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“Catrin.”

As though thoughts of her father had suddenly summoned him, Lord Buckley appeared, walking along the east wall toward her.

“I was told I might find you here,” he said.

“You spoke with Beti.”

He nodded. “I stopped by your bedchamber. She directed me to the east wall.” He gave her a curious look. “I would have guessed the stables.”

“I plan to meet Beti there forthwith. We aim to visit the cobbler in town this morning.”

“So she said.” A few yards distant, two guards rotated positions. He waited until their maneuvers were complete. “Is this spot a favorite of yours?”

Catrin gazed at the Snowdonia Mountains in the distance. “The view cannot be equaled, and I enjoy watching the boats on the Straits. ’Tis a good place to think.”

He was silent for a moment. “I would do well to remember that.”

She turned and offered him a sympathetic smile. “I daresay you are heavily burdened by all that has been happening in Flintshire and its surrounds. What news do you have regarding the recent skirmishes?”

“Information regarding Glyndwr’s and Henry’s activities changes hourly. I fear no good will come of the fighting, but I can do nothing more than hope it will not reach this far.” He shook his head. “But that is not for you to worry about. Indeed, I bring much better news. I have heard again from the Duke of Bedford. He will be here by week’s end.” He looked at her expectantly, and Catrin fought to hide her dismay.

“By week’s end,” she said.

“Indeed. ’Tis slightly sooner than I’d anticipated, but that will work for our good. ’Tis best that you be gone from Wales before the current unrest escalates into something greater.”

“But I am not ready. I—”

“I have already spoken with Beti,” her father interrupted. “She assures me that she will have your wardrobe completed by then.” He placed his hand on Catrin’s shoulder. “Your well-being is my greatest concern, Catrin. Leaving now is by far the safest course of action.”

Faced once again with her father’s non-negotiable stance, Catrin felt her heart sink. What choice did she have? Her father would not allow her to remain here, and there was nowhere else she could go. She was promised to the Duke of Bedford, no matter his age and disposition. Like it or not, the freedom she prized so dearly was disappearing as quickly as sand falling through the cracks between paving stones.

“The ongoing attacks by Glyndwr’s men make it difficult to predict how long the duke will remain here before returning to England,” he continued. “So I would have you ready to travel at a moment’s notice.”

“I see.”

“Catrin.” He spoke firmly and waited until she met his eyes. “We have reason to be thankful. I have arranged a grand banquet to mark the duke’s arrival and your betrothal. It will be an occasion in which the English and Welsh may put aside their differences and celebrate together.”

She stared at him. If such a thing were possible, that alone would be reason to rejoice. “You truly believe that despite the growing rebellion, there are still Welshmen who would attend such a gathering at the castle?”

“I have issued invitations to the local gentry, and they have accepted. No matter his foothold in Mid Wales, Glyndwr’s grasp has not yet reached Anglesey.”

Her father’s confidence should have been convincing, but an image of the Tudor brothers conferring quietly over a missive from Owain Glyndwr filled Catrin’s mind. She could picture them standing together in the corner of the longhouse as readily as she remembered the feeling of apprehension that surrounded them. They would not ignore a clarion call to fight for the rights of their fellow Welshmen. She was sure of it.

She wondered at their plans now that the rebellion had actually begun. What would Rhys do? Was he on Anglesey still, or had he already left to join the battle? She’d reflected on their abbreviated time together more often than she cared to admit, and her emotions had run the gamut, from frustration to regret. Would he come to the banquet her father had planned? Hope surfaced at the possibility, but it was almost instantly quashed by the realization that even if she did see him, it would likely be for the last time.

“It would be a fine thing if they all came,” she said, mustering a weak smile.

“Indeed.” He paused. “Catrin, I know this marriage arrangement has been rather sudden; I appreciate your understanding and compliance with the matter.”

There was no point in disagreeing, and Catrin wasn’t sure that she could maintain her pretense much longer. “Then if you would excuse me, Father, I should go. Beti will be waiting at the stables.”

He looked as though he would say more but then thought better of it. “Very well. I wish you success with the cobbler.”

She nodded and started back toward the tower entrance. When she reached the doorway, she turned. Her father had taken her place and was standing alone at the wall, looking out to sea.

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Catrin and Beti approached the cobbler’s shop on horseback. A young boy was sitting cross-legged beside the door. His feet were bare and his brown hair tussled, but at the sound of the horses’ hooves, he looked up from the stick he was whittling with bright, curious eyes. Recognizing Catrin immediately, he scrambled to his feet and bowed.