Knight of Desire (9 page)

She was glad Harry had those early years running wild at Monmouth, before his father usurped the throne. Being heir to the
throne, especially in such troubled times, was a heavy burden.

“You make a fine prince, dear Harry,” she said, squeezing his arm as they left the hall. “One day, you will make an even finer
king.”

“God grant my father many years,” Harry murmured.

They sat on a bench in the garden to talk.

“You should not have taken the risks you did,” he said, shaking his head.

They had had this argument many times before.

“It is over now, and I am safe,” she reminded him with a smile.

“It was a close thing. My father—” Harry stopped and seemed to struggle to rephrase his words. “The king was so angry with
Rayburn that he was inclined to send you to the Tower, despite my arguments.”

The tension between the king and his heir was no secret. After criticizing Harry for being too weak when he was young, the
king now appeared at times to consider him a threat. The king resented all the praise of Harry’s military successes and his
popularity among the common folk. For Harry’s part, his innate sense of honor was violated time and again by actions his father
took to retain power.

“ ’Tis a good thing FitzAlan chose to wed you.” Harry looked off into the distance, his face grave. “If the king had imprisoned
you or permitted an ‘accident’ to befall you…” He sighed and squeezed her hand. “I have forgiven my father many things, but
I could not have forgiven him that.”

They sat in silence for a time.

“FitzAlan seems to be a good man,” Harry said in a soft voice. “Can you be happy with him, Kate?”

“Happy?” she said, surprised at the question. She paused to consider it. “You would not want to stand in William’s way. But,
beneath his fierceness, there is kindness in him.”

In sooth, there was much to like and respect about her new husband. She felt more at ease with him each day. Soon, she would
trust him enough to go to his bedchamber, as he asked.

Luckily, William could follow the men’s conversation at the table with only half an ear. They talked, as they always did,
of the Welsh rebels and their leader, Owain Glyndwr. For the hundredth time, he heard them complain of the rebels’ uncanny
ability to strike and disappear into the woods. They made the usual uneasy jests about the claim that Merlyn, Arthur’s mythical
magician, had returned to aid Glyndwr. William had heard it all before.

He flicked his eyes to the doorway again. Catherine and the prince had been gone for the better part of an hour.

At the sound of a woman’s laughter, he leapt to his feet. Prince Harry and Catherine entered the room, arm in arm and smiling
into each other’s eyes. Someone tugged at William’s arm. Without taking his eyes off the pair, he shrugged the man off.

“William!”

“What is it?” he hissed, turning to find Edmund beside him.

“Do you want to find yourself in chains in your own dungeon, man?” Edmund said out the side of his mouth.

William turned his attention back to the couple. His blood pounded through his veins as it did on the verge of battle. Feeling
a hard jab in his ribs, he turned and glared at Edmund.

“You are looking at the Prince of Wales with murder in your eyes,” Edmund persisted in a low, urgent voice. “Some of his men
have taken notice.”

This time, William took heed of the warning. Glancing about, he saw the two knights watching him, their hands touching the
hilts of their swords. He relaxed his stance and smoothed his features, and the two knights did likewise.

He did not slip again. He maintained an easy, bored expression—even when Prince Harry drew his wife to a small table against
the far wall for a game of chess.

From the corner of his eye, he watched the two laughing and talking. Just when he was sure he could not feel more wretched,
their laughter died. They leaned across the table and spoke in low voices, their game forgotten.

Frustrated that he could not hear their words, he moved closer. His heart missed several beats as Catherine reached out to
touch the scar under the prince’s eye, where he had taken an arrow at the Battle of Shrewsbury. Despite the wound, he led
the attack on Hotspur’s flank.

The prince made a face and leaned back from her touch. “Please, Kate, I know it is hideous to look at.”

“Nay, it is not. That mark is a sign you are special to God, that he protects you,” Catherine said earnestly. “If it were
otherwise, that arrow surely would have killed you.”

Their exchange ended when William took position behind his wife and put a possessive hand on her shoulder. Feeling her body
tense at his touch, he clenched his jaw so tightly it began to ache.

The prince showed no sign of discomfort at being caught in the midst of an intimate conversation with another man’s wife.

“Becoming a prince must have made me a better chess player,” he said in a voice heavy with irony. “Lady Catherine is the only
one who has retained the ability to beat me.”

William had not bothered to observe the chess pieces before. Dropping his gaze to the table now, he saw that the prince’s
king was caught in the cross paths of Catherine’s bishop and queen.

“You win this time.” With a flick of his finger, the prince knocked his king on its side. Then he stretched his arms and added,
“But once is luck.”

“ ’Twas much too easy,” Catherine said, looking off to the side as though exceedingly bored. “Soon I shall find it too dull
to play with you at all.”

William was startled to hear her openly insult the prince. Before he could gather himself to say something to soften her words,
the prince guffawed and slapped the table.

“You shall regret those words, sweet Catherine,” Prince Harry said, his eyes gleaming. He began putting the pieces back into
place for another game. “This time, I shall humiliate you. Nay, I shall make you weep with remorse!”

The prince’s loud challenge drew the other men, and wagers were made. Observing the game, William could see that the two players
were well matched. Catherine fought hard, but this time it was her king that was toppled.

William pulled out his leather purse and paid coins all around. None, save him, had dared bet against the prince.

Catherine excused herself then, and the men settled into talk of war and rebels again. Without the distraction of his wife,
William’s usual interest in military matters returned. As they talked into the wee hours, he found he could not help liking
Prince Harry. He was so young and earnest. Yet, there was power in him, too. He was a man other men would follow.

William chastised himself for overreacting. Harry was an honorable man. He and Catherine were friends. William was slow to
see it, since he never had a woman friend. Even his lovers were not friends. Especially his lovers.

These finer thoughts left him as he came into the hall the next morning. Prince Harry and Catherine were already at table,
engrossed in conversation. When Catherine saw him, she murmured a greeting and went silent.

The prince, however, enthusiastically resumed their conversation of the night before.

“The Welsh rebels have only succeeded in taking control of most of Wales, because English forces have been divided,” the prince
said. “Now that the rebellion in the North is crushed, we shall turn all our attention to Wales.”

Prince Harry expounded at length upon his strategy for laying siege to the castles the rebels had taken in Wales. All William
wished to know, however, was what the prince and his wife had been talking about before he sat down.

It was not, he was certain, strategies for laying siege.

To his surprise—and growing annoyance—the prince did not take his leave after breakfast. He stayed for the midday meal, which
had even more courses than last night’s supper. Then, he suggested taking a ride around the lands surrounding Ross Castle.

God’s blood, would the man never leave?

William’s mood darkened further when Prince Harry dropped back to ride beside Catherine. He could hear their light chatter
and Catherine’s occasional laughter behind him. When he could take no more, he turned his horse and led the way back to the
castle.

He made a point of riding just in front of the pair. “Such a wicked girl you were,” he heard the prince say. “You were older
and bigger, yet you never once let me win.”

“It was skill, not size, that decided it,” she replied.

What on earth are they talking about?
William pulled his horse up and turned around to look at them.

“Then let us have a race now,” the prince said.

“Harry, I cannot!” Catherine protested. “I am a grown woman. You know I cannot.”

They were even with William now. Prince Harry turned away from Catherine to address him. “She—”

The moment the prince’s back was turned, Catherine spurred her horse and took off.

William could not believe it. Too stunned to move, he watched her ride so recklessly that he feared she would fall. She was
several lengths ahead when the prince took off after her. Soon, he streaked past her.

When William caught up to them at the gate, Catherine was shouting at her opponent. “If I did not have to ride in this cumbersome
gown, I would have won!” It was an outrageous lie, and the gleam in her eyes made it clear she knew it.

Prince Harry called out to William, “You are a fortunate man to have such a wife!”

Before William could get to Catherine, the prince had his hands on her and was lifting her to the ground. William came up
behind them in time to hear Prince Harry say in a low voice, “Will I ever find a woman like you, dear Kate?”

The good-byes were tedious. William was anxious for them to be done. At long last, the prince was mounted and headed out the
gate. And still, the man turned one last time to wave at Catherine. William ground his teeth as he watched her wave back.
When she wiped away a tear, he turned on his heel and strode off with no destination other than to be away from her.

A true knight did not murder his wife.

Catherine felt William’s eyes burning holes into her as she waved good-bye to Harry. When she turned, he was stomping off
as if headed for a fight. She had sensed his anger building since the chess games the night before. Fearful of aggravating
him further, she did her best to speak to him as little as possible.

What happened to the kindness she thought she saw in him? Just when she began to trust in it, the man turned back into the
furious warrior on the drawbridge.

To think she’d nearly convinced herself to go to his bed!

A
pparently, his lady wife was too despondent over the prince’s departure to show her face at supper. She sent word down that
she was not well and would not join them in the hall. The surreptitious looks his men exchanged when they thought he was not
looking only confirmed his fears.

William began to drink in earnest.

Irritated by the sight of the empty seat beside him, he grabbed a full pitcher of wine from the table and stomped out of the
hall. He was well into his cups when Edmund found him on the outer curtain wall, perched on the lower ledge of the crenellated
parapet.

He gazed out at the countryside in the fading light of the summer evening. “I have my own land now, Edmund,” he said, swinging
his arm in a wide arc. “And by God, isn’t it fair!”

Edmund grabbed William’s other arm. “This may not be the best choice of seats for serious drinking.”

“ ’Tis a fine spot,” William countered. “I’ve never seen better.” He tilted his head back and took another long drink from
the pitcher, ignoring how it spilt down his chin and neck.

Edmund leaned against the parapet. “Are you sharing?”

William turned the empty pitcher upside down. “We shall have to get more. I, for one, have not drunk nearly enough.”

Edmund let out a long sigh and shook his head. “William, William, William. You are not looking at how the situation is to
your advantage. If you consider it properly, you will see you have much to gain here.”