“We shall see,” Robert said, giving his characteristic shrug. “I have only heard a whisper of it.”
A whisper in bed, no doubt.
Robert’s gaze shifted from her face to fix on something behind her. She whirled around, alarmed that someone may have overheard their conversation.
She was relieved to see it was only William. When she turned back to Robert to make the introductions, Robert was several paces away and heading for the door.
“I shall find that supper now, Lady FitzAlan,” he called out just before the door banged closed.
Robert had experience with hasty exits.
William was almost blind with rage. He let the troubadour go. For now. Fists clenched at his sides, he stepped forward to confront his wife. He stopped just inches from her, not daring to touch her for fear of what he might do.
“Is he Jamie’s father?” he demanded. “The man you would have me believe is dead?”
She looked up at him with eyes as blue and innocent as periwinkles. He was torn between wanting to shake her until her teeth rattled and howling out in pain.
“What?” she said, as if she had not heard him. “Jamie’s father? I did not even know Robert then.”
Her response did nothing to calm him.
“So Jamie’s father was not your only lover?” He thought his head would explode from the pressure. Enunciating each word distinctly, he said, “How many have there been, Catherine? I want their names.”
He could see she was frightened now, but she stood her ground.
“I took no lover, save for the one I told you about,” she said, looking him in the eye. “And only the one time.”
The thought nagged at him that she would not have been so inexperienced if the two had been lovers. He sincerely doubted there would be much left to teach a woman after she’d been with the troubadour.
“Swear to God,” he demanded. “Swear to God you have not lain with him.”
She became calmer, as if she saw a means of escape.
She grasped the cross at her neck and said in an unwavering voice, “I swear before God and all that is holy, I have not lain with him.”
He did not know what to believe. While the bard had been singing, William pictured the two of them together, naked and entwined. Any doubts he had were swept away when he saw them, touching and whispering, alone in the dark corridor.
But, she swore before God. Either Catherine was telling the truth or she did not fear even God’s wrath.
“If you speak the truth,” he said, “then what reason could you have for whispering in secret with him?”
“I—”
“Now that you know a man can give you pleasure, you want to try another. Is that it? Confess, you were planning a tryst with him!”
“I would not! Robert behaves that way to tease me, truly. ’Tis a game to him.”
“A game to seduce my wife?” he shouted. “I swear, I shall tear him limb from limb.”
He brushed past her, charging for the door, but she grabbed his arm and clung to him.
“Do not touch him, William,” she pleaded. “He is innocent.”
“Innocent, you say?” he said, incredulous. “There is not a man alive who would believe that troubadour is innocent.”
In a quieter voice, he asked, “But what of you, wife? Am I to believe you are innocent? What explanation can you give for what I saw here?”
“That is what I must tell you, if you will but listen,” she said. “Robert gave me news of the French. We must send word to the king at once.”