Knight of Desire (26 page)

Glyndwr looked past her and nodded. Maredudd, whose presence she had forgotten, came to her side.

“Let us hope you are as precious to the prince as I’ve heard,” Glyndwr said, dismissing her. “For you will not see your home
again unless he persuades the king to release my son.”

Maredudd touched her elbow and whispered, “Make your curtsy.”

She did so numbly and let him lead her out to where Stephen and the other Tudors waited.

When the doors to the hall shut behind them, she broke down into sobs. “I fear I shall never see my son or my home again!”

“You shall,” Maredudd said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “All will be well in the end, you will see.”

“Your prince misunderstands everything!” She clenched her fists and cried out in frustration, “This ransom demand to Prince
Harry will make my husband believe I have been unfaithful.”

“Nay, he will not,” Maredudd said, squeezing her shoulders. “He will just be happy to have you back.”

She shook her head. “You know
nothing
of my husband.”

Maredudd escorted her up crumbling stairs to a room crowded with chests—probably pillaged from the town. Through the open
window, she saw soldiers gathering in the yard below.

“Will the battle be today?” she asked anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Maredudd said as he came to stand beside her at the window. “We’ve been at a standstill for a week. I cannot
see it lasting much longer.”

“What do you think will happen?”

“We have a slight advantage in numbers, though both armies are large,” he said matter-of-factly. “And the English are tired,
coming from weeks of hard fighting in the North. Still, anything can happen. All I can say for certain is that there will
be a great many deaths on both sides.”

He excused himself to join the men below.

She watched the soldiers ride out the gate, looking magnificent in their full armor. As she watched, she thought of the three
hundred Welshmen whose capture and execution Glyndwr blamed on her, and she wept for them.

And what of the fate of the English soldiers today? Of William? And Harry?

“Please, God, protect them,” she prayed over and over.

For hours, she paced between the trunks of the cramped room. At long last, the gates were thrown open and the men rode back
in, looking none the worse. There was no blood on their armor, no wounded comrades slung over their saddles.

She collapsed onto one of the trunks and put her head in her hands. There was still time. Before long, she heard a knock and
Maredudd poked his head through the door.

She waved him in, impatient for news. “There was no battle today?”

He shook his head and sank wearily onto a trunk by the window. “God’s beard, this waiting is tedious.”

“Maredudd, you must ask for an audience with Prince Glyndwr for me,” she said. “There is something I must tell him.”

“God in heaven, what can it be? He is busy consulting with his commanders.”

Seeing her recalcitrant look, he sighed. “Perhaps I can tell him whatever it is you want him to know.”

“I must speak with him myself.”

Stifling another oath, Maredudd put his hands on his knees and hoisted himself up. “Your servant,” he said, sweeping her a
low bow.

An hour later, a woman came to her room carrying a basin of water and a cloth.

“One of the Tudor men sent me. He says to tell you Prince Glyndwr will see you in an hour.”

The woman was no ladies’ maid. From her rouged lips and revealing bodice, Catherine suspected her usual duties involved providing
service of quite a different sort.

The woman put her hands on her hips and looked Catherine up and down. “You’re a bit worse for wear, you are. Perhaps we can
find you a clean gown in one of these trunks.”

Catherine glanced down at her bedraggled gown.

“Aye, let us take a look.”

The two women opened trunks and pawed through tunics, leggings, and shirts until they were both hot and red-faced. Near the
bottom of one, they found an elegant silk gown of robin’ s-egg blue with delicate silver trim.

The woman helped Catherine into it. Though it was a bit tight through the bodice, it fit well enough. The woman stuck her
head back in the trunk and popped back out, proudly holding up a matching headdress and slippers.

When Catherine was dressed and ready, her helper beamed at her, proud as a peacock. She gave Catherine a broad wink and said,
“You look like a princess.”

Regal might be just what she needed for this performance, Catherine thought grimly as she started down the stairs. Maredudd
was waiting for her at the bottom, just outside the entrance to the hall. When he caught sight of her, he ran his eyes over
her from head to toe.

“I see conquering one prince is not enough,” he said in a low voice as she took his arm, “but you must set your sights on
ensnaring a second.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she snapped.

“I warn you, our prince is no boy to do your bidding like young Harry,” he said, his tone serious. “Do not attempt to play
games with him. Glyndwr will know if you tell him lies.”

The guards opened the doors, and she saw that the men inside were gathered around a large map rolled out on a trestle table.
They turned to stare at her as she entered.

Glyndwr moved away from the others and motioned for her and Maredudd to join him by the hearth.

“What is it you wish to tell me, Lady FitzAlan?” Glyndwr asked at once. He was not a man with time to waste on pleasantries.

It seemed best to start with the truth.

“I have thought hard on what you said about the three hundred men who died because of what I did.” Her hands were sweating,
but she kept them still. “I regret their deaths.”

Glyndwr waited, his gaze unrelenting.

“I fear many more men will die in this battle,” she said. “So I prayed to God, asking if it would be a sin to tell you what
I know when it might prevent more bloodshed.”

“And God answered you?” Glyndwr did not sound as though he thought it likely.

“Not clearly, no.” The distress in her voice was genuine.

“So you decided to tell me without the benefit of divine guidance. What is it, Lady FitzAlan? My time is short.”

Now for her lie.

“Part of the English army waits near Monmouth Castle.” She looked straight into his eyes and made herself believe it as she
said it. “They plan to attack you from behind and cut your army off from Wales.”

After a pause, Glyndwr asked, “Who leads these men?”

“Prince Harry.” She knew from what he said in their first meeting that he respected Harry’s military skills.

“But the prince is here at Worcester,” Glyndwr said with a smile. “He is easy to pick out on the field.”

“Remember Shrewsbury?” she said, her tone challenging.

Anger flashed in his eyes. There were rumors Glyndwr arrived late at Shrewsbury and watched from the woods as the Northern
rebel army folded.

“At Shrewsbury, the king employed decoys—knights dressed in the king’s armor and mounted on horses like his own,” she said.
“Hotspur killed two of them before he was cut down.”

Catherine kept her eyes steady on Glyndwr as she told her next lie. “The prince uses the same device to fool you now. It was
a false prince you saw today. The true one waits to cut off your retreat and attack you from behind.”

“Why should I believe you?” he said, his black eyes searching for the truth in her soul. “Why would you come to the rebel
cause now, after what you did before?”

“I do not take the rebel side,” she said, on the firm ground of truth again. “But I do not want to have more blood on my hands,
English or Welsh.”

“So you regret betraying your husband to his death?”

“No!” She blurted her answer without stopping to think.

He nodded, and she saw that the frankness of her response lent credibility to her story.

For a reason she could not explain, she wanted to give Glyndwr the truth about Rayburn, at least.

“Rayburn gave you no true allegiance, Prince Glyndwr,” she said in a quiet voice. “He would have sold you to the devil to
save himself.”

“You tell me nothing I did not know.” With a bittersweet smile, he added, “In sooth, his lady wife would have been the better
ally.”

He stepped closer to her. The penetrating look he gave her sent a shiver through her, but she could not look away from the
intense dark eyes. There was a magnetism about this man. She understood Maredudd’s warning now. A woman might risk a great
deal to be near a man who emanated such power, in the hope he might direct some of that dark passion toward her. She would
have to be a brave woman, though.

“Please, let me go home,” she said. “I want to see my son.”

Glyndwr’s eyes went flat, and he looked away from her. “As do I, Lady FitzAlan. As do I.”

Guilt stabbed her for reminding him of his pain.

But she had told her lies well. She could only pray she had been right to tell them.

T
he English commanders awoke to find the Welsh-French army had disappeared during the night. None could explain the unexpected
withdrawal. William, for one, was glad to save his men to fight another day. No good could have come from the battle for the
English. Even if they prevailed, the field would have been awash with English blood. The loss of men would have made them
more vulnerable to the French, their real enemy.

However, it was hard to understand why the other army had withdrawn. A French-Welsh victory on English soil might well have
forced King Henry to sacrifice his claim on Wales.

William bid the king farewell and headed for home. Prince Harry rode with him as far as Monmouth. Until it was certain the
French were retreating all the way to their ships, the prince would remain in the Welsh Marches.

William had come to like Prince Harry well enough, but he was glad when they parted ways. He was tired of talking of military
matters. Riding in blessed silence, he tried to resolve the mystery that was his wife.

Would he always find her in hallways, sharing secrets with princes and troubadours? Good Lord, she even admitted to passing
her lover’s child off as her husband’s. Yet, this same woman welcomed William’s young brother into her household with an open
heart. She forgave William his harsh words, his lack of trust, and accepted on faith his promise to do better.

And she said she loved him.

Though he did not fully understand her, he knew for certain he could never be content without her.

A sense of well-being came over him when he saw Ross Castle in the distance. Even now, the lookouts would be reporting his
arrival to the household. He looked forward to seeing Jamie and Stephen as well. He had grown attached to the boys.

He shook his head. Odd how life could change so quickly. Two months ago, he came here with no real ties. Now, for the first
time in his life, he felt as if he had something to lose.

He remembered Catherine’s uneasy stomach the day before he left and felt anxious. He spurred his horse ahead of his men and
rode through the open gate.

Most of the men he had left at the castle were waiting for him in the bailey. Catherine was not. Scanning the group, he saw
that Stephen was missing, too. And where the devil was Edmund?

As he dismounted, a small figure shot out from between the men. He tossed his reins to a waiting stable boy and lifted Jamie
into the air.

“Where’s your mother, big boy?”

“Didn’t you find her?”

Fear ran like ice through his veins.

“Lord FitzAlan.” He turned to see Hugh Stratton, one of the men he left with Edmund.

“What has happened?” William said, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Where is my wife?”

“Lady FitzAlan wished to go to the abbey,” Hugh said. “Edmund and Stephen escorted her.”

William sagged with relief. His relief dissolved a moment later when Hugh could not meet his eyes.

“What is it? Out with it, man!”

“They were attacked.”

God, no!

“When they did not return when expected, we went out looking for them. We found Edmund, but he’s in bad shape.”

“What of Catherine and Stephen?” Would the fool not tell him if they were alive or dead?

“They must have been taken captive. Except where Edmund was, we found no blood, no piece of torn clothing…”

God have mercy
. “When was this?”

“Two days ago. I had the men out searching for them all of yesterday and today,” Hugh said. “Edmund can speak now, if you
wish to see him. Alys put a bed up for him in the keep.”

William was so intent on questioning Hugh that he forgot the boy in his arms until Jamie yelled, “I want my mother!”

Jamie looked at him with eyes big and wet with tears. “I want Stephen, too.”

“I shall bring them home,” William promised.
And if either one is harmed, I will track the villains down and kill every one of them
.

Jamie leaned heavily against his chest as William carried him to the keep. After handing the boy off to his nursemaid, William
went with Hugh to see Edmund.