The Welsh loved music, and the Tudor household was no exception. They kept the musicians playing late into the night. Catherine sat through it as long as she could. When she could bear the strain no longer, she put her hand on her belly and whispered to Marged that she must go to bed.
In her bedchamber, she paced the floor. At long last, the music died and she heard the sounds of feet on the stairs and doors closing. The house finally settled into silence.
She never doubted Robert would learn which room was hers. When she heard the faint tapping she was waiting for, she unbarred her door and Robert slipped in.
“I was almost without hope,” she said into his shoulder as he held her. Leaning back, she asked, “Are they all well? William and the boys?”
“They are,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
“Where is William? Has he not come for me?”
“The devil could not keep him away,” Robert said. “He is waiting nearby, at Beaumaris Castle.”
“It’s been so long that I feared he did not seek my return,” she confessed. Only now did she admit to herself how deep her doubts had grown.
“You will be happy to know your husband looks quite ill with worry,” Robert said, lifting her chin with his finger. “I doubt he’s had a full night’s sleep since you were taken.”
It was wrong to feel so pleased that William suffered, too. Of course, Robert could be lying.
“I see you have news for him,” Robert said, letting his eyes drop to the slight swell of her gown.
She smiled. “Aye, the babe should come after Easter.”
Robert turned to the business at hand. “We have two possible plans for getting you released.”
When she heard them, her response was adamant. “He must talk with Maredudd. I will not have harm come to—”
She stopped at the sound of the door creaking. With growing horror, she realized that she had failed to bar the door behind Robert. She watched helplessly as it eased open.
Marged’s head peeked through the opening. Her eyes bulged almost comically, then she leapt into the room and closed the door behind her.
She fixed her gaze on Catherine and began speaking in a rush. “I beg you, do not do it! I know you fear you shall never see your husband again, but I promise you shall. And when you do, you will regret what you are about to do.”
Marged stopped her lecture long enough to cast a good long look at Robert. “I can see the temptation.” It was evident she could, from the way she flushed. “Truly, I can.”
Marged could not seem to drag her eyes away from Robert. Her color deepened when Robert brazenly winked at her.
“ ’Tis true, in your condition you need not worry about bringing another man’s babe home to your husband, but…” Marged’s will to argue her point seemed to fade the longer she stared at Robert.
“Marged!” Catherine said sharply. “This man has not come to bed me! How could you think it?”
Catherine turned to Robert. “You must see we cannot wait. We have to tell her and Maredudd now.”
Robert said in a low voice, “Are you sure this is wise, Catherine?”
She took Marged’s arm. “Robert is a friend who has brought a message from my husband,” she explained as she walked Marged to the door. “Go wake Maredudd and bring him here so we may talk in private while the servants sleep.”
Once Catherine finally convinced Marged to fetch her husband, she turned and found Robert leaning out the window.
“Unless you are certain this Tudor is willing to come to terms with your husband,” he said over his shoulder, “we should make our escape now, before the lady wakes him.”
Though Maredudd’s easy manner might fool some into believing he was not a careful man, Catherine knew better. Robert may not see the guards outside, but they were there.
“What I am certain of,” she said, “is that we would not make the gate.”
Chapter Twenty-six
A harsh wind blew the rain against William’s face in icy pellets. He’d been keeping watch on the ramparts of the outer curtain wall of Beaumaris Castle since dawn, and he was chilled to the bone. He paced back and forth to keep warm. At each turn, he stopped to squint through the driving rain toward the west.
He looked again. In the dull gray light of the dismal morning, he picked out a lone figure riding toward the castle.
The troubadour was back.
A quarter hour later, he and Robert were conferring in his room in one of the sixteen towers along the outer wall.
“She has been treated well,” Robert assured him again.
William narrowed his eyes at Robert. There was something he was not telling him.
“In sooth, she has grown quite fond of her captors,” Robert said. “She made it clear she wants none of them harmed.”
“She thinks it worth the risk, then, of approaching Maredudd Tudor?”
“I would say so, since she has already done it.”
“She what!” William sighed and shook his head. “She has not changed, I see. Catherine would step right into it, once she decided that was the thing to do.”
“I was shaking in my boots for fear she misjudged the man,” Robert admitted with a grin.
“Since you returned alive, I take it this Tudor is willing to make a deal?”
“So he says, and your lady wife believes him,” Robert replied with a shrug. “He will meet you in a wood along the road between here and Plas Penmynydd to give you his terms. He says he will come alone, and you must do the same. He wants to keep this quiet so Glyndwr does not catch wind of it.”
Robert paused, then said, “You know this could be a trap.”
“Aye, but I have no choice,” William said. “When are we to meet?”
“On the morrow, an hour past dawn.”
It was still cold when William set out the next morning, but the rain had lessened to a light drizzle. As directed, he traveled alone and put his fate in the hands of God. And Maredudd Tudor. He thought of Jamie and Stephen and prayed he could bring Catherine home to them soon.
As he came to the copse beside the dip in the road that Robert described as the meeting place, a hooded rider crested the hill before him.
“FitzAlan?” the rider called out.
William started. The voice was a woman’s. As she pulled her horse up, he saw that the voice belonged to a pretty dark-haired woman.
“I am FitzAlan. Are you here for Maredudd Tudor?”
“I am his wife, Marged,” she said.
What sort of man was this Tudor to send his wife out alone on such an errand?
“Maredudd went with the men who are taking Catherine to Harlech.”
“What!” he exploded. “The devil’s spawn is taking her to Harlech?”
“There is little time, so listen,” she snapped. “A dozen men rode up to our gate this morning with orders from Glyndwr to take Catherine.”
William told himself he had plenty of time to catch up to them. The ride to Harlech was long.
“What route did they travel? How far ahead are they?”
“They left not more than half an hour ago, but they are taking her by sea! Their ship is to the west, eight or nine miles from here.”
Beaumaris was in the opposite direction. There was no time to ride back for his men. Even if he rode straight to the ship, he might not catch them.
“Maredudd will try to stall them, but you’d best ride hard.” She quickly gave him directions.
“Are you safe riding back to Plas Penmynydd alone?”
She smiled. “Aye, these are Tudor lands.”
“God bless you, dear lady.”
He spurred his horse and rode like the wind. He had to get to the ship before it set sail. His heart seemed to beat in time with the pounding of his horse’s hooves. Faster, faster, faster.
After what seemed like hours, he reached the coast. A half mile north, he found the manor house where Marged Tudor said Glyndwr’s men had borrowed horses. He spotted the ship offsho
re, just visible in the morning fog.
He turned his horse off the road and pulled up in the low trees to count the figures on the beach. One man in the water, guiding a rowboat to shore. Two in the rowboat. Eight on the shore. He narrowed his eyes, searching for Catherine.
Two more men emerged from the wood dragging a woman between them. She struggled against them as they hauled her toward the rowboat.
Catherine. He’d found his wife.
The frustrating weeks of waiting were behind him. Patience, negotiation, money offers—none of it had brought her back. Now he could do what he was born to do, what he’d been trained to do, what he did best.
Percy blood ran through his veins. He was son of Northumberland the King-maker, brother to the legendary fighter Hotspur. None could touch him. It would not matter if there were ten men or twenty or sixty between him and Catherine. He would get to her.
“AAARRRRRRHHHHH!” He shouted his battle cry as he burst through the brush.
He rode to the edge of the sea where his horse could get better purchase and galloped along the shoreline. Brandishing his broadsword, he rode straight at the men on the beach, striking fear into every heart.
An unearthly cry in the distance sent a shiver up Catherine’s spine. She turned toward the sound and heard hoofbeats pounding up the shore. Everyone on the beach stopped in place to peer through the fog in the direction of the sound.
As they watched, a horse and rider emerged through the fog charging toward them at a full gallop. Horse and rider lifted and then sailed over a log as if the horse had wings. The men scattered as the rider bore down on them, sword swinging and screaming his battle cry.
William had come to save her.
She had heard stories of his feats in battle. She’d watched him practice countless times. None of it prepared her for seeing him like this. He fought with a grace and power that was both terrible and utterly magnificent.
The first two men were dead before they could draw their swords. The sword of a third went flying through the air. The man ran for the woods as William turned his horse to take another pass. At least two more fell. Then William dropped from his horse onto one man and came up swinging his sword into another. He whirled to face the remaining men, broadswords in both hands now.
“Your husband, I presume,” Maredudd said in her ear. “Let us get off the beach before one of these men thinks to grab you and hold a knife to your throat.”
She and Maredudd watched the rest of the fight from behind the low bushes that grew back from the shore. It was over soon. Two men were in the water, swimming toward the ship. Others had run from the beach and disappeared into the trees.
“Catherine! Catherine!” William’s voice echoed as he looked up and down the shore shouting her name.
William looked up and down the beach, frantic.
Then he saw her standing alone in the tall grass at the edge of the beach. Catherine. An angel come to earth.
He stood for a long moment, frozen in place, not breathing. Then he slid his sword into its scabbard and ran to her. His hands shook as he cupped her beloved face. Never had she looked more beautiful. He kissed each cheek, pink with the cold.
“I praise God you are safe!” he said, closing his eyes and letting his forehead touch hers.
He had promised himself that this time he would give her the choice. This time, she would come to him willingly, or she would not come.
“I failed in my duty to protect you. If you cannot forgive me, if you do not wish to live with me again,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest, “I will make other arrangements for you.”
He waited for her to speak, to rail at him for failing her. But she was silent. She would hear him out.
“I hope with all my heart you will choose to live with me. If you will, I promise I shall do all I can to protect you and be a good husband to you.”
Catherine rested her palms against his chest and looked up at him with vivid blue eyes that saw the truth in his heart.
“Thank you for coming for me.” She leaned her head against his chest. “Take me home, William. Take me home.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “How I have missed you!”
God be praised, she was his again.
“Greetings, FitzAlan.”
William pushed Catherine behind him and pulled his sword as the man who spoke stepped out from behind the bushes.
“ ’Tis all right,” Catherine said, grabbing his sword arm. “This is Maredudd Tudor. He has been very good to me.”
“Not good enough to send you home,” William said, staring hard into the man’s sharp hazel eyes.
“If not for Maredudd, I might still be at Harlech,” she said. “He did his best to protect me.”
Maredudd Tudor gave him a broad smile full of humor. William would not trust the man farther than he could throw him. Still, he felt he owed some debt to him.
“What were you going to ask in exchange for my wife, before Glyndwr’s men changed your plan today?” William asked.
Maredudd Tudor went still. “I sought a promise for a later time.”
William nodded for him to continue.
“Under Glyndwr’s leadership, we have succeeded in taking control of all of Wales, save for a handful of castles. Still, I fear we will not be able to maintain our hold.”
“You won’t,” William said. “You cannot prevail against us without the help of the French. The French will promise, but they’ll not send their army again.”
Maredudd Tudor nodded. “Even without the French, we might outlast King Henry. His enemies are many and they divert him. But Prince Harry is another matter. He will defeat us in the end.”
William sensed what this admission cost the proud rebel. He waited for the man to make his request.
“Before the rebellion, we Tudors held high offices in the service of English kings. When this is over, I want my son Owain to be able to make his way in the English world. What I intended to ask was your pledge to assist him when the time comes.”
William respected the man for seeking a means to protect his son in an uncertain world. He gave his promise.
“When you call on me, I will help your son.”
“I am grateful,” Maredudd Tudor said with a stiff nod. Then he said, “This is yet Welsh rebel country, so you’d best be gone before the men you chased off raise the alarm.”
William turned to Catherine. “He’s right. We must make haste.”
“Thank you,” Catherine said, throwing herself at Maredudd. “You were the best of wardens, Maredudd Tudor.”
Both of them were laughing as she stepped back.
“Give my love to Marged and Owain,” she said.
“We shall miss you, Catherine. Go with God.”
It began to drizzle again soon after they set off for Beaumaris. The last few miles, it turned into a cold rain.
When they reached Beaumaris, Robert was waiting for them at the gatehouse. William was anxious to get Catherine out of the rain and hustled her through the side door Robert held open.
“Sweet Lamb of God, what took you so long?” Robert said. “I expected you hours ago.”
“We’ll tell you the story later,” William said, stepping in front of Robert, who was about to greet Catherine with a kiss. “I must get her before a fire.”
He was grateful for all Robert had done, but the man did try his patience.
“You’ll take the horses, Robert?”
Without waiting for Robert’s answer, he took Catherine’s icy hand, grabbed a torch, and led her into the dark corridor that connected the towers and gatehouse through the castle wall.
Chapter Twenty-seven
As soon as they reached his chamber, William sat her on a bench before the dwindling fire and began to add kindling to it.
Catherine was content to watch the firelight play across the planes of his face and spark gold in his hair as he built the fire. How she had missed the sight of him! She smiled at him each time he glanced ov
er his shoulder. She understood his need to reassure himself she was truly here, for she felt the same.
Once the roaring blaze drove the dank chill from the room, she stood to remove her damp cloak. William looked up as she turned and slipped it off. He stared openmouthed at her belly. Though she was not very big yet, anyone looking that closely could see she was with child.
She saw searing pain distort his face before he masked it. It hit her like a blow. How could she have been so mistaken? She had feared William might not be glad to see her. But the child? She never doubted for a moment he would be pleased about the child.
He came to her and took her hands. “You must not worry for the child. I will claim him and raise him as my own,” he said in a gentle voice. “I place no blame on you. You had every reason to fear I would never obtain your release.”
She was so shocked she could not speak.
“Did you love the man?” he asked in a choked voice. He swallowed, and then added, “Do you love him still?”
She did not know whether to slap him or weep.
“This child was conceived in summer, before I was taken,” she said in a voice as cold as ice.
“The child is mine?” William said, breaking into a grin.
“Of course the child is yours,” she snapped. “And I pray to God he does not become a horse’s ass like his father!”
“Then we must hope it is a girl,” he said, scooping her up off the bench. Holding her across his chest, he twirled in a circle, laughing.
He stopped and covered her face with kisses. Gently then, he set her on her feet and took her hands.
“My happiness this day makes up for all the days of sadness since you were taken from me,” he said, his eyes shining. “God punished me for my pigheadedness. But now I am doubly blessed.”
Unable to hang on to her anger in the face of his joy, she wrapped her arms around him. She would not let the mistake he made in that moment of surprise ruin this reunion. After all, he had accepted her at her word as soon as she told him.
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