“I do not like this business of taking a woman from her home and family,” Marged said, shaking her head. “Until you can be returned to your own home, I want you to be comfortable in ours.”
“I appreciate your kindness,” Catherine said. “And thank you for the use of this gown.”
“I am afraid yours could not be saved,” Marged said. “I gave it to one of the servants to cut for rags.”
“Good. I never want to see it again.”
“You must call me Marged. We must not be formal, since you may be our guest for some weeks.”
“Weeks?” Catherine sank onto the bench beside Marged.
Marged patted her arm. “If it were up to my Maredudd, this would be resolved quickly. But Glyndwr… well, you know what he thinks. These foolish men! Just looking at you, I can see you are not the kind of woman to commit adultery.”
Catherine wondered how but did not ask.
“Still, I will admit,” Marged said, “when I first laid eyes on you yesterday, you gave me quite a fright.”
Catherine could not help but laugh. “You should have made me wash in the yard!”
“That is not what I meant,” Marged protested. “You looked like a wood nymph with your hair all wild about you and that lovely face of yours. I thought my husband had the gall to bring home a mistress!”
Catherine looked at her, startled.
“But Maredudd let me know last night how much he missed me,” Marged said, her eyes twinkling. “I should have known, but a woman needs to be shown sometimes.”
Marged paused to wave a servant over with a platter of food for Catherine. “Maredudd was worried bringing you on such a hard journey, but he was afraid to leave you at Harlech.”
Catherine raised her eyebrows. “He thinks Glydnwr would harm me?”
“Of course not,” Marged said. “But he says that if Prince Glyndwr discovers you are with child, he will never agree to release you.”
“Maredudd knows I am with child?”
Marged laughed. “You were sick in the morning. ’Twas the same with me when I carried Owain.”
“Why would Glyndwr not let me go if he knew?” The answer came to Catherine even before Marged spoke.
“To hold the prince’s lover as hostage is one thing; to hold the prince’s son is quite another,” Marged said. “In exchange for the only child of the heir to the English throne, Glyndwr might ask anything—even an independent Wales.”
“But this is not Harry’s child!” Catherine closed her eyes and put her head on the table.
“Glyndwr would want to believe it was,” Marged said, resting her hand on Catherine’s back. “And that is what matters.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Catherine, where are you?
William stared across the distance, as if he could find her if only he looked hard enough. From the top of this hill, he could see across the border into Wales. He rode out here when he needed to be alone.
As the weeks passed, he began to fear he might never get her back. He was a man of action. The frustration of waiting wore his nerves raw. There were days when foolish action seemed better than none, and he rode out blindly into Wales.
Other days, he lost himself in regret and self-recrimination. He made promises to God. If God would return his wife to him, he would protect her always. If God would grant this one request, he would do whatever it took to make her want to stay.
Things remained cool between him and Edmund. Although Edmund seemed to sincerely regret all he’d said about Catherine, the sight of him reminded William of how quickly he himself had questioned her loyalty. In sooth, Edmund had done little more than express the same doubts he had. All the same, William spent more of his time with Stephen and Jamie these days. He liked to keep the boys close.
He took Stephen with him whenever he went to the abbey to hear the cryptic messages Robert sent to the abbess through the hands of monks, musicians, and itinerant workers. The messages relayed Robert’s journey as he trailed Catherine along the south coast of Wales, then north to Aberystwyth. Their hopes soared when, at long last, he sent word he had found her—then fell again when they read she disappeared again.
It was almost December. There had been no word from Robert for weeks.