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He gave her a half smile. “Although my father was knighted for his service to King Edward III in France, I fear I have yet to merit that honor, my lady.”
Catrin felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Then, good day to you, Rhys ap Tudor.”
His smile widened. “Rhys is sufficient, my lady.”
Was this second beginning to be as bad as the first? Pushing past her discomfit, Catrin searched for something more to say. “Are you come to see the friars’ work on the pocket Bibles?”
For a second, confusion clouded his eyes. “Pocket Bibles? No, my lady. I am here to visit the graves of my parents.”
“They are buried here at the friary?”
He nodded. “Their bodies lie in the south wall of the chancel.” He pointed to the etched stone not more than four feet from where they now stood. “And their ancestors lie here in the south wall of the nave.”
“I . . . I see.”
“My family has lived in the area for many generations and has a long history with the friary.”
“You are fortunate,” she said. “’Tis a hallowed place and a beautiful location.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Do you visit often, then?”
“My mother is also buried here,” she said. “In the graveyard beyond the chapel. Today, I was fortunate to meet Brother Robert outside, and he invited me inside to see his calligraphic work.”
“For the pocket Bibles you spoke of?”
“Yes. The friars’ skills are breathtaking. You should see for yourself.” She stepped aside so the men could enter the small room. As soon as they were within, she moved back to the open doorway. “I thank you for your time, Brother Robert, but I’d best be on my way.”
The friar gave her a kindly smile. “Come again soon, my lady. You are always welcome.”
“I thank you.”
She glanced at Rhys, and he inclined his head politely. “My lady.”
“Good day to you, Rhys,” she said, then she walked out of the room.
She crossed the nave as quickly as she could while still maintaining some measure of decorum. Raising the latch on the chapel door, she had it open and was outside before the old hinges had time to protest. Shutting it firmly behind her, she paused to catch her breath. A beautiful longbow and quiver full of arrows stood upright against the wall beside the friars’ scythe. Rhys must have set them there before entering the chapel. For some reason, the man unnerved her, but she could not help but appreciate this respectful gesture.
A horse snorted, and Catrin looked to her right, where a chestnut stallion stood nearby, his reins loosely tied around the lower branch of the yew tree. Across the grassy area, Seren heard the snort too. He had wandered a few yards from Beti and stood with his ears twitching, eyeing the unfamiliar stallion nervously while Beti’s horse continued to graze.
“Come, Seren,” she said, walking toward him.
At the sound of her voice, Seren turned. She reached for his reins with one hand and gave him a reassuring pat with the other before leading him back to the bench where Beti was finally rousing.
Her maid looked up, blinking in the bright sunlight. “Is all well, my lady?”
“Yes, Beti.” She would not embarrass the older woman by recounting everything that she’d missed—including the arrival of Rhys ap Tudor. “But I am ready to return to the castle now.”
Chapter 5
When Rhys rode into the yard, the sun was beginning its descent in the sky. A servant girl scurried from the kitchen to the longhouse, carrying a basket, the smell of fresh bread wafting after her. She stumbled to a halt as Rhys appeared, and she bobbed a curtsy before continuing into the building. Dismounting his horse, Rhys slid his bow off his shoulder and led Castan toward the longhouse door. It had been a full day, and he was more than ready for his evening meal.
He and Gwilym had set up targets in the nearby meadow and had spent the morning practicing their archery. With little wind and the sun behind them, conditions had been ideal. Rhys was experienced enough to know that the accuracy he’d achieved today would be tempered by more adverse circumstances, and he was already planning practices in the woods and at the beach, where poor visibility and strong breezes would undoubtedly impact his success.
The practice session had also served as a reminder of his need for fresh arrows. So when Gwilym had called an end to their exercise, Rhys had left for Beaumaris to visit the fletcher, who had subsequently promised him a new supply of arrows by week’s end.
He hadn’t intended to visit the Llanfaes Friary afterward. It had been an impulsive stop, prompted by the fact that he was in the area and had not been to his parents’ graves or seen Brother Robert in three years. The slight detour had delayed his return home but had been worthwhile. Seeing Brother Robert in good health had been cheering, and discovering what he and Brother John were working on had been fascinating. But it was his meeting with Lady Catrin Buckley that had occupied his thoughts as he’d ridden back to Penmynydd.
She was an enigma. His first encounter with the noblewoman at the castle had left him under the impression that she was haughty, but in the chapel today, she had seemed far less self-assured. Nervous even. He’d recognized her horse and her sleeping maid as soon as he’d arrived at the friary, so he hadn’t been surprised to find her within the chapel. She was undeniably beautiful and well connected, and yet she’d put on no airs, even when he’d pointed out their differing stations. His was a well-respected family in Wales. The Tudors owned considerable land and were held in high esteem by English and Welsh royalty alike, but he was not titled, and he knew from his experience amongst English nobility over the last few years that that accounted for a great deal.
