“Please, Marged, it comforts me to hold him,” Catherine said. “I miss my own son so very much.”
The two women watched the sleeping child in silence for a time.
“One thinks of beauty as an advantage in finding a good match for a daughter,” Catherine said, teasing her friend, “but I swear this boy of yours will marry up. Some wealthy widow will decide she must have him.”
Marged laughed. “He has his father’s charm as well as his looks, so God help the woman he sets his sights on. I only hope it is an heiress and not a milkmaid.”
Marged pulled a stool next to Catherine’s and pushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “Perhaps we will have good news soon. It’s been a fortnight since Maredudd wrote to Prince Glyndwr urging him to take your husband’s ransom.”
“What if Glyndwr tells Maredudd to take me back to Harlech?”
“Maredudd will find a way out before then,” Marged said in a soothing voice.
Catherine did not argue, but she did not expect Maredudd to defy his prince. Though Maredudd was fond of her, he would put his family first. She could not fault him that.
She rubbed her cheek against Owain’s head. “Do you think Jamie has forgotten me?”
“I am sure your husband speaks of you often,” Marged said. “The boy will not forget.”
Catherine did not share the other worry that plagued her. Had she been gone so long that William had stopped caring for her? Did he ever, truly, care?
“William wanted a child so very much, and he does not even know.” She shifted Owain on her lap so she could rest a hand on her belly. “I want to birth this child at home.”
“You’re not far along,” Marged said. “There’s plenty of time yet.”
“Are you coddling that boy again?” Maredudd called from the doorway. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Just as well he’s having a rest, for it will be a late night for all of us.”
He came over and shook Owain’s shoulder. “Owain! A troupe of musicians is here!”
Owain awoke wide-eyed and wiggled off Catherine’s lap.
“They’ve just come through the gate.” As Owain scampered off to look, Maredudd stooped to kiss his wife. “This should cheer up my beautiful ladies.”
“ ’Tis a long time since a troupe has come this far,” Marged said, smiling up at him.
“The musicians say they’ve traveled across the whole of Wales this autumn, so they should carry much news.”
Catherine closed her eyes to make a silent prayer. A moment later, the players entered the hall. Her prayer was answered. It took all the self-control she possessed not to run to Robert and throw her arms around him. His eyes held no surprise; Robert expected to find her here.
With her thoughts spinning wildly in her head, she did not hear Marged speak to her at first. She blinked at her friend, having no notion what she had asked.
Marged laughed and took her hand. “Come with me to talk with the cook. I want a special meal prepared for this evening.”
As Catherine got to her feet, Robert gave what was meant to be a casual glance in her direction. As good as he was, he stared a moment too long at her belly.
The Welsh loved music, and the Tudor household was no exception. They kept the musicians playing late into the night. Catherine sat through it as long as she could. When she could bear the strain no longer, she put her hand on her belly and whispered to Marged that she must go to bed.
In her bedchamber, she paced the floor. At long last, the music died and she heard the sounds of feet on the stairs and doors closing. The house finally settled into silence.
She never doubted Robert would learn which room was hers. When she heard the faint tapping she was waiting for, she unbarred her door and Robert slipped in.
“I was almost without hope,” she said into his shoulder as he held her. Leaning back, she asked, “Are they all well? William and the boys?”
“They are,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
“Where is William? Has he not come for me?”
“The devil could not keep him away,” Robert said. “He is waiting nearby, at Beaumaris Castle.”