Stephen nodded.
With a wry smile, William said, “Then perhaps I can have my wife back.”
They were quiet for a few moments; then Stephen said, “I can tell you what I want now.”
William raised his eyebrows. What was the boy talking about?
“In a bride. If you arrange a betrothal for me.”
William nodded, recalling the conversation.
Stephen cast a sideways look at Catherine sleeping soundly next to him on the bed.
“I want one like her—like your lady wife.”
Stephen’s grin was sheepish, but the sparkle in his eyes was anything but. And the boy was only twelve! William drew in a deep breath and shook his head. His wife was right. Stephen was the sort to get himself into trouble.
He made his decision.
“There is not another woman like Catherine, but I will do my best for you,” he promised. “I’ll send a message to your mother telling her you shall remain here at Ross Castle.”
Stephen’s smile grew wide at the news. William did not return the smile. It was time for the lessons to begin.
“Let this be the last time,” he said, tapping his finger against Stephen’s chest, “I find you in bed with another man’s wife.”
Chapter Fifteen
Stephen recovered his health quickly. He was a good-humored lad, and William enjoyed his company.
Truth be told, he felt more content with his new life with each passing day. He felt he had a family, with Catherine, Jamie, and Stephen. He was not sure how it happened, but he’d come to trust his wife.
He had even told her about Hotspur’s death at the Battle of Shrewsbury and what happened after. King Henry had had the grace—or perhaps the wisdom—not to ask William to fight against Hotspur that day. Instead, William was sent off to keep watch for the approach of Glyndwr’s forces. He returned in time to see Hotspur fighting his way through the melee. Hotspur killed two decoys dressed to look like the king and nearly reached the king himself before he was cut down.
Hotspur died a true warrior’s death.
William accepted that Hotspur should lose his life for taking up arms against the king. But he could not reconcile himself to what the king did after.
When the people refused to believe the famous warrior was dead, the king had Hotspur’s body dug up and drawn and quartered. On fast horses, the four parts were taken to be displayed in the four corners of the kingdom. The bloody head was delivered to Hotspur’s poor wife.
William did not change his allegiance, but he lost a large measure of respect for his king that day.
Hotspur never once spoke to him with warmth, never once acknowledged their blood tie. Yet, William had been plagued by guilt ever since Shrewsbury. Only after he spoke of the events with Catherine did those feelings ease. She seemed to understand both why he sided with the king and what the choice had cost him.
Catherine paced the solar, debating with herself. Now that she had badgered William into telling her all, she felt guilty for the one secret she kept from him. His fierce words to her at the abbey came back to her again and again.
I cannot abide deceit.
Though she had told him no lie, neither had she been fully honest with him. Was she wrong not to have faith in him? Not to believe he would understand? She rubbed her temples. She had a blazing headache.
She did not like to admit it, but there was another reason to tell William. Although she dismissed it at first, Edmund’s threat to discover her secrets nagged at her. What if someone had seen her that day? She did not think so, but it was possible one of the servants had been there in the hall. None of them would speak against her. But Edmund had already shown he could wheedle information out of them.
She jumped when the door opened.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
William’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “I like to visit my lady wife in the middle of the afternoon. I come often enough; I did not think to give you such a start.”
Catherine let out her breath and attempted to return his smile. “I am sorry. I was lost in my thoughts.”