Knight of Desire (29 page)

Harlech Castle served as both Glyndwr’s court and his base of military operations. With the fighting season over and the autumn
rains setting in, the castle was crawling with soldiers with little to do. Catherine was not left unguarded for a moment.

Guarding her must be a singularly tedious assignment. She spent most of her time alone in her chamber or praying in the chapel.
Since she could not bear to feel The Fierce One’s eyes on her while she ate, she rarely took her meals in the great hall.
Besides, observing Glyndwr’s happy family life only served to make her feel more despondent.

She had been at Harlech a week when she was summoned to the great hall for an audience with Glyndwr. Here in his court, Glyndwr
maintained the outward trappings of his princely status. She bowed low before a severe-looking Glyndwr dressed in ermine-trimmed
robes and sitting on a gilded throne.

“Lady FitzAlan, I have received Prince Harry’s reply to my ransom demand,” he announced. “He advises me that the king will
not release my son in exchange for your safe return.”

Since Glyndwr’s son was blind and could not fight, Catherine thought the king was only keeping him for spite.

“It is as I expected, Your Grace,” she said in a low voice. “I am sorry he will not return your son.”

“I believe you are,” Glyndwr said, his eyes softening.

He came down from the dais and led her to sit with him before the roaring fire in the hearth.

“I served with King Henry in Scotland twenty years ago,” Glyndwr remarked. “He was just ‘Bolingbroke’ then.”

“I believe he has changed a good deal since then—since he gained the throne,” she said, throwing caution to the wind.

Glyndwr raised an eyebrow and nodded for her to continue.

“These rebellions have made our king mistrustful.” She ventured a sideways glance at him. “And unforgiving. He will not show
mercy, even when it costs him nothing.”

Was it wise to speak of her king like this to Glyndwr? Was it treason? She did not know, but she wanted to give Glyndwr the
truth with regard to his son, if nothing else.

“If you wish to have your son back, you must give the king something he holds very dear.” She gave him the only suggestion
she had. “He would exchange Gruffydd for Harlech.”

Glyndwr shook his head. “You know I cannot put my son above the interests of my people.”

“Then your best hope is to arrange for Gruffydd to escape,” she said. “It has been done before. Perhaps you could bribe a
guard?”

“My son was blinded for his first attempt to escape,” Glyndwr said. “I would not have him risk so much again.”

Catherine looked away from the pain she saw on the great man’s face.

“When Harry takes his father’s place,” she said in a quiet voice, “I am certain he will pardon your son and release him.”
It was a paltry offering.

“I fear Gruffydd will not survive long in the Tower.”

They sat in silence, staring at the fire.

After a few moments, he said, “Prince Harry enclosed a letter from your husband with his message.”

She sat up straight. “A letter from William? What does he say?”

Glyndwr leaned forward and tapped his forefingers against his pursed lips before answering. “FitzAlan offers a large monetary
ransom.”

Catherine closed her eyes. God be praised! After the utter bleakness she had felt since arriving at Harlech, she was afraid
of the hope that sprang inside her.

Her voice quavered as she put the question to Glyndwr. “Will you take the ransom my husband offers?”

Glyndwr’s expression was hard now. He was no longer father, but prince.

“I will send another message, reiterating my price,” he said, his voice stern. “If Prince Harry still does not comply, I have
a commander who would benefit from having a wife with the political skills he lacks.”

Glyndwr was no fool, so she wondered how he believed he could have her marriage annulled.

“I am considering recognizing the French pope in Avignon.”

His words struck her like a thunderbolt. God chose Saint Peter’s successor on Earth. A ruler who supported the alternative
pope risked damnation not only for himself, but also for all his people. Even in her shock, Catherine was awed by Glyndwr’s
boldness.

“I will demand concessions in return, of course,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Independence for the Welsh church.
A guarantee that only men who speak Welsh will be appointed bishops and priests. The end of payments to English monasteries
and colleges.

“It would be a small matter to add a request for the annulment of one marriage.” He turned and focused his eyes on her again.
“Particularly when that marriage was made without proper banns and on the very day of the first husband’s murder.”

Cold fear gripped her heart. As a last resort, she could reveal her pregnancy. Surely even the French pope would not grant
an annulment if he knew she was with child.

Catherine paced her chamber, as she often did since her conversation with Glyndwr. If she could only have something to give
her hope!

She jumped at the knock on her door. Opening the door a crack, she saw that one of her guards wanted to speak to her.

“Prince Glyndwr requests your presence in the hall this evening,” the young man said. “He wants you to enjoy the music of
the traveling musicians who’ve just arrived.”

“Thank you, I will come.” She closed the door and leaned against it.
God, please, let it be Robert.

That evening, she sat at the table, every muscle taut, waiting for the musicians. Even having Rhys Gethin sit beside her—and,
God help her, share a trencher with her—could not divert her. When the musicians finally came into the hall, she nearly burst
into tears.

Robert had come
. With his dazzling good looks and striking blond hair, he stood out like a white crane in the midst of crows.

Robert did not let his gaze fall on her directly, but she knew he saw her, too. She wanted desperately to talk with him, to
hear news of home. But how could they find a way to meet with guards dogging her every step?

She listened through the long evening for a message or a signal of some kind. It finally came in his last ballad, a familiar
song about secret lovers. As Robert sang the final refrain in which the man asks his beloved where she will meet him, he put
his hands together as if in prayer and glanced in her direction.

Catherine put her hands together and nodded, hoping she understood his meaning.

Her guards had spent many hours standing in the doorway of the chapel while she prayed. They were not surprised, then, when
she told them she wished to go there before retiring to her chamber. She caught the annoyed look that passed between them,
but they could hardly complain that their prisoner prayed too much.

She was on her knees on the cold stone floor for an hour before someone in priest’s robes entered. She glanced over her shoulder
to be sure her guards’ soft snores were not feigned.

Robert sank to his knees beside her.

“Before you ask,” he whispered close to her ear, “William, Jamie, and Stephen are all well, though they miss you.”

“Praise God,” she said, crossing herself. “You cannot know how glad I am to see you! How did you find me?”

“There is no time to tell you now. We must be brief. Do you know if Glyndwr plans to keep you here at Harlech? Will he accept
William’s ransom?”

“Glyndwr yet holds a thread of hope that Harry will secure his son’s release.” She reached for Robert’s hand. “When he loses
that hope, it will be still worse for me.”

Robert held a finger to his lips, and she realized her voice had risen in her distress.

“Glyndwr says he will have my marriage to William annulled,” she whispered. “He talks of marrying me to one of his men—to
Rhys Gethin! Robert, I cannot bear it!”

Robert contemplated this in silence for a moment. “Aye, we must get you out. But annulments are never quick, so we have time
to make a plan.”

“I cannot wait much longer—”

“I must go,” he whispered. “I will look for you here tomorrow night at the same time.”

“If something happens and we do not meet again,” she said, gripping his hand, “tell my family I love them and miss them with
all my heart.”

“We shall meet tomorrow,” he said, giving her hand one last squeeze.

She waited until Robert was safely out of the chapel. After saying one more prayer, she rose on stiff legs to wake her guards.
They escorted her to her chamber, where she bid them good night and barred the door.

Her mind was still on her conversation with Robert as she turned from the door. A shriek caught in her throat. In the moonlight
from the narrow window, she could see the outline of a man sprawled on the chair beside her bed.

“Did you enjoy the music?” Maredudd Tudor asked.

C
atherine was so tired of riding that she was sure she would never be able to walk normally again. She lost her headdress days
ago. Her hair hung in a tangled mess. Her gown was so filthy that if they did not reach their destination soon, she just might
rip it off and ride naked.

Maredudd said he was taking her to his home on the island of Anglesey on the northwest coast. After establishing a false trail
to the south, he took her inland and headed north, across countless streams and through endless forests. He apologized for
the rough travel, explaining that Glyndwr ordered him to take every precaution. Even his own people must not learn where she
went or with whom she traveled.

Catherine longed with all her heart to wash, to sleep in fresh sheets, and to eat a meal prepared by anyone other than Maredudd
Tudor. The only benefit to her physical misery was that it diverted her from dwelling on how much she missed William, Jamie,
and Stephen.

They crossed the isthmus onto Anglesey at low tide. A few miles farther, they reached Plas Penmynydd, the large fortified
manor that was the Tudor home. When Maredudd lifted her from her horse before the entrance to the house, he had to hold on
to her to keep her from falling.

Still clutching his arm, Catherine looked up into the hostile gray eyes of a pretty dark-haired woman. She was well rounded,
almost plump, and a few years older than Catherine.

What caught Catherine’s attention, however, was the lady’s apricot silk gown. All her life, Catherine had taken her fine gowns
for granted, but at this moment, she coveted this one with a piercing envy. It was so very
clean.

“Marged, come greet me properly, love, and meet our guest,” Maredudd called out.

So, this angry woman in apricot was Maredudd’s wife. Catherine suddenly felt aware of her own disheveled appearance.

In that moment, a boy of about five ran out of the house and barreled into Maredudd. He lifted the boy up, laughing, and settled
him on his hip. When the boy turned his head to look at her, Catherine was taken aback by the sheer beauty of the child.

“Who is the lady, Father?” the boy asked.

“This is Lady Catherine FitzAlan. She will be our guest for a time,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Lady Catherine, meet
my lovely wife, Marged, and my son Owain, lead troublemaker of Plas Penmynydd.”

Catherine nodded politely at Marged, then turned back to the boy. “To be lead troublemaker among the Tudor men,” she said
with a smile, “is quite a feat.”

Catherine remembered almost nothing of her first evening at Penmynydd. She was taken to a bedchamber, stripped of her filthy
gown, and soaked in a tub of steaming water until her skin puckered. She was asleep on her feet as the maid dried her and
helped her into a plain shift for bed.

The smells from a waiting tray roused her long enough to eat. The food was so delicious she nearly cried with pleasure.

The sun was high when she awoke the next day. Sadness weighed upon her heart like a stone. How would William ever find her
here in Anglesey? Would she ever see her home again? And what of the child she carried? Tears fell down the sides of her face
and into her hair, but she was too bone-weary to lift her arms and wipe them away.