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“The Duke of Bedford.” Her father’s half smile suggested he was pleased. “His castle is within a day’s ride of London, and ’tis said that he has already found favor with King Henry and wields considerable influence in Parliament.”

The name meant nothing to her, but surely a man of such wealth, title, and influence could have his choice of bride. Why would he single her out?

“Have we met?”

Her father shook his head. “The Duke and I are distantly related, but our paths have not crossed since I attended his marriage to Lady Joan de Seville.”

Catrin realized she was clutching the arms of the wooden chair so tightly her fingers were hurting. She released her grip. “He’s been married before.”

“He has.”

She had no memory of her father attending the Duke of Bedford’s wedding. It must have occurred some time ago. “Unfortunately, the Duchess of Bedford was not blessed with good health,” her father continued. “They were married for several years before she died, but they had no children.”

Understanding came with painful clarity. “He desires a wife who will produce an heir.”

Her father inclined his head. “Given his title and land, that is something he has undoubtedly taken under consideration. Along with the pleasure of having female companionship in his older years.”

Catrin was beginning to feel sick. “How old is the duke?”

For the first time, her father looked uncomfortable. “He recently entered his fifty and first year.” She stared at him. No words would come. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “He would provide well for you, Catrin. You would want for nothing.”

“Except perhaps that which is of most value,” she said. “Do you truly believe that I could be witness to the love you shared with my mother and desire anything less for myself?”

Her father’s blue eyes met hers, and she saw understanding there. “I will not deny that your mother and I cared deeply for each other, and at the time we met, there was no reason to prevent an English nobleman from marrying the daughter of a Welsh nobleman. King Richard was on the throne, and he worked tirelessly to foster a good relationship with the Welsh.” Worry lines appeared across his brow. “I would wish the same for you, but circumstances are not what they once were. Already, there are signs that Henry will do all in his power to subdue the Welsh. Penal laws are being discussed in parliament that would ban a Welshman from bearing arms, obtaining senior public office, or purchasing property in England.”

“I am sorry for the Welsh,” Catrin said, “but I fail to see why such regulations would impact whom I should marry.”

“Those laws, if enacted, would also apply to any Englishman who married a Welsh woman.” Her father paused as though waiting for her to grasp the ramifications of what he had said. “Your mother was Welsh, Catrin. You have lived in Wales these past three years. The possible reprisal for any young nobleman wishing to take you to wife would be too great; he would be left unable to care for you.” His expression was somber. “I cannot allow your association with Wales to destroy your chance for a proper home.”

“But my father is an English nobleman,” Catrin said, unable to prevent the hint of desperation in her voice. “Surely that counts for something.”

He nodded. “Thankfully, it has proven enough for my distant cousin. Marriage to the Duke of Bedford is the best guarantee you have for a secure future.”

Catrin bit her lower lip, but it did little to prevent the trembling. “And so it is decided?”

“I have thought on this long and hard, child. ’Tis for the best.”

Her father’s mind was made up. She had not been summoned to his chamber to discuss the matter. Rather, she was here to be informed of what was to come. Keeping her head held high, she rose to her feet. “When is this marriage to take place?”

“The duke wishes to be wed in England before year’s end,” her father said. “He will come for you by Michaelmas.”

Three weeks. She’d been granted only three short weeks. The walls of her father’s chamber seemed to shift inward. Breathing was suddenly harder, and she knew she must quit the room while she still could. She managed a small nod. “If you will excuse me, Father.” Numbly, she moved to the door and lifted the latch.

“Catrin.” Her father’s voice was serious. She hesitated, and he spoke again. “I shall miss you sorely.”

“And I you, my lord,” she said. Then without looking back, she slipped out, pulling the door closed behind her.

She crossed the great hall, barely aware of the presence of the servants in the room. When she reached the arched entrance to the tower, she stepped into the darkness and glanced up the spiral staircase toward her bedchamber. With a muffled sob, she ran down the steps, away from her father and the marriage contract in his hands and away from her maid and the placating words she would offer.

Pulling open the door at the base of the tower, Catrin stepped into the courtyard. Thunder rolled in the distance. Rain was still falling, and growing puddles reflected the gray skies. A couple of soldiers stood at the entrance to the south gatehouse, their attention directed toward the barbican, and a thin cat slunk along the wall toward the kitchen. No one else was in sight. Catrin ran across the wet cobblestones to the stables on the other side of the inner ward. Yanking the wide door toward her, she stumbled inside.

From a nearby stall, Aldwin, the stablemaster, looked up from a horse he was checking. “Lady Catrin.”

He spoke quietly to the stableboy standing at his side before leaving the stall to approach her. Water was dripping off the hem of her gown and the end of her plait, but the stablemaster exhibited no surprise at her appearance or unexpected arrival. “You’re here to see Seren, I wager.”

Unable to trust her voice, she nodded, and the older man turned to lead her down the narrow aisle to a stall near the rear of the stables.

“He’ll be right glad to see you, my lady. Missed his ride today, he did.” He eyed the skittish young stallion as they approached. “This fool weather’s no good for man nor beast.”