“And God answered you?” Glyndwr did not sound as though he thought it likely.
“Not clearly, no.” The distress in her voice was genuine.
“So you decided to tell me without the benefit of divine guidance. What is it, Lady FitzAlan? My time is short.”
Now for her lie.
“Part of the English army waits near Monmouth Castle.” She looked straight into his eyes and made herself believe it as she said it. “They plan to attack you from behind and cut your army off from Wales.”
After a pause, Glyndwr asked, “Who leads these men?”
“Prince Harry.” She knew from what he said in their first meeting that he respected Harry’s military skills.
“But the prince is here at Worcester,” Glyndwr said with a smile. “He is easy to pick out on the field.”
“Remember Shrewsbury?” she said, her tone challenging.
Anger flashed in his eyes. There were rumors Glyndwr arrived late at Shrewsbury and watched from the woods as the Northern rebel army folded.
“At Shrewsbury, the king employed decoys—knights dressed in the king’s armor and mounted on horses like his own,” she said. “Hotspur killed two of them before he was cut down.”
Catherine kept her eyes steady on Glyndwr as she told her next lie. “The prince uses the same device to fool you now. It was a false prince you saw today. The true one waits to cut off your retreat and attack you from behind.”
“Why should I believe you?” he said, his black eyes searching for the truth in her soul. “Why would you come to the rebel cause now, after what you did before?”
“I do not take the rebel side,” she said, on the firm ground of truth again. “But I do not want to have more blood on my hands, English or Welsh.”
“So you regret betraying your husband to his death?”
“No!” She blurted her answer without stopping to think.
He nodded, and she saw that the frankness of her response lent credibility to her story.
For a reason she could not explain, she wanted to give Glyndwr the truth about Rayburn, at least.
“Rayburn gave you no true allegiance, Prince Glyndwr,” she said in a quiet voice. “He would have sold you to the devil to save himself.”
“You tell me nothing I did not know.” With a bittersweet smile, he added, “In sooth, his lady wife would have been the better ally.”
He stepped closer to her. The penetrating look he gave her sent a shiver through her, but she could not look away from the intense dark eyes. There was a magnetism about this man. She understood Maredudd’s warning now. A woman might risk a great deal to be near a man who emanated such power, in the hope he might direct some of that dark passion toward her. She would have to be a brave woman, though.
“Please, let me go home,” she said. “I want to see my son.”
Glyndwr’s eyes went flat, and he looked away from her. “As do I, Lady FitzAlan. As do I.”
Guilt stabbed her for reminding him of his pain.
But she had told her lies well. She could only pray she had been right to tell them.
Chapter Twenty
The English commanders awoke to find the Welsh-French army had disappeared during the night. None could explain the unexpected withdrawal. William, for one, was glad to save his men to fight another day. No good could have come from the battle for the English. Even if they prevailed, the field would have been awash with English blood. The loss of men would have made them more vulnerable to the French, their real enemy.
However, it was hard to understand why the other army had withdrawn. A French-Welsh victory on English soil might well have forced King Henry to sacrifice his claim on Wales.
William bid the king farewell and headed for home. Prince Harry rode with him as far as Monmouth. Until it was certain the French were retreating all the way to their ships, the prince would remain in the Welsh Marches.
William had come to like Prince Harry well enough, but he was glad when they parted ways. He was tired of talking of military matters. Riding in blessed silence, he tried to resolve the mystery that was his wife.
