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“And I you, my lady.” He mopped his forehead again. “Are you come to visit your mother’s grave?”

“Yes.” She glanced at the scythe. “And you must be the one I should thank for the tidiness of the graveyard.”

“Not me alone, my lady. All the brothers take a turn with the scythe.” He inclined his head toward the grazing horses. “And when our four-legged friends help keep the length of the grass down, so much the better.”

Catrin smiled. “The horses appear happy to oblige.”

“They do indeed. And while they and your maid are otherwise disposed, might I show you something else that Brother John and I have been working on?” Despite his overheated state, Brother Robert’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. “’Tis rather marvelous.”

“Of course,” Catrin said, her curiosity piqued.

Brother Robert gave a pleased smile. “Come this way, my lady.”

Limping slightly, the friar led the way to the chapel door, and leaning the scythe against the outer wall, he lifted the latch and pushed the door open. The hinges squeaked loudly, and he indicated that Catrin should precede him inside. Catrin stepped into the nave and looked around. The light was dim and the temperature cool. Two rows of wooden pews separated by a narrow aisle ran the length of the flagstone floor, culminating a few feet from a chancel arch. Beyond the arch was the sanctuary, where a large, gold crucifix sat atop a tapestry-covered altar, and a stunning stained-glass window depicting the holy family scattered drops of color across the gray stone walls and the arched ceiling.

Brother Robert started down the aisle, his soft leather shoes barely making a sound against the polished flagstones, despite his uneven gait. Catrin followed, her gaze moving from the smaller stained-glass windows positioned high up on the north wall to the etched stones on the south wall that marked the burial spots of distinguished parishioners. When they reached the pulpit and lectern, Brother Robert turned and walked past the front pew to the south wall, where he opened another door.

“Brother John.” He spoke softly. “Are you yet within?”

“I am.” Another friar, who had been sitting at a small table, rose to his feet. He was similarly dressed to Brother Robert but looked to be a good ten years older.

“I have brought Lady Catrin to see your work,” Brother Robert said.

Brother John immediately moved back and directed her to the table. A small window shed a little natural light onto its surface, and two candles burned beside a large leatherbound book that lay open beside a pile of thin parchment. Several bottles of ink, a handful of quills, and a sharpening knife littered the table. Two pieces of parchment sat apart from the rest, rows of diminutive words covering their surfaces, with ornate swirls surrounding a few letters and colorful miniature illustrations decorating each page.

Catrin leaned forward, gazing at the artistry in wonder. “’Tis magnificent.” She looked from one friar to the other. “Truly, it is.”

Brother Robert beamed. “We are making pocket Bibles, you see. For our brothers to take with them as they travel.” He patted his right leg. “I cannot walk as steadily as I once could, but I can yet see well enough to copy down holy writ. When I finish writing a page, Brother John adds the illustrations.” He pointed to an embellished letter D at the start of a line. “You see his—”

The sound of the chapel door creaking open interrupted him. Catrin and the two friars turned to face the nave as footsteps echoed in the chapel.

“If you will excuse me, my lady.” Brother Robert offered her a quick bow and left the room. Catrin followed him as far as the door. A tall, dark-haired man wearing a blue tunic over a white doublet and hose of a slightly darker shade of blue was approaching from the back of the chapel.

“Good day, Brother Robert,” the man said. “I had hoped I would find you here today.”

“By all the saints!” The friar limped toward him. “A warm welcome to you, Master Rhys. It has been too long since you were amongst us.”

“That it has.” The man clasped one hand on Brother Robert’s shoulder. “And I am grateful to see that you are recovered from the fall you took mere days afore I left.”

“The broken bones have healed better than I could have hoped.” The friar smiled. “My limp may have curtailed my wanderings, but God has offered me another way to help spread His word.” He took a step back. “Come. You shall see.”

Brother Robert turned to lead the stranger toward the small room, giving Catrin her first clear view of the man’s face. She recognized the Welshman from the castle instantly. With dismay, she stepped away from the door. She knew that her irritation over his concern for her safety with Seren had bordered on rudeness—colored as it was by the shock and frustration she was feeling over her father’s pronouncement. Indeed, given her state of mind that day, it was fortunate she hadn’t snapped back at the man—particularly as he’d been speaking in Welsh.

The men’s voices were getting closer, but if she left now, while he was yet conversing with Brother Robert, perhaps she could avoid another encounter with him.

“I wish you well with the remainder of your illustrating, Brother John,” she said.

The quiet friar offered her a smile and a nod of thanks, and Catrin hurried back to the doorway.

“Ah, Lady Catrin,” Brother Robert said. The two men had crossed the nave faster than she’d anticipated and were now effectively blocking her exit. “You must meet our unexpected visitor.”

Torn between her desire to avoid an awkward introduction and her duty to uphold social protocols, Catrin reluctantly turned to greet the Welshman.

“My lady,” Brother Robert continued, “may I present Rhys ap Tudor of Penmynydd. He is recently returned from fighting for King Richard in Ireland. Master Rhys, Lady Catrin Buckley.”

“Good day to you, Lady Catrin.” The Welshman bowed, and when he raised his head, Catrin found herself looking into a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

“And to you, my lord,” she said.