She sat up straight. “A letter from William? What does he say?”
Glyndwr leaned forward and tapped his forefingers against his pursed lips before answering. “FitzAlan offers a large monetary ransom.”
Catherine closed her eyes. God be praised! After the utter bleakness she had felt since arriving at Harlech, she was afraid of the hope that sprang inside her.
Her voice quavered as she put the question to Glyndwr. “Will you take the ransom my husband offers?”
Glyndwr’s expression was hard now. He was no longer father, but prince.
“I will send another message, reiterating my price,” he said, his voice stern. “If Prince Harry still does not comply, I have a commander who would benefit from having a wife with the political skills he lacks.”
Glyndwr was no fool, so she wondered how he believed he could have her marriage annulled.
“I am considering recognizing the French pope in Avignon.”
His words struck her like a thunderbolt. God chose Saint Peter’s successor on Earth. A ruler who supported the alternative pope risked damnation not only for himself, but also for all his people. Even in her shock, Catherine was awed by Glyndwr’s boldness.
“I will demand concessions in return, of course,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Independence for the Welsh church. A guarantee that only men who speak Welsh will be appointed bishops and priests. The end of payments to English monasteries and colleges.
“It would be a small matter to add a request for the annulment of one marriage.” He turned and focused his eyes on her again. “Particularly when that marriage was made without proper banns and on the very day of the first husband’s murder.”
Cold fear gripped her heart. As a last resort, she could reveal her pregnancy. Surely even the French pope would not grant an annulment if he knew she was with child.
Catherine paced her chamber, as she often did since her conversation with Glyndwr. If she could only have something to give her hope!
She jumped at the knock on her door. Opening the door a crack, she saw that one of her guards wanted to speak to her.
“Prince Glyndwr requests your presence in the hall this evening,” the young man said. “He wants you to enjoy the music of the traveling musicians who’ve just arrived.”
“Thank you, I will come.” She closed the door and leaned against it.God, please, let it be Robert.
That evening, she sat at the table, every muscle taut, waiting for the musicians. Even having Rhys Gethin sit beside her—and, God help her, share a trencher with her—could not divert her. When the musicians finally came into the hall, she nearly burst into tears.
Robert had come. With his dazzling good looks and striking blond hair, he stood out like a white crane in the midst of crows.
Robert did not let his gaze fall on her directly, but she knew he saw her, too. She wanted desperately to talk with him, to hear news of home. But how could they find a way to meet with guards dogging her every step?
She listened through the long evening for a message or a signal of some kind. It finally came in his last ballad, a familiar song about secret lovers. As Robert sang the final refrain in which the man asks his beloved where she will meet him, he put his hands together as if in prayer and glanced in her direction.
Catherine put her hands together and nodded, hoping she understood his meaning.
Her guards had spent many hours standing in the doorway of the chapel while she prayed. They were not surprised, then, when she told them she wished to go there before retiring to her chamber. She caught the annoyed look that passed between them, but they could hardly complain that their prisoner prayed too much.
She was on her knees on the cold stone floor for an hour before someone in priest’s robes entered. She glanced over her shoulder to be sure her guards’ soft snores were not feigned.
Robert sank to his knees beside her.
“Before you ask,” he whispered close to her ear, “William, Jamie, and Stephen are all well, though they miss you.”
“Praise God,” she said, crossing herself. “You cannot know how glad I am to see you! How did you find me?”
“There is no time to tell you now. We must be brief. Do you know if Glyndwr plans to keep you here at Harlech? Will he accept William’s ransom?”
“Glyndwr yet holds a thread of hope that Harry will secure his son’s release.” She reached for Robert’s hand. “When he loses that hope, it will be still worse for me.”
Robert held a finger to his lips, and she realized her voice had risen in her distress.
“Glyndwr says he will have my marriage to William annulled,” she whispered. “He talks of marrying me to one of his men—to Rhys Gethin! Robert, I cannot bear it!”
