her
sake.
“It won't be much longer now,” Matthew
promised. “We've made good time. We ought to reach Bowen by late
afternoon.” He helped the women to remount before he swung onto his
own horse and they set off again.
A short time later the snow began. Just a few
flakes fell at first, but soon a thick, steady downfall of tiny
flakes hid everything around the travelers and covered the ground
with several inches of white.
“Good,” said Catherine with a confident
smile. “The snow will cover our tracks behind us almost as soon as
we pass. No one will be able to tell that a party has ridden this
way. And, surely, the storm will delay anyone who is searching for
us.”
Margaret had not been so cold for years.
Pendance Castle was near the southern tip of Cornwall, where
winters were wet but seldom bitterly cold. She had not seen a heavy
snowfall for more than ten years. While a part of her acknowledged
the beauty of the snow, soon she was so numb from the penetrating
chill that she felt as though she was riding through a drifting fog
of pure white. Gray or black shapes loomed out of the whiteness,
only to disappear again before she had a chance to identify them as
trees or large boulders. The occasional voices of the men-at-arms
seemed ever more distant from her. In some dim recess of her mind
she knew Catherine still rode beside her, with Aldis just behind
them and the men-at-arms before and behind the women for
protection, yet Margaret felt as if she was entirely alone, lost in
an alien landscape, never to find her way home.
She told herself it didn't matter. She had
never had a true home and never would. The best she could hope for
was a place in a convent. She would never bear children, never know
a young man's passionate love. If she died of the cold while on her
present, endless journey, she would never become a nun, either.
Then she scolded herself for her own self-pity, reminding herself
that, whatever else she lacked in her earthly existence, she was
fortunate to have a pair of true friends in Catherine and Aldis,
and faithful servants like Matthew and his men.
As they rode on Margaret became aware that
the forest no longer surrounded them. There was only emptiness and
the falling snowflakes, until a wall loomed out of the veil of
snow. It took her a moment to comprehend that what she saw just
ahead was a wooden palisade set in a wide area that was cleared of
all forest growth. She heard someone call out in a loud voice and
heard Matthew's shouted reply. They rode through an open gap in the
palisade and Margaret saw bright flames moving toward her through
the snowflakes.
“Torches,” she whispered with a sense of
wonder. How beautiful the golden torchlight was against the white
snow. How the wet snow sizzled when the flakes met the flames, how
large and dark the figures were that carried the torches....
“Margaret!” Catherine's voice brought her out
of the near stupor that was caused by the chill and the blinding
curtain of snow. “We are here. We have reached Bowen. You can
dismount now.”
Margaret tried, only to discover she was too
stiff and cold to move. She fell off her horse and into the arms of
a young man-at-arms, who staggered under her sudden weight. She
attempted to walk and found she could not. The man-at-arms,
recognizing her plight, simply slung her over his shoulder and
carried her up a steep flight of steps to an open door, from which
torchlight streamed outward into the falling snow.
“Take them all to the great hall,” someone
shouted. “It's warmest there. I'll fetch Sir Wace.”
When Margaret fully regained her senses and
began to realize where she was, she found herself stretched upon a
long bench set before a huge fireplace in which logs snapped and
crackled with welcoming heat. Catherine sat at the end of the bench
with her shoes off, holding her fingers and toes toward the fire.
Aldis was on the floor beside her cousin, crouched as close to the
fire as she could get
sake.
“It won't be much longer now,” Matthew
promised. “We've made good time. We ought to reach Bowen by late
afternoon.” He helped the women to remount before he swung onto his
own horse and they set off again.
A short time later the snow began. Just a few
flakes fell at first, but soon a thick, steady downfall of tiny
flakes hid everything around the travelers and covered the ground
with several inches of white.
“Good,” said Catherine with a confident
smile. “The snow will cover our tracks behind us almost as soon as
we pass. No one will be able to tell that a party has ridden this
way. And, surely, the storm will delay anyone who is searching for
us.”
Margaret had not been so cold for years.
Pendance Castle was near the southern tip of Cornwall, where
winters were wet but seldom bitterly cold. She had not seen a heavy
snowfall for more than ten years. While a part of her acknowledged
the beauty of the snow, soon she was so numb from the penetrating
chill that she felt as though she was riding through a drifting fog
of pure white. Gray or black shapes loomed out of the whiteness,
only to disappear again before she had a chance to identify them as
trees or large boulders. The occasional voices of the men-at-arms
seemed ever more distant from her. In some dim recess of her mind
she knew Catherine still rode beside her, with Aldis just behind
them and the men-at-arms before and behind the women for
protection, yet Margaret felt as if she was entirely alone, lost in
an alien landscape, never to find her way home.
She told herself it didn't matter. She had
never had a true home and never would. The best she could hope for
was a place in a convent. She would never bear children, never know
a young man's passionate love. If she died of the cold while on her
present, endless journey, she would never become a nun, either.
Then she scolded herself for her own self-pity, reminding herself
that, whatever else she lacked in her earthly existence, she was
fortunate to have a pair of true friends in Catherine and Aldis,
and faithful servants like Matthew and his men.
As they rode on Margaret became aware that
the forest no longer surrounded them. There was only emptiness and
the falling snowflakes, until a wall loomed out of the veil of
snow. It took her a moment to comprehend that what she saw just
ahead was a wooden palisade set in a wide area that was cleared of
all forest growth. She heard someone call out in a loud voice and
heard Matthew's shouted reply. They rode through an open gap in the
palisade and Margaret saw bright flames moving toward her through
the snowflakes.
“Torches,” she whispered with a sense of
wonder. How beautiful the golden torchlight was against the white
snow. How the wet snow sizzled when the flakes met the flames, how
large and dark the figures were that carried the torches....
“Margaret!” Catherine's voice brought her out
of the near stupor that was caused by the chill and the blinding
curtain of snow. “We are here. We have reached Bowen. You can
dismount now.”
Margaret tried, only to discover she was too
stiff and cold to move. She fell off her horse and into the arms of
a young man-at-arms, who staggered under her sudden weight. She
attempted to walk and found she could not. The man-at-arms,
recognizing her plight, simply slung her over his shoulder and
carried her up a steep flight of steps to an open door, from which
torchlight streamed outward into the falling snow.
“Take them all to the great hall,” someone
shouted. “It's warmest there. I'll fetch Sir Wace.”
When Margaret fully regained her senses and
began to realize where she was, she found herself stretched upon a
long bench set before a huge fireplace in which logs snapped and
crackled with welcoming heat. Catherine sat at the end of the bench
with her shoes off, holding her fingers and toes toward the fire.
Aldis was on the floor beside her cousin, crouched as close to the
fire as she could get
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