So Great A Love (38 page)

“But, Father Aymon,” Arden protested, “Bowen
Manor is not large enough to warrant a parish priest. Not enough
people live here.”

“Then you must see to it that people do come
to settle here,” Father Aymon said. “You have more than enough
land. Build a village, encourage your domestic staff and your
men-at-arms to marry and raise families; it will do much to improve
their moral state. As for a priest, I will speak to the bishop for
you. When he has heard your story, I do not doubt that you will
quickly be supplied with a suitable man to direct your spiritual
life, for it does require direction.”

“Excellent,” said Royce. “Father Aymon, I
heartily agree with all you have said.”

“Arden, will you do what the Church requires
of you in this matter?” Father Aymon asked.

Arden was silent, thinking. It seemed
impossible that after years of bearing so heavy a guilt, of keeping
himself apart from friendship and affection, his crushing burden
was to be so easily removed. He shook his head, preparing to say
no, to insist he deserved a sterner sentence. But when he moved his
head he saw from the corner of his eye the hem of Margaret's
gown.

Margaret.
She knew his darkest secrets
and loved him in spite of them. Margaret had promised to love him
forever. It occurred to Arden that so great a love, held in a heart
as true and faithful as hers, deserved lifelong recompense. The
masculine pride for which Father Aymon had reproached him told
Arden that only he could give Margaret what she needed for her
happiness. She had redeemed him from bleak despair and made him
into a true man again. In return he owed her his complete
devotion.

From somewhere deep inside himself Arden
recognized joy unfurling, warming him, melting the last of the icy
barriers around his heart.

“Arden,” Father Aymon said in an exasperated
tone, “I am waiting.”

“Yes, Father, I will do as you require,”
Arden answered. “I swear it on all I hold dear.”
On Margaret’s
honest heart. On my love for her
.

“In that case, you are absolved of sin in the
death of your uncle. Your intention was not evil; rather, it was to
save from unspeakable brutality a man whom you dearly loved. In
truth, it was a deed you would never have committed except under
the most extreme circumstances, and I believe you have suffered
enough for what you did. You may rise now, Arden.” Father Aymon
took his hand from Arden's head.

“Is that all?” Arden asked, still not quite
ready to believe his long torment was over. “All that's to be
required of me is to build a larger chapel and to live at Bowen
with my wife?”

“Unless you are too proud to accept your
father's forgiveness,” Father Aymon said, “or the consolation and
understanding of the Church.”

“No,” Arden responded in a husky voice, “I am
not too proud.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Father Aymon said.
“Your life was spared for a reason, Arden. Do not waste your
remaining years in denying that fact, or in questioning Heaven's
purpose.”

“And do not imagine that you have been given
an easy penance,” Royce told his son. “I remember well what it is
like to live with a spirited woman, who is determined to love you
no matter what you do, and it strikes me that Margaret is much like
your dear mother in character.”

“Margaret,” Arden said, looking deep into her
eyes, “is my heart's consolation and has been since the first night
I returned to Bowen.”

“If that is so, perhaps you ought to renew
your pledge to her, here and now,” Royce suggested.

“Only if it is what she wants. Margaret,”
Arden said, “after hearing all of my story, can you forgive me?”
Deep in his heart he knew what her response would be. Still, he
needed to hear her say it aloud, before witnesses.

“That is not the question you ought to ask,”
she said. “The Church has forgiven you, for you are truly penitent,
and your father has forgiven you. But can you forgive
yourself?”

“With your love to strengthen me, I believe I
can,” he told her.

“You have my love. Surely, you know it by
now. Arden, there is nothing for me to forgive. What you did, you
did out of love and pity for your uncle. You are the most loving
person, man or woman, that I have ever known.”

“Ah, Margaret, my dear heart.” He was nearly
overcome by the warm light he saw in her eyes.

“Will you do as your father has suggested,
and renew your vows to me?” she asked.

Margaret put out her hand. With his heart
rejoicing, Arden took her slim fingers into his and led her to
stand before the altar.

“My dear wife,” he said, “you have loved me
through my coldness and bitterness and, yes, through my stubborn
pride that would have shut out both you and love, together.
Margaret, I do pledge my heart to you, to love you on earth until I
die, and in Heaven for all eternity. What was spoken between us in
this chapel two days ago was a ritual intended to keep you safe.
What I say today is meant to keep you in my heart, by my side, in
my arms, for the rest of our lives.

“I love you, Margaret.” Arden reached to
brush the happy tears off her cheek. And then, knowing full well
how an honest vow ought to be sealed, he drew her closer and placed
his lips on hers.

“Arden,” said Father Aymon, “now that you
have confessed, accepted your penance, and received absolution from
both your Heavenly Father and your earthly parent, I would like to
celebrate the Holy Mass, and include in it appropriate prayers for
the souls of Sir Oliver and Sir Roger, in addition to prayers for
you and Lady Margaret. It has been several months since I was last
here at Bowen, and I have been busy listening to confessions ever
since I arrived, so for the present at least, most of the
population of Bowen is in an acceptable spiritual state.”

“A Mass does seem appropriate,” said Royce.
“Shall we say, in one hour?”

“Yes,” said Arden. He was gazing so
steadfastly into Margaret's glowing eyes that neither his father
nor the priest could be certain whether he was responding to their
questions or to another, deeply personal query that Margaret had
made in silence and that only he was able to hear.

* * * * *

“Aldis will have to be told,” Royce said as
he, Margaret and Arden left the chapel.

“I know it,” Arden responded. He took a deep
breath, squaring his broad shoulders. “I will do it now. It's a
morning for confessions.”

“Let me do it,” Royce said.

“It is my duty,” Arden responded, “one I will
not consign to anyone else.”

“Let your father and me go with you,”
Margaret begged. “We can help to comfort Aldis – and Catherine, who
must also be told.”

They found the two young women in the
bedchamber they shared. Aldis took a step backward when she first
saw Arden entering. He knew his face was grim and realized he must
be as gentle as possible.

“I have come to tell you about your father
and Roger,” he began.

“They are dead, aren't they?” Aldis
whispered, the color fleeing from her cheeks. “I guessed as much
when you refused to speak of them.”

“I could not,” Arden answered. “It seemed to
me only right that I should tell my father first.” No need to
explain why he had felt that way.

“I understand. I do. Uncle Royce is head of
our family, after all.” Aldis drew a shaky breath. “How did they
die?”

Seeing the tears rising in her innocent eyes,
hearing the trust in her voice, Arden knew the dreadful details
were not fit for her maiden's ears. There was a kinder way than
bald truth.

“They died in the same battle, and both died
bravely,” he said. It was no lie, only a softening of the horror,
and he was glad to spare her that much.

“I would expect no less of them,” Aldis said.
“How strange it is; I haven't seen either of them for more than ten
years, so I've quite grown used to being without them, yet—”

She put out a trembling hand and Arden took
it. Her head was on his chest when the first tears came. Arden let
her weep, and let his own tears mingle with hers, until Royce laid
a hand on her shoulder.

“You will always have a home at Wortham,”
Royce said. “I am still your guardian, as Oliver arranged before he
left England.”

“Aldis.” Catherine was in tears herself, but
she put out her arms and Aldis went to her cousin, to the love and
sympathy Catherine was offering.

“She'll be all right. I'll stay with her,”
Catherine said over Aldis’ bent head. “Arden, thank you for telling
her the truth at last. Her grief will heal in time, especially now
that she knows you don't hate her.”

“Never,” Arden said. “She is my dear
kinswoman.”

“That was well done,” Royce said when he,
Arden, and Margaret were outside the bedchamber again. “Catherine
will see to her, and I'll watch over her after we return to
Wortham.” Royce walked away, heading for his own bedchamber.

Arden remained in the corridor with his head
bowed until Margaret put her arms around her husband's waist and
held him close. After a while his arms encircled her shoulders in
response and his cheek rested against her hair.

* * * * *

When the time came for the Mass, Aldis' first
outburst of sorrow was over, her tears dried by the affection of
her devoted cousin and her friends, and by her own sensible
observation that men who died while on crusade died with all their
earthly sins forgiven them. She was further comforted by Royce's
declaration that she would always have a home at Wortham Castle.
Red-eyed but calm, she embraced Arden at the chapel door, declaring
that she understood and forgave him for waiting so long to reveal
the sad news. She was even able to smile at him.

The solemn Mass that Father Aymon offered was
followed by a second marriage feast that was more honestly joyful
than the first one, yet subdued in the knowledge of family deaths.
The guests would be departing in the morning, with Tristan and
Isabel traveling in company with Royce, Catherine, and Aldis to
Wortham Castle, to rest there for a day or two, before continuing
on to Cliffmore.

Late afternoon found Catherine and Aldis
above stairs with Isabel and Laure, all of them busily repacking
Isabel's many trunks. Arden, Tristan, and Sir Wace were still at
the high table discussing how much stone would be required for the
new chapel, which Tristan was going to supply from the quarries at
Cliffmore. The arrangement would require frequent visits between
Bowen and Cliffmore, a fact that delighted all parties concerned,
especially Margaret and Isabel.

Margaret thought she ought to extend her
personal invitation to Royce to come to Bowen whenever he liked,
but she could not find her father-in-law in the hall or the solar.
Acting out of sympathetic instinct for all Royce had learned that
day, she went to the place where she would have taken refuge if she
were Royce. Margaret went to the chapel. Father Aymon was
apparently preparing to say the Vesper prayers, for the candles on
the altar were lit, though the priest was absent.

Royce was kneeling on the steps before the
altar, and when he lifted his head to look at the crucifix hanging
on the wall behind the altar, Margaret saw his face shining with
tears. And she heard the broken-hearted cry that the famous and
powerful baron of Wortham had repressed while he was in the
presence of his son for all of that long day, so Arden would know
without question that his father had forgiven him.

“Oliver,” Royce moaned. “Oh, Oliver, my
beloved brother! And Roger, dear boy!”

Silently, Margaret stepped outside the
chapel. She closed the door, taking care to make no noise, then
leaned her back against the doorframe while she got her emotions
under control and banished the tears from her eyes.

“My child?” Father Aymon, arrayed in his
vestments for the evening service, came out of the priest's cell on
his way to the chapel. He paused when he saw Margaret. “What is
wrong? How can I be of help to you?”

“It's Lord Royce who needs you,” Margaret
said, wiping her damp cheeks. Indicating the chapel door, she
added, “He's in there.”

“I rather thought he would be.” Father Aymon
put his hand on the door latch, then looked back at her. “Will you
join us for Vespers?”

“I think it's better if I don't,” Margaret
said, fighting back fresh tears.

Father Aymon gave her a searching look. After
a moment he nodded his understanding and went into the chapel and
pulled the door closed again behind himself.

It was so early in the morning that the sun
was not quite risen, yet the folk of Bowen Manor and their
departing guests were awake and busy.

“How I hate to leave,” Catherine said,
embracing Margaret for the fourth time. “You must come to visit us
at Wortham in the spring. And you, too, Isabel. Only, be sure to
bring the baby with you.”

“In the spring?” said Royce. He strode into
the entry hall behind the women, who were engaged in lengthy and
tearful farewells. “Who knows, Catherine? By spring, I may have
found a husband for you and these ladies will be traveling to
Wortham for your wedding. Having successfully married off my son, I
consider it my next duty to concentrate on my daughter's future –
and to find a suitable husband for Aldis, since I am still her
guardian,” he added, smiling at his niece.

“If you marry off both of us,” Catherine
answered, forgetting her tears in favor of seizing the opportunity
to tease her father, “then you will have no choice but to find a
new wife for yourself. Wortham Castle requires a good
chatelaine.”

“Chatelaine, indeed!” exclaimed Royce. His
red-gold eyebrows rose, expressing his distain for the suggestion.
“I can manage very well on my own. Just what, may I ask, do you
ladies imagine I have been doing during the weeks when you have
been gone from home, you heartless creatures?”