The last thing he saw before he slammed the door was Catherine standing in the middle of the room with her hands over her face, weeping. Weeping for her dead lover.
What a fool he had been to trust her.
Edmund and Stephen jumped back as William stormed past them down the steps of the keep. William was in such a fury that he did not even seem to see them. But Stephen, who missed nothing, saw the slow smile on Edmund’s face. And he wondered why.
Chapter Sixteen
Catherine was too upset after her disastrous conversation with William to venture from their rooms. An hour before supper, Alys came to find her.
“M’lady,” Alys said, giving her a quick curtsy, “there is a group of minstrels at the gate. The guards want to know if they may let them in. As Lord FitzAlan has gone hunting, I told them I would ask you.”
“Do we know these troubadours?”
“Aye, we do! We’ve enjoyed their music many a time.” Alys frowned and tilted her head. “I believe the last time was not long before Lord FitzAlan came to us.”
Aye, Catherine knew them. One of them she knew very well, indeed.
“Do say yes, m’lady. It will help make up for not having musicians at your wedding feast.” With barely suppressed excitement, Alys added, “And they always bring news, traveling as they do.”
“That they do,” Catherine agreed. “I shall tell the guards to open the gates myself.”
As she and Alys crossed the bailey toward the main gate, she heard Stephen call her name. She turned to see him running headlong down the steps from the castle’s outer wall.
“There are traveling musicians at the gate!” he said as he fell into step beside her.
“I swear, Stephen, you hear news faster than anyone in Ross Castle,” she said, shaking her head. “No secret could be kept from you for long.”
She looked at him sideways without slackening her pace. “How do you do it?”
She meant it as a rhetorical question, but Stephen answered.
“I make friends with the servants, fetch drinks for the guards.” He paused, then added, “And I listen.”
“Behind doors?”
Stephen would not lie to her, but he opened his eyes wide with feigned innocence.
“Have a care,” she scolded. “One day you may hear something you should not, and it could cost you dearly.”
When they reached the gate, she recognized the faces and colorful clothing of the band of troubadours. For longer than she could remember, this troupe had come to Ross Castle and received warm welcome here. She recalled how her mother loved the ballads, especially the “chansons d’amour.”
She signaled to the guards to raise the portcullis and stepped forward, calling, “Welcome! Welcome!” She greeted each man with a smile as they bowed to her in turn.
Robert Fass kissed her hand and gave her a rakish grin. The devil looked as handsome as ever with his sea-green eyes and unfashionably long blond hair.
Robert joined the troupe three years before. No one knew where he came from, nor would he say, but he could mimic any accent and spoke French, English, and Welsh equally well. And he had a voice to make the angels cry.
The female angels, at least.
She’d seen serving women trip over sleeping dogs, because they could not take their eyes off him. She sighed and shook her head. They would fight for his favors, and the hard feelings would cause her trouble for weeks to come.
From hints Robert gave, highborn ladies took him into their beds as often as the maids did. She suspected that was how he got his best information.
She was anxious to have a private word with him. With Stephen’s sharp ears close by, it was not possible to talk now. She would have to wait and seek him out later.
Catherine could feel William’s anger as he sat stiffly beside her at supper. He barely spoke, and not a word to her.
Fine. She was angry, too. Her disappointment in him dragged her spirits down as much as his hostility.
