“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.
