“Where’s Jamie this morning?” Catherine asked her.
“Jamie? Why, he’s gone with Lord FitzAlan.”
Catherine jumped to her feet. “What? He has taken Jamie?” Her throat was closing in panic. “Where, Alys? Where has he taken him?”
“Pray, do not fret, m’lady. He only took the boy to the stables to look at that huge animal of his. Jamie begged him.” Touching Catherine’s arm, she added, “I would have come for you if there was anything amiss.”
Catherine closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. Jamie was all right. He had to be.
At the sound of a loud commotion coming from the entrance, she opened her eyes just as FitzAlan strode into the hall. Jamie was on his shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. The relief that flooded through her made her knees feel weak. She took a half-step back and put a steadying hand on the table behind her.
Jamie waved wildly at her, shouting, “Mother! Mother!”
He gave a high-pitched giggle as FitzAlan swung him down. As soon as her son’s feet touched the floor, he ran to her, excitement radiating from his face. She dropped to one knee to catch him and clutched him fiercely to her chest. Praise God, he was all right. Forcing herself to release him, she leaned back and gave him what she hoped was a cheerful smile.
“He says I may ride on his horse with him,” Jamie told her, his eyes dancing. “Can I, pleeaaase?”
“Of course.” Looking up at FitzAlan, she added, “I hope I may come along when you do.”
She was not about to let FitzAlan take her son outside the castle without her. Anything could happen.
“You could show me the lands near the castle, if you feel well enough to ride.” FitzAlan examined her so closely she felt her face flush. With a slight lift of his eyebrow, he said, “You do look in fine health today. Very fine.”
Her blush deepened; she could not mistake his meaning.
“The rest of my men just arrived, and I need to arrange an escort to travel to London with Bishop Whitefield,” he said. “Can you be ready in an hour?”
Glancing at her son, Catherine was amazed by how at ease the boy was. He rested one small hand on FitzAlan’s arm while pointing at one thing after another.
Jamie’s excited chatter gave an unexpected sense of normalcy to the ride. As they rode across the green fields, she found she was almost enjoying herself. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The warm summer sun felt good on her face after so many days indoors.
“I understand from Alys and Jacob that you managed the estates for your father when he was absent.”
She snapped her eyes open. So, FitzAlan already knew to go to Alys and Jacob for information rather than the useless man Rayburn had appointed steward. She must keep her wits about her. This was not a man she should underestimate.
The muscles in his jaw tightened, and then he said, “Of course, you did the same for Rayburn.”
“I have been the mistress of Ross Castle since I was twelve, when my mother died,” she answered him. “I only did as other women do when their lords go off to fight, though perhaps I took on the duties younger than some.”
“Then you can tell me what I need to know.”
He proceeded to pepper her with questions about the tenants and about what most needed his attention on the estates. At first, she believed he was merely making conversation. But when he pressed her for her opinions and listened closely to what she said, his interest seemed genuine. Never once had Rayburn—or her father—sought her advice.
“May I go?” Jamie interrupted. He was pointing toward a small group of men and boys working in a nearby field.
FitzAlan raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question. Pleased that he would defer to her, she nodded. Jamie ran off to greet the tenants as soon as FitzAlan set him on the ground.
Before she could dismount, he was at her side. He lifted her down as though she weighed nothing at all—and did not release her. With his large hands holding her waist, she felt like a trapped hare. It did not help that he was looking at her as if he’d like to gnaw her bones.
She twisted away from him and hurried after Jamie through the field. In an instant, FitzAlan was beside her. He walked so close the heat from his body seemed to pass through their clothing to her skin. Each time his arm brushed hers, it sent tingles through her body.
“Those are two of our tenants, Smith and Jennings, and some of their children. Smith is always willing to take on extra work.”
Good heavens, she was blabbering, but the way his gaze swept her from head to foot made her nervous.
“Why is Smith so willing to do extra work?”
“Smith?” She looked at him blankly before she recalled what she had just said. Without stopping to think, she blurted out the truth. “His wife is such a shrew that he is glad for any excuse to be away from his cottage.”
FitzAlan responded with a smile that reached his eyes. The saints be praised, the man had a sense of humor. What next?
“What of the other man, Jennings?”
“If you want something delivered far from home,” she said, “Jennings is your best man.”
“He is the most responsible?”
“In sooth, he is not, though he serves well enough,” she admitted. “But none of the other men like to leave if Jennings stays behind. They fear if they leave their wives alone, their next child may have Jennings’s green eyes.”
God help her, had she truly said that?
FitzAlan’s deep laugh rang out over the fields. The sound startled her; it seemed so at odds with his serious nature. He looked younger and less formidable when he laughed. And even more handsome. More trouble, that was. All the maids would be atwitter over him.
FitzAlan nodded toward a third man, working apart from the others. “Who is that?”
“Tyler. The only one to give me cause for complaint,” she said as she watched the man in the field with narrowed eyes. “Tyler is not blessed with an honest nature.”
When they reached the tenants, FitzAlan spoke with them about the crops and the weather. As they took their leave, Jamie begged to stay and “help” Jennings’s children with their work.
“I’ll look after the lad, m’lady,” Jennings assured her, “and return him to the castle before supper.”
She thanked the man. Too late, she realized this would leave her alone with FitzAlan.
It was a perfect day, so clear she could see the Black Mountains across the border in Wales as they rode. The warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze touching her face soothed her. As FitzAlan asked her questions about various noble families of the area, the ease she felt earlier returned.
After a time, she ventured a question of her own. “I hear you come from the North. Did you know Northumberland and his son ‘Hotspur’ Percy?”
“It is not possible to live in the North without knowing something of the Percys.” Giving her a sharp look, he asked, “Why do you wish to know about them?”
Clearly, it was a mistake to ask about the powerful family that had twice conspired to remove the king. Why could she not be quiet?
“I am curious, that is all,” she murmured. “There are so many stories about them, especially Hotspur.”
“Hotspur was as brave and reckless as they say,” he said in a flat tone. He paused so long she thought he meant to close the subject. Before she could think of something to say to fill the awkward silence, he spoke again.
“When Hotspur was sixteen, he was in such a rage after a skirmish with the MacDonald clan that he chased after them alone into the hills.” His tone held a note of disapproval. “Northumberland and King Richard had to pay a fortune in ransom for his return. Hotspur was always rash and hotheaded; he did not change as he grew older.”
Encouraged by this lengthy response, she risked asking another question, one that had long plagued her. “Why do you suppose the Percys turned against King Henry?”
It was well known that Henry Bolingbroke would not have been crowned in the first place without N
orthumberland’s support. Catherine had never understood why the Percys later became so intent on removing him.
“The Percys resented Henry for not rewarding them more for their support,” FitzAlan explained. “King Henry, on the other hand, believed they already held too much power and wealth.”
He glanced at her, as if checking to be sure she was truly interested, before continuing.
“Relations went from bad to worse when they argued over who should collect the ransom for some Scots Hotspur captured in battle. The king insisted the ransom go to the Crown.”
“Was that the usual custom?” she asked before realizing the awkwardness of her question.
“ ’Twas customary for the man who made the capture to collect the ransom, but the king had the right,” he answered carefully. “I will tell you, Hotspur had strong feelings about making these particular hostages pay him. They were men from the MacDonald clan—the ones who took him hostage as a youth.”
Catherine leaned forward in her saddle. “Hotspur must have waited years to make them pay for that humiliation.”
He nodded. “Eventually, Hotspur joined forces with Glyndwr in open rebellion and called on his father, North umberland, to do the same.”
Fascinated, she asked more questions. He answered, though somewhat reluctantly. When she pressed for details about battles he fought in, he pulled his horse up and turned to look at her.
“Was it you who sent the messages to Prince Harry?” His voice held surprise and a touch of uncertainty. “You truly did serve as the prince’s spy?”
“Did you think a woman not capable of seeing what was under her nose?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Or did you think that, though seeing it, a woman would lack the courage to do what ought to be done?” She knew she should not be belligerent with him but could not seem to help herself.
“I had not made up my mind what you did.” Oddly enough, he was smiling. It did nothing to dampen her temper.
An even more insulting possibility occurred to her.
“Did you believe I was a traitor?” Her voice was high-pitched, even to her own ears. When he did not deny it, she demanded, “You could marry me believing I might have supported Rayburn in his treason against the king?”
What made her dare speak with such insolence to FitzAlan? Rayburn would have pulled her from her horse and beat her to within an inch of her life for less.
“I should apologize for upsetting you,” he said, though he did not look sorry.
Behind the laughter in his eyes, there was a fire that burned right through her and made her throat go dry. She heard his words from the night before in her head: I will not wait long.
She kicked her horse and rode ahead.
After a time, he eased his horse beside hers. In a mild tone, he asked, “How did you obtain your information for the prince?”
She took a deep breath. He had answered her questions; in fairness, she should do the same.
“Whenever my husband discussed rebel plans with his men, he would send the servants away and have me wait on them.”
She refrained from telling FitzAlan of her other sources of information.
“Your husband trusted you.”
She shook her head. “ ’Twas more that he never considered I would act against him.”
“How soon after your marriage did you begin spying for the prince?”
“I did not think of it as spying, not at first,” she said as she guided her horse around a rabbit hole in the path. “I would tell him bits of news I happened to hear. I gave him nothing truly useful until just before the Battle of Shrewsbury.”
“What was that?”
“I learned Glyndwr was leading a Welsh army in the direction of Shrewsbury, to join Hotspur’s forces,” she said. “So I sent an urgent message to the prince to warn him.”
Hotspur, in his usual headlong fashion, had moved his army so quickly that neither his father nor the Welsh could get to Shrewsbury before the king engaged his army there. Hotspur’s death in the Battle of Shrewsbury ended the first Percy conspiracy.
Thinking of that now, she asked, “Why do you think the king did not take more retribution against Northumberland after Shrewsbury?” She and Prince Harry had discussed this many times, but a Northerner might have a different perspective.
She was letting her curiosity get the better of her again. FitzAlan, however, did not chastise her.
“Northumberland was too powerful,” he said. “Since he had not taken up arms with Hotspur at Shrewsbury, the king could wait. Northumberland was growing old. Hotspur’s death should have put an end to his ambitions.”
It had not. Only this spring, Northumberland was involved in a second conspiracy to remove Henry from the throne. This time, he barely escaped into Scotland with his life.
“They said the messages the prince received were anonymous,” FitzAlan said, turning the subject back to her.
“The prince knows my script, so I never took the risk of signing or using my seal.”
“When did Rayburn cross over to the rebels?” he asked.
“ ’Tis difficult to say,” she said, looking off at the horizon as she thought. “For a long time, he played both sides. He provided funds and information to the rebels but would not risk meeting with them.”
“Until yesterday,” FitzAlan said in a flat tone. “When, thanks to you, we captured him.”
Just yesterday! A single day since she waited in her bedchamber for news of Rayburn. She shook her head. So much had happened since. For a time this afternoon, she’d forgotten how her life was tied to the stranger riding beside her.
She thought she could like this William FitzAlan, if she did not have to be married to him. Already, he had shown her more kindness and respect than Rayburn ever had.
She would put off her marital duty for as long as she could. For once he took her to his bed, she might not like him nearly so well.
Chapter Five
Catherine’s tight-lipped expression made William want to pound his fists on the table in frustration. No matter how congenial their conversations during the day, each evening she grew withdrawn. Four days—and four long nights—he had waited to consummate this marriage.
And yet, she remained as skittish as ever.
He went riding with her each afternoon, though he had no time for it. While it was good for the tenants to see their new lord riding his lands, his first priority was the castle. He did not know when he would be called to fight again, so he was working feverishly to shore up its defenses.
Ross Castle would be safe before he left it.
He was equally determined to consummate this marriage. With luck, Catherine might conceive a child before the king sent him off chasing rebels through Wales for weeks on end.
And so he went riding. He hoped the ease that was growing between them during their afternoon sojourns would lead her to accept him as her husband at night.
So far, it had not.
At first, he brought Jamie along on their rides to please her. To his surprise, he found he enjoyed the child’s company.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he recalled how Jamie had leapt on his back and pounded at him when he first arrived. After the violence of their initial meeting, Jamie took to him quickly. In sooth, William liked the way the boy pulled at his sleeve and chattered away at him.
Aye, he and young Jamie got along just fine. If only the boy’s pretty mother took to him half so well.
Busy as he was, all he could think of was bedding her. He imagined her delicate fingers running down his belly, her warm breath in his ear, her soft skin under his hands. Four days wed, and he had not even seen his wife’s breasts! Lord, how he wanted to. He swallowed hard and looked at her again.
Seeing how she clutched her goblet for dear life, he had no reason to hope tonight would be different. And yet, he did.
He stood and held out his arm to her. He was not amused by the looks his men exchanged. It was early to retire, but he
did not care. He was done with waiting.
As soon as they reached the solar, she fled into her bedchamber with her maid.
“Come sit with me when you have finished preparing for bed,” he called after her as the door closed in his face.
His irritation rising, he stalked into his own bedchamber to undress.
“Good evening, m’lord.” His manservant’s voice startled him from his thoughts. It had slipped his mind that Thomas had arrived today and would be waiting to help him undress.
“I hope you did not look at your new bride like that,” Thomas remarked as he knelt to remove William’s boots.
William gave him a quelling look. “Just because you have served me since I was twelve does not mean you can say what you will,” he said, though they both knew Thomas could speak his mind with impunity.
William pulled his tunic over his head and threw it in Thomas’s direction. Unperturbed, Thomas snatched it from the air and waited for the shirt to follow. Showing his usual good sense, Thomas helped William into his robe and left the room without another word.
William washed his face and hands in the basin of water Thomas left for him. Frustrated, he ran wet fingers through his hair.
Surely Catherine must be ready by now.
The solar was empty, so he called her name outside her chamber door. Getting no reply, he eased the door open. God grant him patience. His wife was sitting on the trunk at the foot of her bed, wringing her hands as if waiting to be taken to her execution.
As he stepped into the room, she gave a startled yelp and jumped to her feet. He might have laughed if his heart did not feel so heavy. When he noticed the maid cowering in the corner, he jerked his head toward the door. It gave him some small satisfaction to see her scamper out like a frightened mouse.
“M’lady wife, I have told you I will not harm you,” he said in a quiet voice. He held his hand out to her. “Come, let us sit and talk.”
Hesitantly, she came to him and took it; her fingers were icy cold. He led her to the window seat in their solar. After handing her a cup of warm spiced wine, he sat beside her. To calm her, he talked about what he accomplished that day. Then he asked her advice about the stores that would be needed to withstand a long siege.
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