He flicked his eyes to the doorway again. Catherine and the prince had been gone for the better part of an hour.
At the sound of a woman’s laughter, he leapt to his feet. Prince Harry and Catherine entered the room, arm in arm and smiling into each other’s eyes. Someone tugged at William’s arm. Without taking his eyes off the pair, he shrugged the man off.
“William!”
“What is it?” he hissed, turning to find Edmund beside him.
“Do you want to find yourself in chains in your own dungeon, man?” Edmund said out the side of his mouth.
William turned his attention back to the couple. His blood pounded through his veins as it did on the verge of battle. Feeling a hard jab in his ribs, he turned and glared at Edmund.
“You are looking at the Prince of Wales with murder in your eyes,” Edmund persisted in a low, urgent voice. “Some of his men have taken notice.”
This time, William took heed of the warning. Glancing about, he saw the two knights watching him, their hands touching the hilts of their swords. He relaxed his stance and smoothed his features, and the two knights did likewise.
He did not slip again. He maintained an easy, bored expression—even when Prince Harry drew his wife to a small table against the far wall for a game of chess.
From the corner of his eye, he watched the two laughing and talking. Just when he was sure he could not feel more wretched, their laughter died. They leaned across the table and spoke in low voices, their game forgotten.
Frustrated that he could not hear their words, he moved closer. His heart missed several beats as Catherine reached out to touch the scar under the prince’s eye, where he had taken an arrow at the Battle of Shrewsbury. Despite the wound, he led the attack on Hotspur’s flank.
The prince made a face and leaned back from her touch. “Please, Kate, I know it is hideous to look at.”
“Nay, it is not. That mark is a sign you are special to God, that he protects you,” Catherine said earnestly. “If it were otherwise, that arrow surely would have killed you.”
Their exchange ended when William took position behind his wife and put a possessive hand on her shoulder. Feeling her body tense at his touch, he clenched his jaw so tightly it began to ache.
The prince showed no sign of discomfort at being caught in the midst of an intimate conversation with another man’s wife.
“Becoming a prince must have made me a better chess player,” he said in a voice heavy with irony. “Lady Catherine is the only one who has retained the ability to beat me.”
William had not bothered to observe the chess pieces before. Dropping his gaze to the table now, he saw that the prince’s king was caught in the cross paths of Catherine’s bishop and queen.
“You win this time.” With a flick of his finger, the prince knocked his king on its side. Then he stretched his arms and added, “But once is luck.”
“ ’Twas much too easy,” Catherine said, looking off to the side as though exceedingly bored. “Soon I shall find it too dull to play with you at all.”
William was startled to hear her openly insult the prince. Before he could gather himself to say something to soften her words, the prince guffawed and slapped the table.
“You shall regret those words, sweet Catherine,” Prince Harry said, his eyes gleaming. He began putting the pieces back into place for another game. “This time, I shall humiliate you. Nay, I shall make you weep with remorse!”
The prince’s loud challenge drew the other men, and wagers were made. Observing the game, William could see that the two players were well matched. Catherine fought hard, but this time it was her king that was toppled.
William pulled out his leather purse and paid coins all around. None, save him, had dared bet against the prince.
Catherine excused herself then, and the men settled into talk of war and rebels again. Without the distraction of his wife, William’s usual interest in military matters returned. As they talked into the wee hours, he found he could not help liking Prince Harry. He was so young and earnest. Yet, there was power in him, too. He was a man other men would follow.
William chastised himself for overreacting. Harry was an honorable man. He and Catherine were friends. William was slow to see it, since he never had a woman friend. Even his lovers were not friends. Especially his lovers.
These finer thoughts left him as he came into the hall the next morning. Prince Harry and Catherine were already at table, engrossed in conversation. When Catherine saw him, she murmured a greeting and went silent.
The prince, however, enthusiastically resumed their conversation of the night before.
“The Welsh rebels have only succeeded in taking control of most of Wales, because English forces have been divided,” the prince said. “Now that the rebellion in the North is crushed, we shall turn all our attention to Wales.”
Prince Harry expounded at length upon his strategy for laying siege to the castles the rebels had taken in Wales. All William wished to know, however, was what the prince and his wife had been talking about before he sat down.
It was not, he was certain, strategies for laying siege.
To his surprise—and growing annoyance—the prince did not take his leave after breakfast. He stayed for the midday meal, which had even more courses than last night’s supper. Then, he suggested taking a ride around the lands surrounding Ross Castle.
God’s blood, would the man never leave?
William’s mood darkened further when Prince Harry dropped back to ride beside Catherine. He could hear their light chatter and Catherine’s occasional laughter behind him. When he could take no more, he turned his horse and led the way back to the castle.
He made a point of riding just in front of the pair. “Such a wicked girl you were,” he heard the prince say. “You were older and bigger, yet you never once let me win.”
“It was skill, not size, that decided it,” she replied.
What on earth are they talking about? William pulled his horse up and turned around to look at them.
“Then let us have a race now,” the prince said.
“Harry, I cannot!” Catherine protested. “I am a grown woman. You know I cannot.”
They were even with William now. Prince Harry turned away from Catherine to address him. “She—”
The moment the prince’s back was turned, Catherine spurred her horse and took off.
William could not believe it. Too stunned to move, he watched her ride so recklessly that he feared she would fall. She was several lengths ahead when the prince took off after her. Soon, he streaked past her.
When William caught up to them at the gate, Catherine was shouting at her opponent. “If I did not have to ride in this cumbersome gown, I would have won!” It was an outrageous lie, and the gleam in her eyes made it clear she knew it.
Prince Harry called out to William, “You are a fortunate man to have such a wife!”
Before William could get to Catherine, the prince had his hands on her and was lifting her to the ground. William came up behind them in time to hear Prince Harry say in a low voice, “Will I ever find a woman like you, dear Kate?”
The good-byes were tedious. William was anxious for them to be done. At long last, the prince was mounted and headed out the gate. And still, the man turned one last time to wave at Catherine. William ground his teeth as he watched her wave back. When she wiped away a tear, he turned on his heel and strode off with no destination other than to be away from her.
A true knight did not murder his wife.
Catherine felt William’s eyes burning holes into her as she waved good-bye to Harry. When she turned, he was stomping off as if headed for a fight. She had sensed his anger building since the chess games the night before. Fearful of aggravating him further, she did her best to speak to him as little as possible.
What happened to the kindness she thought she saw in him? Just when she began to trust in it, the man turned back into the furious warrior on the drawb
ridge.
To think she’d nearly convinced herself to go to his bed!
Chapter Seven
Apparently, his lady wife was too despondent over the prince’s departure to show her face at supper. She sent word down that she was not well and would not join them in the hall. The surreptitious looks his men exchanged when they thought he was not looking only confirmed his fears.
William began to drink in earnest.
Irritated by the sight of the empty seat beside him, he grabbed a full pitcher of wine from the table and stomped out of the hall. He was well into his cups when Edmund found him on the outer curtain wall, perched on the lower ledge of the crenellated parapet.
He gazed out at the countryside in the fading light of the summer evening. “I have my own land now, Edmund,” he said, swinging his arm in a wide arc. “And by God, isn’t it fair!”
Edmund grabbed William’s other arm. “This may not be the best choice of seats for serious drinking.”
“ ’Tis a fine spot,” William countered. “I’ve never seen better.” He tilted his head back and took another long drink from the pitcher, ignoring how it spilt down his chin and neck.
Edmund leaned against the parapet. “Are you sharing?”
William turned the empty pitcher upside down. “We shall have to get more. I, for one, have not drunk nearly enough.”
Edmund let out a long sigh and shook his head. “William, William, William. You are not looking at how the situation is to your advantage. If you consider it properly, you will see you have much to gain here.”
Even drunk as he was, William understood the direction of Edmund’s remarks.
Edmund held up his hands. “Do not get angry with me. I am just looking out for your interests.”
He should stop Edmund now. Instead, he waited to hear Edmund confirm the ugly suspicions that had been playing in his head since the prince’s arrival.
“Young Harry is not the first royal to find himself desperate to have another man’s wife in his bed,” Edmund said. “Kings have been known to provide titles and riches to a husband who will turn his head and forgo his rights for a time.”
Edmund took his lack of response as permission to go on.
“From the hungry way he looks at her, I don’t believe he’s had her yet,” Edmund said in a thoughtful tone. “The arrangement will be worth a good deal more to you when he is king. Rumor has it the king is ill, and Harry may be on the throne before the year is out. It would be best to make him wait, if she can manage it, but I would not count on it.”
He should encourage his wife to manage the prince’s “interest” to his own advantage? The rage that roared through him was so great he could not speak. He feared he might lose his reason and murder Edmund on the spot.
“You cannot expect the prince’s interest to last long once he has had her, especially with all the great families thrusting their daughters under his nose,” Edmund continued, oblivious to the danger he was in. “When he is done with her, you can take her back… or not.”
Blithely, he gave William his final word of advice. “If you want to be sure your heir is your own blood, you’d better get her with child now, before the prince takes her to his bed.”
In one motion, William surged up, lifted Edmund off his feet by the front of his tunic, and threw him hard against the parapet. The man was lucky William did not toss him over it. Without looking back, he stormed down the walkway and took the steps down the side of the wall two at a time.
He would see this wife of his, and he would see her now.
She played her first husband false. Why did he think she would not do the same with him? What had made him so ready to believe the tale of Rayburn’s violence against her? She had played him for a fool, all the while saving herself for her lover.
She acted like a frightened, untouched virgin with him. But she’d shown no fear with Harry. Even through the haze of drink, he knew what bothered him most was her obvious affection for the prince. He thought of how she stood so close to the prince, smiled at him, touched his face. It tore him apart.
He would show her what a man could give her, and she would never want that boy again.
As he made his way up the stairs to their rooms, the steps seemed to shift under him several times. He found the solar dark and empty, but there was a dim light under her bedchamber door. When he pushed it open, it made a very satisfying bang against the stone wall.
Catherine and her maid sat up straight in their beds, staring at him. With the single word “Out!” he sent the maid scurrying from her pallet. He barred the door behind her.
When he turned to face his wife again, she was standing beside the bed. Her hair fell in a tumble of golden waves over her shoulders. With the candlelight behind her, he could see the outline of her body through the thin night shift.
God, but she was beautiful. And she was his.
Catherine jumped from the bed but got no farther. The drunken madman towered over her, huge and menacing. She struggled to breathe against the rising hysteria closing her throat. Covering her face with her arms, she turned and cowered against the bed.
Suddenly, he was behind her, his heavy weight pinning her against the bed. The hot breath on her neck, the smell of sour wine, sent memories of Rayburn flashing through her head. She closed her ears to the man’s drunken mutterings so she would not hear the vile things he said.
His hands were everywhere, rubbing up and down her sides and moving over her breasts. When he lifted her shift and moved his hands over her bare buttocks and thighs, panic nearly paralyzed her. Desperation gave her the strength to pull herself along the side of the bed to reach for the blade under her pillow. When she moved, he fell against the bed. Then he slowly slid to the floor.
She stood over him, breathing hard and holding her knife in front of her. When he started to push himself up, she made ready to stab him. His attempt was a feeble one, though, and he collapsed back onto the floor. Except for making occasional piglike snorts, he lay still after that.
Her only thought was to get away before he awoke.
She found her maid hovering outside the solar door. “Go fetch Alys and Jacob at once,” she said, shaking the woman’s arm. “And take care not to wake anyone else.”
She stepped cautiously around the large form sprawled on the floor. She stayed in her chamber only long enough to slip a gown over her head and grab her riding boots and cloak.
Alys and Jacob were waiting for her on the stairs.
“Fetch Jamie and meet me at the stables,” she whispered to Jacob.
As soon as Jacob had gone, she turned her back to Alys and held her hair up.
“What has happened, m’lady?” Alys whispered as she fastened the gown. “Where are you going?”
“Come, I must hurry.” Catherine took Alys by the hand and pulled her down the stairs.
She did not speak again until they were crossing the bailey in the pitch dark. “I am going to the abbey. I will ask Abbess Talcott to let me take vows and remain there.”
“But you cannot, m’lady,” Alys protested. “You have a husband.”
“I will seek an annulment.”
Jacob arrived at the stables just behind them with the sleepy boy in his arms.
“Let me take Jamie on my horse, m’lady,” Jacob said. “I can manage him better, if it’s a fast gallop you have in mind.”
Fortunately, the guards at the gate tonight were men who had long been in her family’s service. They asked only if she wanted more men for protection. When she refused, they followed her order to open the gate.
William lay very still, eyes closed, knowing any movement would worsen his already throbbing head. The carpet beneath his face was uncomfortably damp from his drooling. His mouth was gaping like a fish, so he closed it. It was as dry as dust. Still, he would have resisted the driving need to quench his thirst a while longer if he did not need to piss so badly.
He eased himself to his hands and knees, intent on making his way
to the garderobe.
Looking around the room from his position on the floor, he tried to place where he was. In front of him was an open chest with gowns hanging over the sides in a jumble. He stared at the bed and the tapestry on the wall.
Catherine’s bedchamber. He was in Catherine’s bedchamber.
Bits of memory from the previous night came to him. He sat back on his heels and tried to recall the whole of it. He remembered drinking on the wall. And Edmund talking. A surge of anger made his head pound as he recalled Edmund advising him to turn a blind eye while the prince bedded his wife.
The anger was replaced by mortification as he recalled the sound of the chamber door banging against the wall and the sight of the two women cowering in their beds. Had he really come to her so drunk he could barely walk?
A feeling of longing swept over him as he remembered the feel of Catherine’s soft skin, warm from her bed. Then he recalled how roughly he had handled her. When she was finally ready, he had meant to be gentle with her. Instead, he had rubbed his hands over her as if she were a whore, unceremoniously pulled up her shift, and pushed her against the bed, ready to take her standing then and there.
He covered his face. God help him, he could not have behaved worse if he set his mind to it.
When he stumbled into his own chamber, he found Thomas had thoughtfully left a large cup of ale and bread slathered in salty pork grease. He poured water into the basin and washed the grime from his face and neck. He took his time, trying to think how to make his apology. No matter what she had done, it did not excuse his behavior. And, in the clear light of day, he had to admit she may not have done anything inappropriate with Prince Harry.
He looked down at himself. Well, at least he could attempt to look like a lord rather than a disheveled drunkard. Clairvoyant as usual, his manservant appeared at his door at that moment. Thomas, however, refused to meet his eye. Damnation, he did not need his manservant condemning him as well.
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