Knight of Desire

by Knight of Desire (lit)

  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.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Catherine 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.

  Sometime later, a maid peeked through her door. “I’m to help you dress, m’lady.”

  Catherine was about to object that she had nothing to wear, when the maid held out a lovely, pale green gown.

  She decided that with God’s help and a clean gown, she could face what came.

  A few minutes later, she followed the maid down the stairs to the main floor of the house. The hall was empty, save for Marged Tudor and a couple of servants.

  “Good afternoon, Lady FitzAlan,” Marged greeted her. “I understand you had a hard journey.”

  The woman smiled kindly at her, all the hostility of yesterday gone.

  “I do not like this business of taking a woman from her home and family,” Marged said, shaking her head. “Until you can be returned to your own home, I want you to be comfortable in ours.”

  “I appreciate your kindness,” Catherine said. “And thank you for the use of this gown.”

  “I am afraid yours could not be saved,” Marged said. “I gave it to one of the servants to cut for rags.”

  “Good. I never want to see it again.”

  “You must call me Marged. We must not be formal, since you may be our guest for some weeks.”

  “Weeks?” Catherine sank onto the bench beside Marged.

  Marged patted her arm. “If it were up to my Maredudd, this would be resolved quickly. But Glyndwr… well, you know what he thinks. These foolish men! Just looking at you, I can see you are not the kind of woman to commit adultery.”

  Catherine wondered how but did not ask.

  “Still, I will admit,” Marged said, “when I first laid eyes on you yesterday, you gave me quite a fright.”

  Catherine could not help
but laugh. “You should have made me wash in the yard!”

  “That is not what I meant,” Marged protested. “You looked like a wood nymph with your hair all wild about you and that lovely face of yours. I thought my husband had the gall to bring home a mistress!”

  Catherine looked at her, startled.

  “But Maredudd let me know last night how much he missed me,” Marged said, her eyes twinkling. “I should have known, but a woman needs to be shown sometimes.”

  Marged paused to wave a servant over with a platter of food for Catherine. “Maredudd was worried bringing you on such a hard journey, but he was afraid to leave you at Harlech.”

  Catherine raised her eyebrows. “He thinks Glydnwr would harm me?”

  “Of course not,” Marged said. “But he says that if Prince Glyndwr discovers you are with child, he will never agree to release you.”

  “Maredudd knows I am with child?”

  Marged laughed. “You were sick in the morning. ’Twas the same with me when I carried Owain.”

  “Why would Glyndwr not let me go if he knew?” The answer came to Catherine even before Marged spoke.

  “To hold the prince’s lover as hostage is one thing; to hold the prince’s son is quite another,” Marged said. “In exchange for the only child of the heir to the English throne, Glyndwr might ask anything—even an independent Wales.”

  “But this is not Harry’s child!” Catherine closed her eyes and put her head on the table.

  “Glyndwr would want to believe it was,” Marged said, resting her hand on Catherine’s back. “And that is what matters.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Catherine, where are you?

  William stared across the distance, as if he could find her if only he looked hard enough. From the top of this hill, he could see across the border into Wales. He rode out here when he needed to be alone.

  As the weeks passed, he began to fear he might never get her back. He was a man of action. The frustration of waiting wore his nerves raw. There were days when foolish action seemed better than none, and he rode out blindly into Wales.

  Other days, he lost himself in regret and self-recrimination. He made promises to God. If God would return his wife to him, he would protect her always. If God would grant this one request, he would do whatever it took to make her want to stay.

  Things remained cool between him and Edmund. Although Edmund seemed to sincerely regret all he’d said about Catherine, the sight of him reminded William of how quickly he himself had questioned her loyalty. In sooth, Edmund had done little more than express the same doubts he had. All the same, William spent more of his time with Stephen and Jamie these days. He liked to keep the boys close.

  He took Stephen with him whenever he went to the abbey to hear the cryptic messages Robert sent to the abbess through the hands of monks, musicians, and itinerant workers. The messages relayed Robert’s journey as he trailed Catherine along the south coast of Wales, then north to Aberystwyth. Their hopes soared when, at long last, he sent word he had found her—then fell again when they read she disappeared again.

  It was almost December. There had been no word from Robert for weeks.

  At the sound of a horse crashing through the trees behind, William turned and pulled his sword. He sheathed it when he saw who the rider was.

  “How the devil did you know where to find me?” he called out to Stephen.

  “The abbess sent word she has news!” Stephen said as he drew his horse up.

  “Praise God!”

  They galloped all the way to the abbey. When they burst into the abbess’s private parlor, they found it was not a message waiting for them this time. It was the troubadour himself.

  “Heaven above,” William said, clapping Robert on the back, “who would have thought I would be so glad to see you!”

  When Robert laughed, William noticed the lines of fatigue etched on his handsome face.

  “I have found where she is,” Robert said. “It will not be easy, but there is hope we can get her out.”

  “God bless you, Robert,” William said as he squeezed Stephen’s shoulder. “I am forever in your debt.”

  “I was able to speak with her briefly at Harlech,” Robert said. “She was well and sent her love.”

  William ran his hands through his hair, overcome with emotion.

  “The next day she was gone,” Robert said. “No one—except Glyndwr himself—knew where she went or who took her.

  “Eventually, I heard a whisper that someone had seen Maredudd Tudor in the castle the night she went missing,” Robert continued. “Glyndwr loves music, so it was another week before I could leave Harlech without raising suspicion.

  “I followed Maredudd’s trail to the south, until it disappeared. On a hunch, I went north again. I did not catch wind of an English lady again until I was all the way to Beaumaris Castle.”

  “Beaumaris is a fortress on the coast of Anglesey,” William explained to Stephen. “It is still in English hands.”

  “I sought news among the Welsh servants at Beaumaris,” Robert said, picking up his tale again. “I found a maid whose sister works for the Tudors at their manor house, Plas Penmynydd. From her, I learned a beautiful Englishwoman is living with the Tudors.”

  Robert leaned forward. “William, the house is but five miles from Beaumaris.”

  “You know this for certain?”

  “I do.” Robert stretched out his long legs and folded his hands on his stomach. “Believe me, I had to work hard to get the information. That Welsh maid is homely, but energetic.”

  “Robert!” the abbess said, but her lips twitched with amusement.

  “As I see it, there are two ways to do this,” William said. “I can surprise the Tudors and take her by force. Or, I can approach this Maredudd Tudor and see if he is willing to give her up for a price.”

  “If you parlay with him first,” Stephen interjected, “you lose the advantage of surprise.”

  William nodded and turned to Robert. “Do you think it worth the risk?”

  Robert would understand, as he did, that there was a greater chance of Catherine coming to harm in an attack.

  “I will go to Plas Penmynydd and find out,” Robert said.

  When William started to object, the abbess put her hand on his arm. “Robert can gain entry to the household without alerting them to your plans.”

  “You can take your men and wait at Beaumaris,” Robert said. “Catherine has been in the household for weeks and can tell me whether Maredudd Tudor will negotiate. If she says nay, I can forewarn her to be ready for the attack.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Marged frowned as she came into the solar and saw Owain asleep on Catherine’s lap.

  “Owain is too big for that,” she said, resting her hand on Catherine’s shoulder.

  “Please, Marged, it comforts me to hold him,” Catherine said. “I miss my own son so very much.”

  The two women watched the sleeping child in silence for a time.

  “One thinks of beauty as an advantage in finding a good match for a daughter,” Catherine said, teasing her friend, “but I swear this boy of yours will marry up. Some wealthy widow will decide she must have him.”

  Marged laughed. “He has his father’s charm as well as his looks, so God help the woman he sets his sights on. I only hope it is an heiress and not a milkmaid.”

  Marged pulled a stool next to Catherine’s and pushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “Perhaps we will have good news soon. It’s been a fortnight since Maredudd wrote to Prince Glyndwr urging him to take your husband’s ransom.”

  “What if Glyndwr tells Maredudd to take me back to Harlech?”

  “Maredudd will find a way out before then,” Marged said in a soothing voice.

  Catherine did not argue, but she did not expect Maredudd to defy his prince. Though Maredudd was fond of her, he would put his family first. She could not fault him that.

  She rubbed her cheek again
st Owain’s head. “Do you think Jamie has forgotten me?”

  “I am sure your husband speaks of you often,” Marged said. “The boy will not forget.”

  Catherine did not share the other worry that plagued her. Had she been gone so long that William had stopped caring for her? Did he ever, truly, care?

  “William wanted a child so very much, and he does not even know.” She shifted Owain on her lap so she could rest a hand on her belly. “I want to birth this child at home.”

  “You’re not far along,” Marged said. “There’s plenty of time yet.”

  “Are you coddling that boy again?” Maredudd called from the doorway. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Just as well he’s having a rest, for it will be a late night for all of us.”

  He came over and shook Owain’s shoulder. “Owain! A troupe of musicians is here!”

  Owain awoke wide-eyed and wiggled off Catherine’s lap.

  “They’ve just come through the gate.” As Owain scampered off to look, Maredudd stooped to kiss his wife. “This should cheer up my beautiful ladies.”

  “ ’Tis a long time since a troupe has come this far,” Marged said, smiling up at him.

  “The musicians say they’ve traveled across the whole of Wales this autumn, so they should carry much news.”

  Catherine closed her eyes to make a silent prayer. A moment later, the players entered the hall. Her prayer was answered. It took all the self-control she possessed not to run to Robert and throw her arms around him. His eyes held no surprise; Robert expected to find her here.

  With her thoughts spinning wildly in her head, she did not hear Marged speak to her at first. She blinked at her friend, having no notion what she had asked.

  Marged laughed and took her hand. “Come with me to talk with the cook. I want a special meal prepared for this evening.”

  As Catherine got to her feet, Robert gave what was meant to be a casual glance in her direction. As good as he was, he stared a moment too long at her belly.