“I know Rhys Gethin is a fearless and skilled commander,” the prince continued, “but what is he like as a man?”
For the first time, Catherine seemed reluctant to answer.
“Gethin is a rougher man than Glyndwr or the Tudors,” she finally said, looking away from the prince as she spoke. She paused, then said, “I thought him the most dangerous of all.”
Keeping her eyes focused on some distant point, she said, “Glyndwr threatened to have my marriage annulled by the false pope so he could wed me to Rhys Gethin.”
So Gethin was “The Fierce One.” The blood pounded in William’s head at the thought of her being treated like chattel and traded for favors.
“Glyndwr let Maredudd Tudor take me from Harlech to remove me from Gethin’s sight,” she said. “He feared Gethin might carry me off to be ‘married’ by a village priest with a knife pricking his back.”
“So Glyndwr wanted to protect you from Gethin?” the prince asked.
“It was more that Glyndwr would not permit Gethin to force his hand,” she said with a rueful smile. “You see, Glyndwr had not yet decided what to do with me.”
A chill went up William’s spine as he thought of how close he had come to losing her. Catherine’s pale, pinched face told him the discussion of Rhys Gethin had distressed her as well.
“My wife is tired,” he said before Prince Harry could press her with more questions.
“Forgive me, Kate,” the prince said, hopping to his feet. He dropped his gaze to her belly for the briefest moment and blushed faintly. “I did not realize how long I droned on.”
The prince was a leader of armies, a battle-hardened commander. It was easy to forget he was also a young man of eighteen, inexperienced in other ways.
Catherine touched his arm and smiled up at him. “I am not ill, Harry, only with child.”
“You feel well, then?” he asked in an uncertain tone.
“In sooth, I feel extremely well these days,” she said, her smile broadening. “So much better than the first weeks, when I was nauseous and bone-tired.”
From the look on the prince’s face, this was more than he wanted to hear. He bid Catherine a quick good night and excused himself to speak to his men.
William’s stomach clenched as he thought of Catherine, ill with her pregnancy, traveling hundreds of miles over rough roads. Sleeping out of doors in the rain and mud, for God’s sake. As long as he lived, he would never forgive himself.
Stifling an urge to carry her, he helped her to her feet and escorted her up the stairs. Once he had her in their bedchamber, he resolutely ignored her protests and tucked her into bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his knuckles against her cheek. “I am sorry I was not there to protect you or ease your discomfort.”
“I do not blame you,” she assured him, but he could not accept her absolution for his gross failure.
“I also apologize for suggesting you could have helped bring about your capture.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, weighing the sincerity of his words. After a long moment, she said, “I want to know who gave me up, William. Someone did. Someone told the rebels I was going to the abbey that day.”
She could not absolve him, but perhaps she had given him a means to partially redeem himself.
“I will do my best to find the man who betrayed you.”And make him pay dearly for her suffering.“I’ll question everyone in the castle and the village again.”
“Ask about the tenant Tyler,” she said. “I always suspected he carried messages to the rebels for Rayburn.”
If Tyler had a hand in this, he will not see another sunset.
William kissed her forehead and left her to rest.
Back in the hall, he and Prince Harry talked by the hearth until late, going over the information Catherine had shared.
“What a woman!” the prince said, shaking his head and grinning.
“Aye,” William agreed quietly.
