October 1361
WINDSOR PALACE
WINDSOR, ENGLAND
‘Wexford the traitor! I’m surprised you had the gall to show your face!’
Simon Marshall clenched his jaw and glared at Edward of Woodstock. Through gritted teeth, he answered the Prince. ‘Your bride requested our attendance, Sire. I was of the impression that we were not in a position to refuse.’
Space within the great hall at Windsor Palace was at a premium. Anyone of rank or title had arrived at the country estate to attend the royal wedding and were now squeezed cheek-to-jowl as they waited to partake of the gastronomical banquet.
The prince gathered two goblets of wine from a passing steward and handed one to Simon. ‘I have yet to cast my eyes upon Lady Wexford. How fares her health?’
The sea of velvet, silk and fustian momentarily parted providing Simon a glimpse of Catherine on the far side of the room. She was seated in a high-backed chair by the door. Her heavy brocade gown was not conducive to the unseasonably warm October day and, heavily pregnant, she appeared hot and uncomfortable, fanning her face in an attempt to cool herself. ‘My wife is well.’
‘And she is recovered from the tragic loss of your ward?’
Simon turned his attention back to the prince. The royal heir’s tone inferred he was far more interested in seeking information than conveying any concern for Catherine.
‘You can imagine my surprise when I learned of the mysterious death of my trusted servant, John Moleyns. This, followed by news of a child accepted into your home and treated like a son. But then he, too, perishes in a fiery inferno along with several other,
