“Please, God, protect them,” she prayed over and over.
For hours, she paced between the trunks of the cramped room. At long last, the gates were thrown open and the men rode back in, looking none the worse. There was no blood on their armor, no wounded comrades slung over their saddles.
She collapsed onto one of the trunks and put her head in her hands. There was still time. Before long, she heard a knock and Maredudd poked his head through the door.
She waved him in, impatient for news. “There was no battle today?”
He shook his head and sank wearily onto a trunk by the window. “God’s beard, this waiting is tedious.”
“Maredudd, you must ask for an audience with Prince Glyndwr for me,” she said. “There is something I must tell him.”
“God in heaven, what can it be? He is busy consulting with his commanders.”
Seeing her recalcitrant look, he sighed. “Perhaps I can tell him whatever it is you want him to know.”
“I must speak with him myself.”
Stifling another oath, Maredudd put his hands on his knees and hoisted himself up. “Your servant,” he said, sweeping her a low bow.
An hour later, a woman came to her room carrying a basin of water and a cloth.
“One of the Tudor men sent me. He says to tell you Prince Glyndwr will see you in an hour.”
The woman was no ladies’ maid. From her rouged lips and revealing bodice, Catherine suspected her usual duties involved providing service of quite a different sort.
The woman put her hands on her hips and looked Catherine up and down. “You’re a bit worse for wear, you are. Perhaps we can find you a clean gown in one of these trunks.”
Catherine glanced down at her bedraggled gown.
“Aye, let us take a look.”
The two women opened trunks and pawed through tunics, leggings, and shirts until they were both hot and red-faced. Near the bottom of one, they found an elegant silk gown of robin’ s-egg blue with delicate silver trim.
The woman helped Catherine into it. Though it was a bit tight through the bodice, it fit well enough. The woman stuck her head back in the trunk and popped back out, proudly holding up a matching headdress and slippers.
When Catherine was dressed and ready, her helper beamed at her, proud as a peacock. She gave Catherine a broad wink and said, “You look like a princess.”
Regal might be just what she needed for this performance, Catherine thought grimly as she started down the stairs. Maredudd was waiting for her at the bottom, just outside the entrance to the hall. When he caught sight of her, he ran his eyes over her from head to toe.
“I see conquering one prince is not enough,” he said in a low voice as she took his arm, “but you must set your sights on ensnaring a second.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she snapped.
“I warn you, our prince is no boy to do your bidding like young Harry,” he said, his tone serious. “Do not attempt to play games with him. Glyndwr will know if you tell him lies.”
The guards opened the doors, and she saw that the men inside were gathered around a large map rolled out on a trestle table. They turned to stare at her as she entered.
Glyndwr moved away from the others and motioned for her and Maredudd to join him by the hearth.
“What is it you wish to tell me, Lady FitzAlan?” Glyndwr asked at once. He was not a man with time to waste on pleasantries.
It seemed best to start with the truth.
“I have thought hard on what you said about the three hundred men who died because of what I did.” Her hands were sweating, but she kept them still. “I regret their deaths.”
Glyndwr waited, his gaze unrelenting.
“I fear many more men will die in this battle,” she said. “So I prayed to God, asking if it would be a sin to tell you what I know when it might prevent more bloodshed.”
