She stood over him, breathing hard and holding her knife in front of her. When he started to push himself up, she made ready to stab him. His attempt was a feeble one, though, and he collapsed back onto the floor. Except for making occasional piglike snorts, he lay still after that.
Her only thought was to get away before he awoke.
She found her maid hovering outside the solar door. “Go fetch Alys and Jacob at once,” she said, shaking the woman’s arm. “And take care not to wake anyone else.”
She stepped cautiously around the large form sprawled on the floor. She stayed in her chamber only long enough to slip a gown over her head and grab her riding boots and cloak.
Alys and Jacob were waiting for her on the stairs.
“Fetch Jamie and meet me at the stables,” she whispered to Jacob.
As soon as Jacob had gone, she turned her back to Alys and held her hair up.
“What has happened, m’lady?” Alys whispered as she fastened the gown. “Where are you going?”
“Come, I must hurry.” Catherine took Alys by the hand and pulled her down the stairs.
She did not speak again until they were crossing the bailey in the pitch dark. “I am going to the abbey. I will ask Abbess Talcott to let me take vows and remain there.”
“But you cannot, m’lady,” Alys protested. “You have a husband.”
“I will seek an annulment.”
Jacob arrived at the stables just behind them with the sleepy boy in his arms.
“Let me take Jamie on my horse, m’lady,” Jacob said. “I can manage him better, if it’s a fast gallop you have in mind.”
Fortunately, the guards at the gate tonight were men who had long been in her family’s service. They asked only if she wanted more men for protection. When she refused, they followed her order to open the gate.
William lay very still, eyes closed, knowing any movement would worsen his already throbbing head. The carpet beneath his face was uncomfortably damp from his drooling. His mouth was gaping like a fish, so he closed it. It was as dry as dust. Still, he would have resisted the driving need to quench his thirst a while longer if he did not need to piss so badly.
He eased himself to his hands and knees, intent on making his way to the garderobe.
Looking around the room from his position on the floor, he tried to place where he was. In front of him was an open chest with gowns hanging over the sides in a jumble. He stared at the bed and the tapestry on the wall.
Catherine’s bedchamber. He was in Catherine’s bedchamber.
Bits of memory from the previous night came to him. He sat back on his heels and tried to recall the whole of it. He remembered drinking on the wall. And Edmund talking. A surge of anger made his head pound as he recalled Edmund advising him to turn a blind eye while the prince bedded his wife.
The anger was replaced by mortification as he recalled the sound of the chamber door banging against the wall and the sight of the two women cowering in their beds. Had he really come to her so drunk he could barely walk?
A feeling of longing swept over him as he remembered the feel of Catherine’s soft skin, warm from her bed. Then he recalled how roughly he had handled her. When she was finally ready, he had meant to be gentle with her. Instead, he had rubbed his hands over her as if she were a whore, unceremoniously pulled up her shift, and pushed her against the bed, ready to take her standing then and there.
He covered his face. God help him, he could not have behaved worse if he set his mind to it.
When he stumbled into his own chamber, he found Thomas had thoughtfully left a large cup of ale and bread slathered in salty pork grease. He poured water into the basin and washed the grime from his face and neck. He took his time, trying to think how to make his apology. No matter what she had done, it did not excuse his behavior. And, in the clear light of day, he had to admit she may not have done anything inappropriate with Prince Harry.
He looked down at himself. Well, at least he could attempt to look like a lord rather than a disheveled drunkard. Clairvoyant as usual, his manservant appeared at his door at that moment. Thomas, however, refused to meet his eye. Damnation, he did not need his manservant condemning him as well.
Without a word, Thomas brought him a rich dark brown cotehardie and matching hose to wear. He then helped William into a rust-colored houppelande that fell to the knee. Its wide sleeves were slit from below the elbow to the shoulder to show the cotehardie beneath.
“Is this not a bit dull, Thomas?” Noblemen were typically outfitted in more colorful attire.
“I thought dullness might be an advantage today, m’lord.”
“Thomas—” he began to shout, but winced when it gave him a blinding flash of pain.
“You want to give theappearanceof quiet dignity.” Thomas pursed his lips and nodded. “Aye, the penitent look of a pilgrim would be best.”