“I cannot give you more time,” William said, looking at her pale face and feeling guilty. “The wedding must take place today.”
She gave him no response but merely turned those startlingly blue eyes on him.
“I am known as a strong fighter and commander. Once you have the protection of my name, you will be safe,” he explained. “Even the king will not threaten you as he does now.”
He fixed her with unwavering eyes. “And no one will dare touch you once you carry my child,” he said, the words coming out hard, fierce, “for they know I would follow them to hell and back to take my vengeance.”
Catherine felt clearheaded as she sat in the steaming tub of water, sipping another cup of the hot broth Mary forced upon her. Remarkably, she’d fallen into a deep sleep after FitzAlan had left her. She felt much better for it.
She carefully reviewed her meeting with FitzAlan. His short bronze hair had been damp, and he looked freshly shaved. Without the blood and grime, he was a handsome man. He had a strong face, with broad cheekbones, a wide mouth, and hard amber eyes. He was tall and well built, with a commanding presence that made him seem much older than he probably was.
Aye, he was a handsome man. A very handsome man, indeed.
He wore a tunic of rich forest green that reached to his knees, with a dark gold cotehardie underneath. A jeweled belt rode low on his hips. The fine clothing did not disguise the warrior beneath. As he said, he was a soldier and commander other men feared.
Her mind went to his bald statement that she would be safe once she was known to carry his child. She quickly pushed aside the thought. She would marry this stranger to protect her son, but she could not think now about sharing his bed.
She recalled how he looked looming above her on the drawbridge. Despite the warmth of the water that enveloped her, she shuddered. In dealing with him, she would do well to remember the raging lion splattered with blood.
Alys burst into the room, bringing a rush of cold air with her.
“Are ye not dressed yet?” Alys said, wide-eyed. “Mary, what is wrong with you? FitzAlan’s pacing the hall like a caged bear.”
“Two hours to prepare for a wedding,” Mary grumbled as she held Catherine’s robe out for her.
Two hours to prepare for a marriage. Water streamed down Catherine’s legs as she stepped out of the tub.
“I laid out your best gowns on the bed,” Mary said as she wrung water from Catherine’s hair.
“This one is still your finest,” Alys said, wistfully running her hand over the finely stitched beading of the gown Catherine had worn to her first wedding.
“There’s no time to alter it,” Catherine said. While she was still slender, she had been slight to the point of frailty at sixteen. “The blue will do.”
“Ah, this one is lovely on you,” Mary said, picking up the gown and matching headdress made of intense blue silk with gold trim. “Your eyes look bright as bluebells in it.”
The two women worked fast, braiding, pinning, lacing, and prodding. When they finished, they cooed over the gown. It fit snuggly from the bodice to the decorative belt low on her hips, then fell in soft folds to the floor.
Her hair was still damp and itched under the heavy headdress. When she looked in the polished steel mirror Mary held for her, she was glad she wore the sapphire earrings and necklace. They had been her mother’s favorites.
The rumble of men’s voices rose to meet her as she descended the stairs. Catherine touched the necklace at her throat. She could do this. She must.
As she entered the hall, FitzAlan’s men seemed to turn to her as one. The cavernous room grew quiet.
From across the room, FitzAlan’s amber eyes fixed on her, freezing her in place. Her heart thundered as he strode toward her, his expression intense, determined. She felt a surge of sympathy for the men who faced him in battle. If she could have moved, she would have fled back up the stairs.
She tried to get her breath back as he bowed and took her arm.
Before she knew it, they had signed the marriage contract, said their vows, and followed the bishop across the bailey to the chapel in the East Tower. The bishop must have said the blessing and the Mass, though she heard not a word of either.
Numbly, she placed her fingers on her new husband’s arm and stepped out of the chapel. She shivered at the unexpected coolness and looked up to see that the sun had sunk below the line of the castle walls.
It was done. In a single day, she’d gone from being wife to widow to wife again. Her heart seized as she realized she had not even told her son.
She was unsure what would happen next. She stole a glance at FitzAlan but could read nothing from his stern expression.
As they reentered the hall, Alys appeared at her side. “The wedding feast is ready to be served.” With a roll of her eyes, she added, “Such as it is.”
“And Jamie?” Catherine whispered, her throat tight.