Knight of Desire by Margaret Mallory

took him hostage as a youth.”
    Catherine leaned forward in her saddle. “Hotspur must have waited years to make them pay for that humiliation.”
    He nodded. “Eventually, Hotspur joined forces with Glyndwr in open rebellion and called on his father, North umberland, to
     do the same.”
    Fascinated, she asked more questions. He answered, though somewhat reluctantly. When she pressed for details about battles
     he fought in, he pulled his horse up and turned to look at her.
    “
Was
it you who sent the messages to Prince Harry?” His voice held surprise and a touch of uncertainty. “You truly did serve as
     the prince’s spy?”
    “Did you think a woman not capable of seeing what was under her nose?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Or did you think
     that, though seeing it, a woman would lack the courage to do what ought to be done?” She knew she should not be belligerent
     with him but could not seem to help herself.
    “I had not made up my mind what you did.” Oddly enough, he was smiling. It did nothing to dampen her temper.
    An even more insulting possibility occurred to her.
    “Did you believe I was a traitor?” Her voice was high-pitched, even to her own ears. When he did not deny it, she demanded,
     “You could marry me believing I might have supported Rayburn in his treason against the king?”
    What made her dare speak with such insolence to FitzAlan? Rayburn would have pulled her from her horse and beat her to within
     an inch of her life for less.
    “I should apologize for upsetting you,” he said, though he did not look sorry.
    Behind the laughter in his eyes, there was a fire that burned right through her and made her throat go dry. She heard his
     words from the night before in her head:
I will not wait long
.
    She kicked her horse and rode ahead.
    After a time, he eased his horse beside hers. In a mild tone, he asked, “How did you obtain your information for the prince?”
    She took a deep breath. He had answered her questions; in fairness, she should do the same.
    “Whenever my husband discussed rebel plans with his men, he would send the servants away and have me wait on them.”
    She refrained from telling FitzAlan of her other sources of information.
    “Your husband trusted you.”
    She shook her head. “ ’Twas more that he never considered I would act against him.”
    “How soon after your marriage did you begin spying for the prince?”
    “I did not think of it as spying, not at first,” she said as she guided her horse around a rabbit hole in the path. “I would
     tell him bits of news I happened to hear. I gave him nothing truly useful until just before the Battle of Shrewsbury.”
    “What was that?”
    “I learned Glyndwr was leading a Welsh army in the direction of Shrewsbury, to join Hotspur’s forces,” she said. “So I sent
     an urgent message to the prince to warn him.”
    Hotspur, in his usual headlong fashion, had moved his army so quickly that neither his father nor the Welsh could get to Shrewsbury
     before the king engaged his army there. Hotspur’s death in the Battle of Shrewsbury ended the first Percy conspiracy.
    Thinking of that now, she asked, “Why do you think the king did not take more retribution against Northumberland after Shrewsbury?”
     She and Prince Harry had discussed this many times, but a Northerner might have a different perspective.
    She was letting her curiosity get the better of her again. FitzAlan, however, did not chastise her.
    “Northumberland was too powerful,” he said. “Since he had not taken up arms with Hotspur at Shrewsbury, the king could wait.
     Northumberland was growing old. Hotspur’s death should have put an end to his ambitions.”
    It had not. Only this spring, Northumberland was involved in a second conspiracy to remove Henry from the throne. This time,
     he barely escaped into Scotland with his life.
    “They said the messages the prince received were anonymous,” FitzAlan said, turning the subject