Thank heaven the musicians were here to provide a diversion. She sincerely regretted her decision to delay the surprise until the end of supper.
She waited until the last course of stewed fruits, sugared nuts, tarts, and cakes was brought to the table. At her nod, two servants posted at the entrance swung open the massive doors. The troubadours swept into the hall in a burst of song to the music harp and flute.
The hall erupted in cheers and clapping.
As she hoped, the musicians provided the household a welcome respite from the tedium of waiting for the next major confrontation with the rebels. Even William seemed to put aside his ill humor and enjoy the music for a time.
That was short-lived, however.
Robert stood to give the final ballad and waited until the room fell into a hushed silence.
“I sing this song for the fairest lady of the Marches.” Robert bowed low in her direction and gave her that wicked smile of his.
She could have throttled him.
He settled back onto his stool and took up his harp. The moment he began to sing, she forgot her annoyance with him.
From the first note to the last, no one made a sound to interrupt the soaring voice that filled the room. They hung on every word as he sang. It was a well-known ballad, a sad tale of a young man’s undying love for a beautiful maid. As she listened to the familiar words, Catherine closed her eyes and let the music take her into the story.
Her eyes flew open as the words of the final verse came to her. In horror, she listened to Robert sing of the maid being forced to wed another. His voice filled the hall with the young man’s lament: He must meet his love in secret, and his child will have another man’s name.
William clenched his fist around his eating knife so tightly his knuckles were white. She did not dare steal a glance at his face. His rage was so palpable that it made her skin prickle.
The sudden, jubilant applause brought her attention abruptly back to the musicians. As Robert took his bow, he caught her eye and gave her another devilish grin. Could the fool not see William was ready to take him by the throat?
She left the table before the applause died. In the corridor just outside the hall, she found the musicians chatting and putting away their instruments.
“A wonderful performance!” she said. “Cook has supper waiting for you in the kitchens.”
She grabbed Robert’s arm as he attempted to file out behind the others. When he put his hand over hers, she snatched it back.
“Must you embarrass me?” she said in a harsh whisper.
Robert threw his head back and laughed. “Most women are flattered when I sing a love song to them. It’s your annoyance that makes it so irresistible.”
“You had best find a way to resist, or my new husband may murder you! How is it that no husband has killed you yet?”
“I usually take care not to look at the married women when I sing love songs—if their husbands are present.” He winked at her. “But tonight I could not help myself.”
“I tire of your jokes, Robert.” Chastising him was useless, and she wanted to talk of other matters. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “Tell me, what news have you?”
All humor left his face. “A French army is expected to land on the southwest coast of Wales, at Milford Haven, within the week.”
“What!” The French had taken so long in meeting their promise to Glyndwr that she had ceased to believe they would come at all. “How many men do they bring?”
“I cannot say for certain, but it is a large force. Perhaps as many as twenty-five hundred men.”
Catherine was so dismayed that Robert put his hand on her shoulder to soothe her. “From what I hear of FitzAlan, you can trust him to defend Ross Castle. Praise God, you no longer have that worthless scum Rayburn for a husband.”
“I am forever grateful to you for taking my messages to the prince.” With less warmth, she added, “You know the extent of my gratitude, for you take great advantage of it.”
“I mean no harm.” His smile was gentle this time.
“I know,” she said, touching his hand where it rested on her shoulder. She knew that beneath his flirting and joking, he felt a genuine friendship for her.
“There is more,” he said, lowering his voice again. “The French do not come just to help Glyndwr take the castles in South Wales. They intend to march into England itself.”
“No.” Catherine put her hand to her chest. “They would not dare!”
