Knight of Desire (10 page)

Even drunk as he was, William understood the direction of Edmund’s remarks.

Edmund held up his hands. “Do not get angry with me. I am just looking out for your interests.”

He should stop Edmund now. Instead, he waited to hear Edmund confirm the ugly suspicions that had been playing in his head
since the prince’s arrival.

“Young Harry is not the first royal to find himself desperate to have another man’s wife in his bed,” Edmund said. “Kings
have been known to provide titles and riches to a husband who will turn his head and forgo his rights for a time.”

Edmund took his lack of response as permission to go on.

“From the hungry way he looks at her, I don’t believe he’s had her yet,” Edmund said in a thoughtful tone. “The arrangement
will be worth a good deal more to you when he is king. Rumor has it the king is ill, and Harry may be on the throne before
the year is out. It would be best to make him wait, if she can manage it, but I would not count on it.”

He should encourage his wife to manage the prince’s “interest” to his own advantage?
The rage that roared through him was so great he could not speak. He feared he might lose his reason and murder Edmund on
the spot.

“You cannot expect the prince’s interest to last long once he has had her, especially with all the great families thrusting
their daughters under his nose,” Edmund continued, oblivious to the danger he was in. “When he is done with her, you can take
her back… or not.”

Blithely, he gave William his final word of advice. “If you want to be sure your heir is your own blood, you’d better get
her with child now, before the prince takes her to his bed.”

In one motion, William surged up, lifted Edmund off his feet by the front of his tunic, and threw him hard against the parapet.
The man was lucky William did not toss him over it. Without looking back, he stormed down the walkway and took the steps down
the side of the wall two at a time.

He would see this wife of his, and he would see her now.

She played her first husband false. Why did he think she would not do the same with him? What had made him so ready to believe
the tale of Rayburn’s violence against her? She had played him for a fool, all the while saving herself for her lover.

She acted like a frightened, untouched virgin with him. But she’d shown no fear with Harry. Even through the haze of drink,
he knew what bothered him most was her obvious affection for the prince. He thought of how she stood so close to the prince,
smiled at him, touched his face. It tore him apart.

He would show her what a man could give her, and she would never want that boy again.

As he made his way up the stairs to their rooms, the steps seemed to shift under him several times. He found the solar dark
and empty, but there was a dim light under her bedchamber door. When he pushed it open, it made a very satisfying bang against
the stone wall.

Catherine and her maid sat up straight in their beds, staring at him. With the single word “Out!” he sent the maid scurrying
from her pallet. He barred the door behind her.

When he turned to face his wife again, she was standing beside the bed. Her hair fell in a tumble of golden waves over her
shoulders. With the candlelight behind her, he could see the outline of her body through the thin night shift.

God, but she was beautiful. And she was his.

Catherine jumped from the bed but got no farther. The drunken madman towered over her, huge and menacing. She struggled to
breathe against the rising hysteria closing her throat. Covering her face with her arms, she turned and cowered against the
bed.

Suddenly, he was behind her, his heavy weight pinning her against the bed. The hot breath on her neck, the smell of sour wine,
sent memories of Rayburn flashing through her head. She closed her ears to the man’s drunken mutterings so she would not hear
the vile things he said.

His hands were everywhere, rubbing up and down her sides and moving over her breasts. When he lifted her shift and moved his
hands over her bare buttocks and thighs, panic nearly paralyzed her. Desperation gave her the strength to pull herself along
the side of the bed to reach for the blade under her pillow. When she moved, he fell against the bed. Then he slowly slid
to the floor.

She stood over him, breathing hard and holding her knife in front of her. When he started to push himself up, she made ready
to stab him. His attempt was a feeble one, though, and he collapsed back onto the floor. Except for making occasional piglike
snorts, he lay still after that.

Her only thought was to get away before he awoke.

She found her maid hovering outside the solar door. “Go fetch Alys and Jacob at once,” she said, shaking the woman’s arm.
“And take care not to wake anyone else.”

She stepped cautiously around the large form sprawled on the floor. She stayed in her chamber only long enough to slip a gown
over her head and grab her riding boots and cloak.

Alys and Jacob were waiting for her on the stairs.

“Fetch Jamie and meet me at the stables,” she whispered to Jacob.

As soon as Jacob had gone, she turned her back to Alys and held her hair up.

“What has happened, m’lady?” Alys whispered as she fastened the gown. “Where are you going?”

“Come, I must hurry.” Catherine took Alys by the hand and pulled her down the stairs.

She did not speak again until they were crossing the bailey in the pitch dark. “I am going to the abbey. I will ask Abbess
Talcott to let me take vows and remain there.”

“But you cannot, m’lady,” Alys protested. “You have a husband.”

“I will seek an annulment.”

Jacob arrived at the stables just behind them with the sleepy boy in his arms.

“Let me take Jamie on my horse, m’lady,” Jacob said. “I can manage him better, if it’s a fast gallop you have in mind.”

Fortunately, the guards at the gate tonight were men who had long been in her family’s service. They asked only if she wanted
more men for protection. When she refused, they followed her order to open the gate.

William lay very still, eyes closed, knowing any movement would worsen his already throbbing head. The carpet beneath his
face was uncomfortably damp from his drooling. His mouth was gaping like a fish, so he closed it. It was as dry as dust. Still,
he would have resisted the driving need to quench his thirst a while longer if he did not need to piss so badly.

He eased himself to his hands and knees, intent on making his way to the garderobe.

Looking around the room from his position on the floor, he tried to place where he was. In front of him was an open chest
with gowns hanging over the sides in a jumble. He stared at the bed and the tapestry on the wall.

Catherine’s bedchamber. He was in Catherine’s bedchamber.

Bits of memory from the previous night came to him. He sat back on his heels and tried to recall the whole of it. He remembered
drinking on the wall. And Edmund talking. A surge of anger made his head pound as he recalled Edmund advising him to turn
a blind eye while the prince bedded his wife.

The anger was replaced by mortification as he recalled the sound of the chamber door banging against the wall and the sight
of the two women cowering in their beds. Had he really come to her so drunk he could barely walk?

A feeling of longing swept over him as he remembered the feel of Catherine’s soft skin, warm from her bed. Then he recalled
how roughly he had handled her. When she was finally ready, he had meant to be gentle with her. Instead, he had rubbed his
hands over her as if she were a whore, unceremoniously pulled up her shift, and pushed her against the bed, ready to take
her standing then and there.

He covered his face. God help him, he could not have behaved worse if he set his mind to it.

When he stumbled into his own chamber, he found Thomas had thoughtfully left a large cup of ale and bread slathered in salty
pork grease. He poured water into the basin and washed the grime from his face and neck. He took his time, trying to think
how to make his apology. No matter what she had done, it did not excuse his behavior. And, in the clear light of day, he had
to admit she may not have done anything inappropriate with Prince Harry.

He looked down at himself. Well, at least he could attempt to look like a lord rather than a disheveled drunkard. Clairvoyant
as usual, his manservant appeared at his door at that moment. Thomas, however, refused to meet his eye. Damnation, he did
not need his manservant condemning him as well.

Without a word, Thomas brought him a rich dark brown cotehardie and matching hose to wear. He then helped William into a rust-colored
houppelande that fell to the knee. Its wide sleeves were slit from below the elbow to the shoulder to show the cotehardie
beneath.

“Is this not a bit dull, Thomas?” Noblemen were typically outfitted in more colorful attire.

“I thought dullness might be an advantage today, m’lord.”

“Thomas—” he began to shout, but winced when it gave him a blinding flash of pain.

“You want to give the
appearance
of quiet dignity.” Thomas pursed his lips and nodded. “Aye, the penitent look of a pilgrim would be best.”

“Enough, Thomas.”

He did not think Thomas would show such disapproval over mere drunkenness, but he could not fathom how the man could know
of his other behavior. Then he remembered the maid he had sent scurrying from Catherine’s bedchamber.

He raised his arms as Thomas fastened the rich jeweled belt Northumberland had given him low on his hips. So, he was to have
a touch of finery after all.

“Where is she?” It hurt his dignity to ask Thomas, but the sooner he found Catherine and tried to make amends, the better.

“Who, m’lord?”

“You know very well who.” William ground his teeth, which only aggravated his pounding headache. “My lady wife. Where is she?”

“I do not know, sir,” Thomas replied with annoying calm. “She certainly would not have informed me.”

“Get my boots so I may go find her,” William said, wanting to throttle the man.

“You will need these,” Thomas said, bringing him his tall leather riding boots.

“What? She has left the castle?” William asked. “I thought you did not know where she was.”

“I don’t,” Thomas replied as he helped William into the tight boots. “But I did hear she left on horseback late in the night.”

“What?” William shouted. “When was this?”

“I understand she left not long after you went to bed, m’lord.” Thomas’s voice was rich with unstated meaning.

William pulled the man up by his tunic until they were nose to nose. “Where has she gone?”

Thomas remained unruffled. “I suggest you ask the housekeeper.” As though it was an afterthought, he added, “I heard old Jacob
accompanied your lady.”

“What other escort did she take?” William asked.

“None but Jamie.”

God help him, she rode out into the night with only an old man as escort. It was madness.

He stormed down the stairs to find Alys. Was it his obscene behavior that drove Catherine to go, or had she planned to sneak
away to join her lover all along?

He would find her and bring her back, prince or no prince.

He found Alys in the kitchen, consulting with the cook. “Now,” he ordered, pointing toward the open door.

After exchanging glances with the cook, Alys followed him out.

“Alys, if you value your life, you will tell me where she was meeting Prince Harry.”

“Prince Harry?” Alys pinched her brows together. “What are you asking, m’lord?”

“I know she has gone to meet him.” He was so angry he could have shaken the woman, if it would have done any good. “Where
are they?”

“She would not trouble the prince, what with the rebellion and all.” She made it sound as if he was accusing Catherine of
rudeness rather than adultery. “Nay, she sought refuge elsewhere.”

Refuge
.

He threatened and cajoled. It was only when he gave Alys his solemn promise he would not harm Catherine that she finally told
him where his wife had gone. When he heard it, the blood drained from his head.