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Waiting only until the duke and her father had exited the great hall, Catrin stepped off the dais and started toward the doors herself. The steward met her halfway across the room.

“You have heard of the arrival of our unexpected guest?” she asked.

He nodded, and she noted the anxiety in his eyes. “Yes, my lady.”

“You shall manage magnificently, Benson.”

He inclined his head. “We shall all endeavor to do our best, my lady.”

“Then I shall let you be about your business.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Would you send word to Aldwin? I daresay there will be many more horses to stable tonight.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“I thank you,” she said. Then, knowing that the servants would be better able to make the necessary preparations without her continued presence in the great hall, she hastened out the doors and down the stairs.

Pulling open the heavy door at the base of the south tower, Catrin looked out into the inner ward. Two chambermaids were coming toward her with bed linens piled high in their arms. Their animated voices preceded them as they scurried across the open area toward the residential portion of the castle. A page ran toward the kitchen, and on the walls above, the insistent march of many feet suggested that the guards were redoubling their efforts to fortify the castle.

Across the way, the stable doors opened, and Aldwin led out the Duke of Bedford astride his horse. The duke exchanged a few curt words with the stablemaster, then took off at a trot. Aldwin spared the horse and rider no extra time, turning instead to re-enter the stable.

Shouts sounded from without the castle walls, and Catrin crossed the inner ward, making straight for the east tower. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she quickly climbed the tower stairs, pausing when she reached the entrance to the castle walls to calm her ragged breathing and ascertain the positions of the extra guards. Waiting for the closest soldiers to pass by, she stepped out from the protection of the arched doorway and moved to stand against the battlements to gaze down at the scene below.

A company of mounted men was gathered in four orderly rows on the road before the castle drawbridge. The men at the head of each row carried a flaming torch, which illuminated the distinctive royal blue, red, and gold coat of arms on their surcoats. A couple of yards before them and flanked on either side by armed guards, the king sat upon a magnificent black charger talking to her father. The duke rode up to join them and bowed his head in greeting. Her father stepped back, and the duke exchanged a few words with the king before pointing toward the shadowy, tree-lined road to the north. Moments later, a single shout rang out, and the duke took his place beside the king as the company of men surged forward and started up the road that led to Llanfaes.

Catrin’s father hurried back into the castle and was quickly lost from view, but Catrin remained where she was, watching the soldiers’ progress until the flickering torches were distant specks dancing on the hillside. Above her head, a gust of wind tugged at the English flag atop the tower. It flapped loudly, and she shivered. Darkness was stealing into the castle, and she suddenly craved the safety of her bedchamber.

Chapter 14

It was almost an hour later when the clatter of hooves and the soldiers’ jubilant voices heralded the Englishmen’s return to the castle. With relief, Catrin tossed her detested needlework aside and rose to her feet. She would not be expected to make an appearance before the king at this late hour, but anxiety over his visit to the friary had kept her alternately pacing her chamber and yanking out flawed stitches in her tapestry. Sleep would be impossible until her mind was settled regarding the matter.

She had managed to conceive of a few good reasons the king might have had for a late-night visit to the friary: a needed confession or special prayer, an association with one of the friars, or the fulfillment of a promise to another. Her head told her that nothing was amiss; her heart, however, told her otherwise.

Donning her cloak, she turned to Beti. “It appears that King Henry has returned. I feel I should join my father in the inner ward to welcome him to the castle.”

Beti inclined her head. “Very good, my lady.”

Catrin gave her lady’s maid a grateful smile. The sweet older woman knew full well that Catrin had no interest in meeting the king but was willing to play along with her excuse to leave the bedchamber. Perhaps, despite her outward calm, Beti was equally anxious for answers.

Catrin grasped the latch and opened the door. “I shall return shortly,” she said. Then she slipped down the stairwell.

A slight smell of smoke drifted in the air. Catrin stood at the door of the south tower and studied the nearby towers and buildings, looking for any sign of fire. Across the way, the English soldiers were filtering into the inner ward and lining up outside the stables while they awaited their turn to dismount and hand off their horses to the harried stableboys. They seemed oblivious to the eerie haze hanging over the castle, and their raucous laughter caused Catrin’s sense of disquiet to intensify.

Walking away from the door, she scoured the growing crowd for her father, finally spotting him near the stables, in conversation with one of the guards. She moved closer, hoping to catch his attention before anyone else noted her presence. She was within a few feet of him when the stable doors swung open and the Duke of Bedford stalked out. Instinctively, Catrin leaned back against the stable wall and watched as the duke barged past the waiting soldiers to reach her father.

“I hope the activities this night have helped you recognize the foolishness of your earlier fears, Lord Buckley?” He puffed up his chest like a cockerel. “Less than an hour after setting foot on Anglesey and King Henry has already issued a poignant warning to the Welsh rebels.” He laughed, and a chill skittered down Catrin’s spine. “His men are safely ensconced in Beaumaris and Conwy Castles, and by morning, there will be nothing left of the Llanfaes Friary but ashes and charred stone.”

Like a white-hot knife, the duke’s boast seared through her. Catrin gripped the rough wall and raised her head. The smell of smoke seemed stronger now, and tears stung her eyes. Please, no. Let it not be coming from the friary!

“Forgive me if I do not see how burning down a house of worship portends a quick victory for the English.” There was a steely tone to her father’s voice that Catrin had rarely heard before.

The Duke of Bedford must have also recognized the change because despite his sneering expression, he took a small step back. “I did not realize that you were so affected by religion, my lord.”

“My wife lies buried at the Llanfaes Friary.” He let that reminder hang in the air between them for a moment. “That alone is sufficient to make it holy ground.”

This time, the Duke of Bedford backed up several steps, and Catrin did not wait to hear more. Swiping at her tears, she slipped past the waiting soldiers and through the open stable doors. Ignoring the stableboys, she walked directly to Seren’s stall and opened the gate.

On silent feet, Aldwin approached from the other side of the stable. “Allow me to assist you, my lady.” Ignoring the chaos surrounding them, he saddled her horse and helped her to mount. Taking the reins, he led her to the doors. “Cover yer head, my lady. I reckon yer best chance to slip away is when the next horse comes in.”

Catrin pulled the hood of her cloak over her long blonde hair. “I thank you, Aldwin.”