When they reached Milford Haven, the French soldiers and horses were loaded onto the ships waiting in the harbor. After the ships disembarked, Glyndwr disbursed most of his army. The fighting season was over. Only a core contingent of men rode north with them along the west coast.
Catherine’s breath caught at the sight of Aberystwyth, a magnificent castle with concentric walls built in the shape of a diamond on the very edge of the roiling sea. It was one of the iron ring of fortresses Edward I built around the perimeter of Wales to demonstrate English power over the subjugated Welsh.
After little more than a hundred years, Aberystwyth was crumbling under the assault of pounding sea, wind, and rain. Catherine looked around as they rode into the castle’s huge outer bailey. The main gate and drawbridge were falling down, but its rings of thick walls still made it formidable. Glyndwr had been able to take it only because King Henry diverted men to fight the Scots and left the castle inadequately defended.
From the moment they turned north, Catherine had feared Glyndwr would bring her here—or worse, to Harlech Castle. Her chances of escape or rescue from either were dismal. Still, they were better here at crumbling Aberystwyth than at Harlech.
When Rhys lifted her from her saddle, she held her breath against the smell of him. She tried not to show how much it distressed her to have him touch her.
She slept that night in a chamber high in a tower overlooking the sea. The guards outside her door seemed an unnecessary precaution. Tense and uneasy, she barred her door and fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the shore.
In the morning, a maid came to help her dress and to tell her she would ride with Prince Glyndwr today. Aberystwyth, then, was not their final destination.
When Gethin helped her mount her horse, she noticed he did not smell quite so bad and that someone had made an attempt to brush his clothes. Silent as usual, he escorted her to where Glyndwr waited.
“I was going to send you to France,” Glyndwr said as they rode out the gate heading north.
Catherine nearly gasped aloud. England’s conflict with France was unending. If she was taken there, she might be held for years and years.
“I want to go home,” she said, “but I prefer the wild beauty of Wales to France.”
“Then you can thank Rhys Gethin, for he was adamant I keep you here. He mistrusts our French allies.”
“So, where are you taking me?”
“To Harlech Castle, where I live with my family.”
Her heart plummeted.
“Your King Edward—may he rot in hell—did not make the mistake he made at Aberystwyth by building Harlech too near the sea.” There was pride in his voice as he added, “There was never a castle better built for defense.”
Prince Harry said the same of Harlech.
“There will be gowns and the other things you need at Harlech. I am sorry I neglected to provide better for you, but I did not foresee I would have a lady traveling with my army.”
Gowns were the least of her concerns.
“You managed the rough travel well,” he said with an approving glance. “Gethin says you are made of tougher stock than your first husband. But then, he thought even less of Rayburn than he does of our French allies. He dislikes men who betray their own.”
He signaled to the nearest men to ride farther back.
“Rhys Gethin has made a request of me,” he said. “If King Henry refuses to release my son, he wants me to give you to him to be his wife.”
Catherine could not have been more stunned.
Of all the objections she could make, what she said was, “But the man dislikes me!”
“Nay, he is captivated.” Glyndwr smiled with rare amusement. “He surprises us both.”
“Does he not have a wife?”
“She died many years ago,” Glyndwr said. “He did not seem to mind the lack of one until now.”
No doubt he terrorizes the serving girls,Catherine thought to herself.
“But, Your Grace, I am already married.”
“If King Henry will not yield what I ask, I may relieve you of your husband.”
