Without a word, Thomas brought him a rich dark brown cotehardie and matching hose to wear. He then helped William into a rust-colored houppelande that fell to the knee. Its wide sleeves were slit from below the elbow to the shoulder to show the cotehardie beneath.
“Is this not a bit dull, Thomas?” Noblemen were typically outfitted in more colorful attire.
“I thought dullness might be an advantage today, m’lord.”
“Thomas—” he began to shout, but winced when it gave him a blinding flash of pain.
“You want to give the appearance of quiet dignity.” Thomas pursed his lips and nodded. “Aye, the penitent look of a pilgrim would be best.”
“Enough, Thomas.”
He did not think Thomas would show such disapproval over mere drunkenness, but he could not fathom how the man could know of his other behavior. Then he remembered the maid he had sent scurrying from Catherine’s bedchamber.
He raised his arms as Thomas fastened the rich jeweled belt Northumberland had given him low on his hips. So, he was to have a touch of finery after all.
“Where is she?” It hurt his dignity to ask Thomas, but the sooner he found Catherine and tried to make amends, the better.
“Who, m’lord?”
“You know very well who.” William ground his teeth, which only aggravated his pounding headache. “My lady wife. Where is she?”
“I do not know, sir,” Thomas replied with annoying calm. “She certainly would not have informed me.”
“Get my boots so I may go find her,” William said, wanting to throttle the man.
“You will need these,” Thomas said, bringing him his tall leather riding boots.
“What? She has left the castle?” William asked. “I thought you did not know where she was.”
“I don’t,” Thomas replied as he helped William into the tight boots. “But I did hear she left on horseback late in the night.”
“What?” William shouted. “When was this?”
“I understand she left not long after you went to bed, m’lord.” Thomas’s voice was rich with unstated meaning.
William pulled the man up by his tunic until they were nose to nose. “Where has she gone?”
Thomas remained unruffled. “I suggest you ask the housekeeper.” As though it was an afterthought, he added, “I heard old Jacob accompanied your lady.”
“What other escort did she take?” William asked.
“None but Jamie.”
God help him, she rode out into the night with only an old man as escort. It was madness.
He stormed down the stairs to find Alys. Was it his obscene behavior that drove Catherine to go, or had she planned to sneak away to join her lover all along?
He would find her and bring her back, prince or no prince.
He found Alys in the kitchen, consulting with the cook. “Now,” he ordered, pointing toward the open door.
After exchanging glances with the cook, Alys followed him out.
“Alys, if you value your life, you will tell me where she was meeting Prince Harry.”
“Prince Harry?” Alys pinched her brows together. “What are you asking, m’lord?”
“I know she has gone to meet him.” He was so angry he could have shaken the woman, if it would have done any good. “Where are they?”
“She would not trouble the prince, what with the rebellion and all.” She made it sound as if he was accusing Catherine of rudeness rather than adultery. “Nay, she sought refuge elsewhere.”
Refuge.
He threatened and cajoled. It was only when he gave Alys his solemn promise he would not harm Catherine that she finally told him where his wife had gone. When he heard it, the blood drained from his head.
Good God, he had driven his wife to a nunnery.
Chapter Eight
When they pounded on the abbey gates in the middle of the night, Abbess Talcott asked no questions and calmly ordered a guest room to be made ready. This morning, she sat patiently while the three ate their breakfast. As soon as they finished, however, she sent Jamie off with a young novice to feed the animals. One look from the abbess and Jacob made his own exit.
Catherine sat across from the abbess now in her personal parlor. It was clear the older woman would be put off no longer. The abbess poured sweetened wine and let the silence between them grow as she waited for Catherine’s explanation.
Abbess Talcott had been a close friend of Catherine’s mother. Like her mother, the abbess had come from one wealthy family and married into another. When her husband died leaving her with no children, she announced her intention to take vows and lead the quiet life of a nun. She backed up her intention with the gift of a substantial portion of her lands to the church. That gift was how she came to be the head of this fine abbey straddling the Welsh-English border.
After recounting the events of the past two weeks, Catherine told her of FitzAlan’s drunken attack on her the night before.
“So you see,” Catherine finished, tilting her chin up, “I had no choice but to flee.”
If she expected words of sympathy from the abbess, she was to be disappointed.
“Let me review what you’ve told me, Mary Catherine,” the abbess said, fixing Catherine with direct eyes. “This FitzAlan agreed to marry you to save you from imprisonment—or worse. He did this knowing little about you, except that you spied on your first husband and helped bring about his death.”
The abbess pursed her lips and tapped a forefinger against her cheek. “He is either a brave man or a foolish one.
“The king granted your lands to FitzAlan, whether or not he married you,” the abbess continued. “As I see it, the man gained nothing from this marriage, save for the honor of rescuing an innocent woman—or rather, a possibly innocent woman—from the Tower.”
The abbess took a sip of her wine. “A chivalrous gesture, I must say. And all he expected from you was that you share his bed and provide him an heir—what any wife is expected to give her husband.”
As the abbess put it, her behavior did not seem as justified as she knew it to be.
“But, m’lady Abbess—” she began, but stopped when Abbess Talcott put her hand up, commanding silence.
“You entered into the marriage contract and yet you have refused the man your bed. You are not an underage girl, my dear. When you did not willingly submit, he would have been within his rights to force you. Instead, he was kind and patient with you, beyond all reasonable expectation.”
This time, Catherine could not help interrupting to defend herself. “But he was senseless with drink when he came to me last night!”
The abbess arched one eyebrow. “Few new husbands would wait so long without turning to drink.”
Catherine looked down at her hands, twisted in the skirt of her gown. “When he came to me like that, I could only think of Rayburn.”
She stilled her hands and lifted her head to meet the abbess’s eyes. “I cannot live like that again. I will not. I’ve come to ask your permission to take vows and remain here at the abbey.”
The abbess patted Catherine’s knee. In a kinder tone, she asked, “Did FitzAlan harm you, my dear?”
Catherine shook her head. “But I feared he would.”
The abbess sighed. “Mary Catherine, you cannot punish FitzAlan for the sins of your first husband.” Under her breath, she added, “May God punish him throughout eternity.
“Do you understand what FitzAlan has done for you?” the abbess pressed. “What would happen to your son if you went to the Tower?”
“Must you remind me?” Catherine asked.
“Jamie would be taken from you. As you have no close male relative, he would be placed under the guardianship of someone unknown to him—someone likely to feel burdened by the care of a traitor’s son.”
Catherine did not want to hear this.
“FitzAlan could have sent your son away. Instead, you say he is kind and affectionate to the boy.” The abbess’s tone had a sharp e
dge of exasperation now. “You are foolish if you do not recognize this for the great gift it is.
“You know what you must do,” the abbess concluded. It was not a question. “Return to your husband, ask his forgiveness, and fulfill the vows you made before God.”
The abbess poured them both more wine and gave Catherine time to mull over what she had said. When the chapel bell rang to call the nuns for Terce, Catherine expected to be dismissed. But the abbess was not finished with her yet.
“Since your good mother is not here to advise you…” The abbess hesitated, as if unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “I will tell you, most men are not like Rayburn.”
The abbess cleared her throat and began again. “It may be hard for you to believe now, but many women find happiness in the marriage bed. It can be… joyful.” Her eyes were moist as she patted Catherine’s hand. “You must let yourself be open to it.”
The quiet of the abbey was suddenly broken by the clatter of horses’ hooves and the discordant sound of men’s voices. The two women rushed to the window overlooking the courtyard to see what was causing the commotion below.
Catherine drew in a sharp breath. “It is Lord FitzAlan.”
A half-dozen men on horses accompanied FitzAlan, but Catherine could look at none but him. The courtyard seemed to reverberate with his presence as he circled, his horse prancing and tossing its head. He was hatless. The late morning sun showed the hard planes of his face and glinted on the sun-lightened streaks of his bronze hair.
William must have sensed them watching, for he looked up then with an expression so fierce Catherine gripped the abbess’s arm for support. He kept his eyes fixed on her as he dismounted, threw his reins at one of his men, and strode purposefully toward the entry below.
A high-pitched sound came from the back of her throat. Frantically, she looked about the room for a means of escape.
“This way.” The abbess stepped briskly to the opposite wall and opened a narrow door hidden by the paneling. “Wait in the chapel until I send for you,” she said, motioning for Catherine to hurry. “Pray that God grants you the strength to do your duty—and the wisdom to be thankful for his blessings.”
As soon as Catherine had made her escape, FitzAlan burst in through the other door. He looked sharply around the room before bringing his gaze to rest on the abbess.
A nun stepped around him, giving him wide berth. “My Lady Abbess, I tried to stop him and ask his business here, but—”
“It is all right, Sister Matilde,” the abbess said, staring down the tall, well-muscled man filling her doorway. “If this is Lord FitzAlan, I have been expecting his visit.”
Belatedly recalling his manners, FitzAlan made a low bow. “M’lady Abbess, I am Lord William Neville FitzAlan. I hope you will forgive me for interrupting you.”
Ignoring him for the moment, the abbess sent a second trembling nun for honey cakes and more sweet wine. Since propriety did not permit her to be left alone with a man, she directed Sister Matilde to take a seat at the far end of the room, where the nun could not easily overhear their conversation.
Only then did she gesture to FitzAlan to sit in one of the ornately carved chairs she had brought to the abbey from her home. She permitted herself some minor comforts here in her private parlor, where she received guests from the outside world.
The abbess took more than a little satisfaction in knowing that her black robes intimidated even the most powerful men. FitzAlan was no exception. He looked distinctly uncomfortable—and not just because the chair was far too small for his frame.
She suppressed a smile. Now that he had blustered his way in, it was apparent FitzAlan had no notion what to do next. He kept clasping his hands, as if about to speak. The gesture was familiar to her. Her husband had also been a man who found action easier than words.
She let him suffer, enjoying it to a degree that would require penance later. When a servant arrived with the wine and honey cakes, she took her time pouring.
“You’ve had a hard ride this morning,” she said at last, her voice dripping with false sympathy. She offered him the plate of honey cakes. “I thought perhaps you did not take time for breakfast.”
He rubbed his neck in growing discomfort. She was pleased to see he understood she was chastising him for stampeding through her gates and breaking the peace of the abbey.
“The cakes are warm,” she said, encouraging him to eat. She watched him choke down two, from either politeness or extreme hunger, and wash them down with the wine. She really must assign the baking to someone other than Sister Katrina.
Seeing no reason to delay any longer, she asked, “Did you know your wife came here asking to take vows and remain with us permanently?”
“The housekeeper said as much,” FitzAlan conceded.
His face colored in a most appealing way. She found herself beginning to like the man. Of course, she had noticed how handsome he was as soon as she laid eyes on him. Taking vows did not affect her eyesight.
“That an annulment could even be considered now suggests”—she paused deliberately—“relations are not as they should be between you.”
The young man choked and appeared to be trying to speak, but she held up her hand. “Of course, Catherine’s coming here in the middle of the night with only an elderly man as escort was quite sufficient to tell me that.”
FitzAlan looked mortified, another hopeful sign. By now, he probably realized his wife had related more of his behavior the night before than he would wish.
“I know I frightened her,” he confessed readily enough. “But I swear to you, I would never harm her.”
“I do not speak plainly to embarrass you, Lord FitzAlan.” It was only a partial falsehood. As it was in service of a worthy purpose, God would forgive her. “I have known Lady Catherine since she was a babe. Perhaps I can help you understand her.”
“I would be most appreciative, Lady Abbess,” FitzAlan said with a touch of desperation in his eyes.
“I understand you have been patient with Catherine.” Giving him a pointed look, she added, “For the most part.” It would not be wise to be too soft on the young man.
“I am not sure how much you know of her marriage to Rayburn.” She could barely say that horrid man’s name without spitting. “If Catherine’s mother had been alive, she would have been able to guide Catherine’s father and the king in choosing a better man to serve their purposes. Without her good influence, they chose a perfectly loathsome man who mistreated Catherine horribly.
“I, for one, was not surprised when Rayburn turned against the king.” The abbess hoped she did not sound as if she thought the king deserved to suffer for his bad choice, though she did.
“Catherine got her loveliness from her mother.” She sighed. “Before Rayburn, she had something more—a radiance about her, a light in her eyes. He took that from her.”
She was frustrated at not being able to describe it more clearly, but FitzAlan nodded as though he understood.
“I counsel more patience. Give her time to trust you, and she will be a good wife to you.”
“I want her to be content with me,” FitzAlan said, “for the sake of our children, as much as for me.”
Abbess Talcott sensed from the way he said this that he wanted something for his children he had not had himself. Aye, she was pleased with him. Very pleased, indeed.
“If you can bring that spark back into her eyes, I promise she will bring you joy—and many children.” She hoped she had not winked at him, but old habits die hard.
“My wife’s coming here could have caused difficulties for you and the abbey,” FitzAlan said. “I apologize for that.”
The abbess nodded. “I could not have allowed her to remain here. In her haste, Catherine forgot the king gave her but two choices—and one of them was not joining a nunnery.”
The abbess signaled to Sister Matilde, who rose immediately and went to speak to someone just outside the door.
A few mom
ents later, they heard light footsteps coming up the stairs. FitzAlan got to his feet, but the abbess signaled for him to wait where he was. She stepped outside the open door and met Catherine at the top of the stairs.
“Tell me,” she asked in a low voice as she took Catherine’s hands, “have you decided to comply with your marriage vows and go with your husband?”
Catherine nodded, her eyes cast down.
“Surely, it is God’s will that you do.”
Though FitzAlan was only a few yards away, Catherine did not even glance in his direction.
“Your new husband seems to be an honorable man who cares for your happiness. A woman cannot ask for more.” His fine looks were certainly an added blessing, but the abbess did not say this aloud.
She embraced Catherine and took the opportunity to whisper in her ear. “I will soon learn what message the emissaries from the French court have brought to Owain Glyndwr.”
“You will send me news when you have it?” Catherine whispered back.
“Aye.” The abbess released her and said, “God bless you both.”
She turned and went down the stairs with Sister Matilde, leaving Catherine alone to face her husband.
Catherine clasped her hands together to control their shaking and entered the parlor. Unable to look into her husband’s face, she fixed her eyes on his boots and walked across the room to him. She’d practiced her apology in the chapel. But when she opened her mouth to give it, her throat closed.
William’s face was suddenly in her line of vision. The saints have mercy, he’d dropped to his knee before her. She could not read the deep emotion in his amber eyes, but she could not look away if she tried.
“I apologize for frightening you last night,” he said, enfolding her clasped hands in his. “I should not have come to you drunk… and… in that manner.”
The apology was so unexpected that she could think of no reply.
“But you did not need to leave,” he said more forcefully. “You had only to speak to make me stop.” A look of unease flitted across his face. “In sooth, you might have had to shout, but I did not intend to hurt you.”
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