Free So Great A Love by Flora Speer Page A

than necessary to such cold and the chance of frostbite. But
the rest of you, seek your beds early, for there will be mounds of
snow for you to shovel tomorrow.”
    Up in the solar, Margaret and Catherine
looked at each other and smiled.
    “What a nice man Sir Wace is,” Margaret said.
She leaned forward on her stool, turning her head so the heat of
the fire would finish drying her hair as she continued to comb it.
“And what a lovely place Bowen is. It feels the way I have always
imagined a real home ought to feel, a safe shelter, with friendly
people in it. Cat, thank you for bringing me here.”
    “I have never before been here in winter,”
Catherine said. “My father and I come each spring and fall and I
love it in both of those seasons. There’s an apple orchard outside
the western wall of the palisade, and in spring the fragrance from
the apple blossoms is wonderful. You would like it at that time of
year, on a sunny day, with the trees all in bloom and the bees
going about their work. And then, in the autumn, the apples are
ripe, and the grain in the fields near the river is golden when
it's ready for harvest. And we always go into the woods gathering
nuts to store for the winter.”
    “That's my favorite season at Bowen,” Aldis
said in a dreamy voice. “Golden, russet autumn is so beautiful
here.”
    “I would love to see Bowen then,” Margaret
responded, adding with a wistful sigh, “I could be content to live
here for the rest of my life, far from ambitious nobles and
demanding men.”
    She fell silent, looking around the solar,
with its freshly scrubbed wooden floor and four narrow windows
topped by rounded arches in the Norman style. The thick glass in
the windows was as clear as the glassblower's art could make it,
with only slight ripples. The glass was specially chosen to let in
as much daylight as possible, for the solar was traditionally the
room where the women gathered to work at spinning or weaving or
embroidery. The windows were fitted with shutters that could be
closed to keep out the cold. At the moment they stood open to admit
the last of the fading afternoon light.
    The solar had enough space for a loom to be
set up with the light coming in over the weaver's shoulder, but
there was no loom, nor even a small embroidery frame. With no lady
of the manor to ply her needle or her shuttle, the windows served
only to provide a view of dancing snowflakes and of the drifts
piling up high against the inner side of the palisade. Still,
seldom-used and bare as it was, the solar offered a feminine
sanctuary that Margaret appreciated.
    Like the men-at-arms, the women also went to
bed early and Margaret lay snug for a second night in the lord's
chamber, curled up beneath a thick quilt, with a charcoal brazier
to warm the room. She smiled into the dark when the wind rattled
the window shutters. In the morning she would locate ink and
parchment and write her note to Lord Royce. Meanwhile, there was
nothing she could do about her secret information.
    “No man nor beast will venture out tonight,”
she murmured. “Sir Wace has said so, and I trust Sir Wace.” Secure
in the knowledge that neither her father nor Lord Adhemar could
reach her in such weather and pleasantly tired after the vigorous
exertions of the day, Margaret sank into the deepest, most profound
rest she had known in more than a month.
     
    * * * * *
     
    The snow was falling so heavily that Arden
missed the turning onto the track that led to Bowen. Only when he
was several yards beyond the giant boulder that marked the track
did its snow-covered shape register in his weary mind.
    “We must go back,” he said to Michael and
Guy. “Turn your horses. The path we want is behind us.”
    “Are you sure?” asked Guy. “It's growing
dark, and if we lose our way, we'll die out here.”
    “And no one will find us until spring,”
Michael added. “When I was in the Holy Land, I longed for English
weather. Now I'd give all I own for a few