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Authors: Margaret Mallory
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pounded on the prince’s shoulders, shouting, “Harry! Harry, put me down at once!”
The prince did as she commanded. “I am always happy to do the fair Catherine’s bidding,” he declared, giving her a dramatic
bow.
The prince turned and gave William a grin and a wink. “Truth be told,” he said in a loud whisper she was meant to hear, “your
lady wife was a tyrant as a child.”
The prince put his hand to his heart and gave an exaggerated sigh. “I was in love with her when I was a lad of seven. But,
alas, she was an older woman of ten and would not have me.”
The men crowded around them laughed. William did not.
Catherine stood too close to the prince, squeezing his hand, chatting at her ease. William would have given a good deal to
have her smile at him in precisely that way. Seeing her grace another man with it hit him like a blow to the chest.
He ceased to follow the words of their conversation, seeing only the affection and delight the two found in each other. Before
he knew it, the three of them were walking to the keep. Focused as he was on how tightly she held the prince’s arm, he almost
failed to notice that Prince Harry was speaking to him.
“If you would be so gracious as to put me and my men up for the night,” the prince was saying.
“It would be an honor.” William was surprised by how normal his voice sounded.
“Only one night?” Catherine asked.
“I am sorry, my dear Kate,” Prince Harry said, patting her hand on his arm, “but you know my time is not my own.”
My dear Kate?
The prince was talking to him again, but William could barely take in the words.
My dear Kate?
“The king wishes to know whether there have been rebel attacks in the area since your arrival at Ross Castle.”
He must have mumbled something appropriate, for the prince seemed satisfied.
William narrowed his eyes at Catherine. She was looking radiant in a close-fitting, rose-colored silk gown that flowed gracefully
as she walked. Had she dressed with particular care today? The prince had given no advance warning of his visit. At least
not to William.
Once inside the keep, Catherine sent servants scurrying in every direction to prepare rooms and refreshments. As soon as the
prince excused himself to change, William took his wife by the arm. He marched her into a passage just outside the hall, where
he could speak with her in private.
“You appear to know the prince quite well,” he said in a harsh whisper.
“We have known each other all our lives,” Catherine said, surprise in her voice. “You must know he spent his early years close
by, at Monmouth Castle. Our mothers were close friends.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, feeling foolish.
“William, I must speak with the cook now,” she said, clearly anxious to get back to her duties.
He could think of nothing else to say, so he let her go. At least she had called him “William” for once.
At supper, the prince chose to sit between William and his wife. And William chose to refrain from pushing his royal arse
onto the floor. It annoyed him further to see what the kitchen, under his wife’s direction, had produced on such short notice
for their royal guest.
William was heaping pheasant onto his trencher when he became aware that the eyes of everyone at the table were on him.
“What is your opinion?” the prince asked, leaning forward and looking at him expectantly. “Will they come this summer?”
Fortunately, it was easy to guess what the prince was asking. The question was on everyone’s lips: Would the French send an
army to support the Welsh?
“I cannot say,” William said, shrugging a shoulder, “but we must be prepared for it.”
“Aye, we must!” Without pausing, the prince began to speculate as to where the French might land their forces. Then he launched
into a discussion of how the English could then drive them out of Wales.
William should be glad for the opportunity to discuss
The prince did as she commanded. “I am always happy to do the fair Catherine’s bidding,” he declared, giving her a dramatic
bow.
The prince turned and gave William a grin and a wink. “Truth be told,” he said in a loud whisper she was meant to hear, “your
lady wife was a tyrant as a child.”
The prince put his hand to his heart and gave an exaggerated sigh. “I was in love with her when I was a lad of seven. But,
alas, she was an older woman of ten and would not have me.”
The men crowded around them laughed. William did not.
Catherine stood too close to the prince, squeezing his hand, chatting at her ease. William would have given a good deal to
have her smile at him in precisely that way. Seeing her grace another man with it hit him like a blow to the chest.
He ceased to follow the words of their conversation, seeing only the affection and delight the two found in each other. Before
he knew it, the three of them were walking to the keep. Focused as he was on how tightly she held the prince’s arm, he almost
failed to notice that Prince Harry was speaking to him.
“If you would be so gracious as to put me and my men up for the night,” the prince was saying.
“It would be an honor.” William was surprised by how normal his voice sounded.
“Only one night?” Catherine asked.
“I am sorry, my dear Kate,” Prince Harry said, patting her hand on his arm, “but you know my time is not my own.”
My dear Kate?
The prince was talking to him again, but William could barely take in the words.
My dear Kate?
“The king wishes to know whether there have been rebel attacks in the area since your arrival at Ross Castle.”
He must have mumbled something appropriate, for the prince seemed satisfied.
William narrowed his eyes at Catherine. She was looking radiant in a close-fitting, rose-colored silk gown that flowed gracefully
as she walked. Had she dressed with particular care today? The prince had given no advance warning of his visit. At least
not to William.
Once inside the keep, Catherine sent servants scurrying in every direction to prepare rooms and refreshments. As soon as the
prince excused himself to change, William took his wife by the arm. He marched her into a passage just outside the hall, where
he could speak with her in private.
“You appear to know the prince quite well,” he said in a harsh whisper.
“We have known each other all our lives,” Catherine said, surprise in her voice. “You must know he spent his early years close
by, at Monmouth Castle. Our mothers were close friends.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, feeling foolish.
“William, I must speak with the cook now,” she said, clearly anxious to get back to her duties.
He could think of nothing else to say, so he let her go. At least she had called him “William” for once.
At supper, the prince chose to sit between William and his wife. And William chose to refrain from pushing his royal arse
onto the floor. It annoyed him further to see what the kitchen, under his wife’s direction, had produced on such short notice
for their royal guest.
William was heaping pheasant onto his trencher when he became aware that the eyes of everyone at the table were on him.
“What is your opinion?” the prince asked, leaning forward and looking at him expectantly. “Will they come this summer?”
Fortunately, it was easy to guess what the prince was asking. The question was on everyone’s lips: Would the French send an
army to support the Welsh?
“I cannot say,” William said, shrugging a shoulder, “but we must be prepared for it.”
“Aye, we must!” Without pausing, the prince began to speculate as to where the French might land their forces. Then he launched
into a discussion of how the English could then drive them out of Wales.
William should be glad for the opportunity to discuss
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