding excuses to remain indoors near a fire. Returning to the
solar with cloak in hand in time to hear Aldis's offer to supervise
the personal laundry, Margaret laughed along with Catherine. The
laughter died on her lips at the sound of male footsteps coming up
the stairs from the great hall. Arden appeared, clad in a dark gray
woolen tunic and with a faintly annoyed expression on his handsome
features. At the sight of him Margaret's heart began to beat
faster.

“Arden, you haven't forgotten your promise to
assist us on the slippery walks, have you?” Catherine asked
him.

“Certainly not,” Arden said, but he wasn't
looking at his sister. He was staring at Margaret as if he was
uncertain exactly who, or what, she was. With a quick little shake
of his head he took Margaret's cloak from her hands and laid it
around her shoulders. His fingers rested on the dark blue wool for
just an instant, holding the cloth in place while Margaret fastened
the cords at her throat. By turning her head a little she had a
glimpse of his firm jaw and of his mouth drawn into a hard line.
Then his hands were gone from her shoulders and he was speaking to
Catherine again.

“Come along,” he said, gesturing toward the
steps, “though I doubt if you will care to walk abroad for more
than a short time, despite the sun. The day is unusually cold.”

Down from the solar and into the great hall
they went, through the wide arch into the entry hall and out by the
main door and down the steep, snow-packed outside steps. The
courtyard was almost completely cleared of snow. A long, broad
space just outside the palisade gate was shoveled, too, and there
the stableboys and squires were walking some of the horses, while a
few men-at-arms rode their mounts from end to end of the cleared
area.

“Oh, let's watch,” Catherine exclaimed. She
started off toward the gate, with Margaret and Arden following.
Margaret was hurrying a bit too fast. Her foot slipped on a patch
of ice. Instantly, Arden's hand was at her elbow, to steady her.
She looked into his eyes and saw there only concern for her.

“Be careful,” he said.

“I will,” she responded.

It was a simple exchange of words, almost
meaningless in its ordinary politeness. Yet Margaret, with her gaze
still held by Arden's clear blue eyes, discerned something far
beyond that single moment. It was as if Arden was
meant
to
be there, beside her with his hand on her arm, as if that was his
proper place. As if it were her proper place in the world, too.

“How beautiful it is!” Catherine cried,
reaching the palisade gate. “Margaret, Arden, come and see the
snow.”

Arden removed his gaze from Margaret's eyes
and his hand from her arm. They walked side by side but not
touching to where Catherine stood looking around in delight.

Beyond the cleared area just outside the gate
the snow lay in an unbroken blanket of glittering white that
continued into the forest, vanquishing all hard edges beneath a
series of sweeping, graceful drifts that flowed softly against
trees and rocks. The leafless trees murmured and shook in the wind,
the coating of ice on their branches adding to the glittering
effect wherever the sun shone upon it. Nearer to the manor,
snowdrifts several feet high were blown against the palisade.
Overhead, the sky arched in unbroken blue, a perfect pavilion.

Among the folk of Bowen Manor there was a
sense of merriment, of release from the confinement and forced
inaction of the last few days, and this feeling of freedom, added
to the sight of the horses being exercised up and down the shoveled
space, resulted in an atmosphere similar to that of a tournament.
Clutching her cloak tighter against the brisk wind, Margaret
surveyed the scene and decided it needed only a few banners and,
perhaps, benches for the ladies and a herald to announce each
event.

“Arden, is that huge black creature yours? I
haven’t seen it before today,” Catherine said. She pointed to the
far end of the cleared area, where Arden's squire, Michael, was
struggling with a rambunctious stallion. “The beast looks as if he
needs a long, tiring run.”

The stallion was pulling at its bridle,
unwilling to take direction from the squire. Even as they watched
Michael slipped on the snow and fell to his knees, and the horse
broke loose. Freed of all restraint, the steed came charging along
the cleared space, men and horses scattering out of its way. Again
Margaret was reminded of a tournament, save that there was no rider
with a lance on the horse's back and no opponent riding to meet him
from the other end of the list.

Leaving the women safe in the shelter of the
gate, Arden began to run toward his horse. There wasn't anywhere
for it to go. The snow was simply too deep for it to get away.
Having reached the end of the shoveled area the stallion reared up,
neighing, and plunged its forelegs into a high pile of snow. As if
shocked by the coldness of the snow, the horse stopped abruptly,
tossing its head.

By then Arden had reached it. Without missing
a step on the slippery packed snow, he vaulted to the horse's bare
back and caught the bridle. Again the stallion reared high, chunks
of snow spattering from its forelegs. Seeming completely unfazed by
the danger he was in, Arden leaned over the horse's neck, stroking
it and speaking to it. The horse settled down at once and stood
trembling. Slowly, Arden coaxed it out of the snow bank and turned
it around.

With the stallion still tossing its head and
snorting steaming breath in the cold air, Arden rode to where
Margaret and Catherine were standing and brought his mount to a
halt before them. To Margaret's surprise the horse stood quietly,
as if awaiting Arden's next command.

“My lord, I am sorry.” Michael came limping
to join the group by the gate. “I slipped on a patch of ice.”