Catherine looked at him in horror. “If you think to make me a widow, you underestimate my husband. He is a skilled fighter.”
“You are right to praise FitzAlan’s skills,” Glyndwr said, unperturbed. “I was disappointed when Northumberland could not persuade him to join our cause. But I was not speaking of FitzAlan’s death—only of an annulment of your marriage.”
“That is not possible,” she said, feeling herself color. “Our marriage was consummated.”
Glyndwr dismissed this difficulty with a wave of his hand.
They rode in silence for a time. Then, with seeming indifference, he asked, “Are you with child?”
She sensed it was to ask this single question that Glyndwr chose to ride with her today. Without pausing a heartbeat to consider her response, she looked directly into his eyes and said, “Sadly, I am not.”
She was getting better at lying all the time.
“Good, then an annulment is possible,” he said, but Catherine did not think he was pleased by her answer.
Harlech Castle served as both Glyndwr’s court and his base of military operations. With the fighting season over and the autumn rains setting in, the castle was crawling with soldiers with little to do. Catherine was not left unguarded for a moment.
Guarding her must be a singularly tedious assignment. She spent most of her time alone in her chamber or praying in the chapel. Since she could not bear to feel The Fierce One’s eyes on her while she ate, she rarely took her meals in the great hall. Besides, observing Glyndwr’s happy family life only served to make her feel more despondent.
She had been at Harlech a week when she was summoned to the great hall for an audience with Glyndwr. Here in his court, Glyndwr maintained the outward trappings of his princely status. She bowed low before a severe-looking Glyndwr dressed in ermine-trimmed robes and sitting on a gilded throne.
“Lady FitzAlan, I have received Prince Harry’s reply to my ransom demand,” he announced. “He advises me that the king will not release my son in exchange for your safe return.”
Since Glyndwr’s son was blind and could not fight, Catherine thought the king was only keeping him for spite.
“It is as I expected, Your Grace,” she said in a low voice. “I am sorry he will not return your son.”
“I believe you are,” Glyndwr said, his eyes softening.
He came down from the dais and led her to sit with him before the roaring fire in the hearth.
“I served with King Henry in Scotland twenty years ago,” Glyndwr remarked. “He was just ‘Bolingbroke’ then.”
“I believe he has changed a good deal since then—since he gained the throne,” she said, throwing caution to the wind.
Glyndwr raised an eyebrow and nodded for her to continue.
“These rebellions have made our king mistrustful.” She ventured a sideways glance at him. “And unforgiving. He will not show mercy, even when it costs him nothing.”
Was it wise to speak of her king like this to Glyndwr? Was it treason? She did not know, but she wanted to give Glyndwr the truth with regard to his son, if nothing else.
“If you wish to have your son back, you must give the king something he holds very dear.” She gave him the only suggestion she had. “He would exchange Gruffydd for Harlech.”
Glyndwr shook his head. “You know I cannot put my son above the interests of my people.”
“Then your best hope is to arrange for Gruffydd to escape,” she said. “It has been done before. Perhaps you could bribe a guard?”
“My son was blinded for his first attempt to escape,” Glyndwr said. “I would not have him risk so much again.”
Catherine looked away from the pain she saw on the great man’s face.
“When Harry takes his father’s place,” she said in a quiet voice, “I am certain he will pardon your son and release him.” It was a paltry offering.
“I fear Gruffydd will not survive long in the Tower.”
They sat in silence, staring at the fire.
After a few moments, he said, “Prince Harry enclosed a letter from your husband with his message.”