“You could not have done more.” Even in the midst of their danger, it hurt her to see Stephen look so defeated. “I do not believe these men mean to harm me,” she added, and regretted the note of uncertainty that crept into her voice.
“Most assuredly we do not, dear lady,” the handsome man who disarmed Stephen spoke up.
The two riders who chased Stephen had joined them by now. Catherine examined their four captors closely. They looked as though they had been traveling rough, but their clothes were finely made. She guessed they were Welsh noblemen. If she was right, their intent was likely ransom, not rape and murder.
“You are Welsh rebels?” she asked.
“Aye, that we are, Lady FitzAlan,” the handsome one answered.
They knew her name. That meant they did not just happen upon her, notice her fine clothes and horse, and take advantage of a chance opportunity.
“My name is Maredudd ap Tudor,” the man said, bowing his head. “These two”—he pointed to the two young men who had chased Stephen—“are my brothers, Owen and Maddog.”
Both young men nodded politely. She could see the family resemblance, though neither was quite as good-looking as their dashing older brother.
Tudors?She had heard the name. She knew she had. Were they not close kinsmen of Owain Glyndwr, the rebel leader?
And then it came to her.
“Are you the same Tudors who violated holy Good Friday to take Conwy Castle?”
“That would be our elder brothers,” Maredudd said, and all three Tudor men grinned.
God have mercy, she was a captive of the wily Tudors!
“The church decree to shed no blood on the holy day was not violated,” one of the younger Tudors put in. With a wink, he added, “The castle guards were strangled.”
The story of the unexpected attack was told up and down England. The rebels took the castle easily, since the entire garrison was at Mass in the nearby village.
“And the man holding your horse,” Maredudd ap Tudor continued, “is Rhys Gethin.”
Upon hearing the name, Catherine gasped aloud and brought a hand to her chest.
“I see you have heard of him,” Maredudd said with an amused smile. “Then you will know why we call him ‘Gethin.’ It means ‘the Fierce’ in Welsh.”
Rhys Gethin had led the Welsh forces in their great bloody victory at Bryn Glas three years before. Against overwhelming odds, the Welsh killed nearly eleven hundred Englishmen. It was said that at the end of the battle, the field was knee-deep in English blood.
“I am surprised men of such importance have come on such a lowly errand,” she said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. She risked a glance at Stephen, hoping he would not contradict her. “You go to much trouble for little, I fear. It is unlikely my husband will pay much for my ransom.”
Maredudd Tudor threw his head back and laughed. “Faith, m’lady, a man would pay a good deal for the return of so fair a woman. The rumors of your beauty hardly—”
“Enough!” Rhys Gethin’s deep voice cut Maredudd off. “We delay too long. Glyndwr needs us at Worcester.”
With that, he tossed her horse’s reins to Maredudd and spurred his own horse forward. Maredudd tied her horse to his and fell into line behind him. The two younger Tudors followed with Stephen between them.
Catherine looked over her shoulder at the copse of wood, hoping Edmund got away.
They rode for hours, stopping only once to allow her to stretch her legs and relieve herself. Toward evening, small groups of men appeared out of the woods and joined them. Now she understood why English soldiers claimed the Welsh came and disappeared like fairies, with the help of magic.
At nightfall, they stopped in a heavy wood to make camp. Her legs were so weak that Maredudd had to catch her to keep her from falling when she dismounted. He led her to sit on a fallen log, holding her a bit more tightly than necessary.
“Lady FitzAlan, I would have your promise you will not try to escape,” he said as he sat down next to her on the log. “You would only get lost, and I am too tired to go chasing about the woods for you tonight.”
There was no point in trying. The woods were unfamiliar, and in the dark, she had no idea in which direction to go.
“If you make an attempt, I will catch you. And then you will sleep tied to me.” His face broke into a wide smile. Giving her a wink, he said, “Perhaps you should try after all.”
“With such charm, sir, how is it that some maid has not yet captured you?”
