They had had this argument many times before.
“It is over now, and I am safe,” she reminded him with a smile.
“It was a close thing. My father—” Harry stopped and seemed to struggle to rephrase his words. “The king was so angry with Rayburn that he was inclined to send you to the Tower, despite my arguments.”
The tension between the king and his heir was no secret. After criticizing Harry for being too weak when he was young, the king now appeared at times to consider him a threat. The king resented all the praise of Harry’s military successes and his popularity among the common folk. For Harry’s part, his innate sense of honor was violated time and again by actions his father took to retain power.
“ ’Tis a good thing FitzAlan chose to wed you.” Harry looked off into the distance, his face grave. “If the king had imprisoned you or permitted an ‘accident’ to befall you…” He sighed and squeezed her hand. “I have forgiven my father many things, but I could not have forgiven him that.”
They sat in silence for a time.
“FitzAlan seems to be a good man,” Harry said in a soft voice. “Can you be happy with him, Kate?”
“Happy?” she said, surprised at the question. She paused to consider it. “You would not want to stand in William’s way. But, beneath his fierceness, there is kindness in him.”
In sooth, there was much to like and respect about her new husband. She felt more at ease with him each day. Soon, she would trust him enough to go to his bedchamber, as he asked.
Luckily, William could follow the men’s conversation at the table with only half an ear. They talked, as they always did, of the Welsh rebels and their leader, Owain Glyndwr. For the hundredth time, he heard them complain of the rebels’ uncanny ability to strike and disappear into the woods. They made the usual uneasy jests about the claim that Merlyn, Arthur’s mythical magician, had returned to aid Glyndwr. William had heard it all before.
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.
