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“I need you here,” Rhys said.

“Penmynydd is my home. You cannot make me stand by while Henry attempts to destroy it.”

“Margaret and the others at the house are our first priority,” Rhys said. “Maredudd and I will do all in our power to see that they are safe, but you are needed here to prepare our men. Their next confrontation with the English may be sooner than we realize.”

Gwilym narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. “If Henry and his soldiers return from Anglesey having wreaked havoc there, you may be sure that our response will be swift and sure.”

Rhys clasped his brother’s hand. “I would expect nothing less.”

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Catrin poked the tip of her knife into the slice of roast lamb in the nearest trencher, stared at it for a moment, then withdrew the blade. It was useless. Food had lost its appeal over two weeks ago, and no matter what was placed before her, she could bring herself to take only a few small bites. She knew she needed to eat to keep up her strength, but when she was not battling the nausea associated with sitting beside the duke, her stomach felt as though a large rock lay in its depths.

Her gowns were becoming too loose, and Beti had taken to studying her anxiously whenever she was in her bedchamber. Unfortunately, Catrin was there far more than she’d ever been before. Long, wild rides with Seren were a thing of the past; her days now fell into a predictable and tortuous routine. She and the duke rode sedately around the town for an hour in the morning, after which Catrin fled to the sanctuary of her chamber. She stayed there, away from the duke’s wandering eyes and oily presence, until evening, when she was required to sit beside him at the head table for the evening meal.

Her father’s presence in the great hall should have brought her some comfort, but he barely seemed to notice her. Concern over the burgeoning Welsh uprising consumed his every thought, and there was no room left for belated worries over a daughter whose marriage agreement was already secured. He spoke very little at the table and did not stay long. There was always another urgent missive to read or one to write.

Catrin glanced at her father now. Worry lines creased his forehead, and his trencher appeared only marginally emptier than hers.

“Are you well, Father?” she asked.

Her question startled him, but he gave a strained smile and patted her hand where it lay on the table. “I am well enough.”

“Is the news so bad?’

“I fear that this country may be teetering on the brink of a rebellion unlike anything we’ve seen before.” He sighed. “Word is that King Henry has entered Wales. His arrival will either put a stop to the madness or provoke even more riots.”

Catrin’s thoughts immediately flew to Rhys and his brothers. Where were they now? Were they aware of Henry’s movements? And would they be involved in some kind of attack?

On her other side, the Duke of Bedford joined the conversation. “The ignorant barbarians will find their newfound courage fails them when faced with an army of English soldiers.” He picked a piece of meat out of his teeth. “You mark my words, Henry shall have the men in charge of this ill-advised insurrection tossed into a castle dungeon within days of his arrival, and without their misguided leaders, the rebellion’s ragtag supporters will quickly disband.”

Catrin pressed her lips together to prevent the retort she longed to give from escaping. The Tudors and their followers would gain nothing from her angering the duke, but she could find herself facing worse than a ban on her use of the Welsh language if she did not curb her tongue.

“The organization and resolve of the Welsh may surprise you, Your Grace,” her father said.

The duke gave a contemptuous snort, but any response he may have made was interrupted by an unexpected commotion at the great hall’s main doors. Catrin watched in bewilderment as one of the castle guards pushed past the servants who were replenishing goblets with ale and marched right up to the head table.

“My apologies, Your Grace, my lord, my lady.” The guard was breathless, his cheeks flushed. “King Henry is without the castle gates. He desires that the castle immediately provide a guide who can lead him and his men to the Llanfaes Friary.”

Catrin’s father’s face paled. “Henry, King of England?”

“Yes, my lord. He and his men disembarked the ferry not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

The Duke of Bedford rose, eager anticipation fairly humming off him. “I shall be his guide. I am already acquainted with the king and am familiar with the friary.” He gave a smug smile. “I believe he will be most grateful for my assistance.”

Catrin stared at him. “Why would the king wish to visit the friary?”

The duke gave an impatient frown. “Why he wishes to go there matters not. ’Tis a huge honor that he has chosen to visit this forsaken part of the kingdom, and you would do well to make him welcome.”

His words seemed to rouse her father out of his state of shock. “Indeed. I must go to the gate and greet him.” He turned to her as he came to his feet. “Have the grand chamber made ready, Catrin. The king’s men and their horses will also need to be accommodated.”

“Yes, Father.”

All eyes and ears in the great hall were trained on the conversation occurring at the head table, and whispers were quickly spreading throughout the room. Catrin had no doubt that the servants were already aware of who had come and what his unexpected arrival would mean to their workload. She would speak with the castle steward but would be most surprised if arrangements for the castle’s eminent guest had not already begun.

She stood and watched her father and the duke hurry after the guard. Surely the arrival of the King of England at Beaumaris Castle should elicit excitement. Why, then, did she feel nothing but apprehension? Was it the lack of pomp and ceremony that attended his arrival? Or the fact that despite having made a long and toilsome journey, he wished to continue farther to Llanfaes?

To the best of her knowledge, the duke had not returned to the friary since their brief visit over two weeks ago. It was not a difficult journey, to be sure, but it was getting late, and darkness was setting in. The Duke of Bedford might see this as another way to ingratiate himself with the monarch, but to Catrin, nothing about this venture made sense. The landmarks would be harder to discern for a visitor to the island, and it was quite likely that the friars were already abed.