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“I rode Seren. He’s tied to a tree beyond the bend.”

“And you have no cloak?”

A glance at her filthy, torn gown was all she needed to remember the blistering heat of the chapel. “It was too hot . . . I . . . I tossed it aside.”

It had been a rash decision. She would be hard-pressed to find another so warm before winter temperatures set in, but she was grateful he refrained from telling her so. Instead, he gave her an understanding smile.

“You will feel the cold once we are away from the fire.” He stood, unclipped his own cloak, and placed it around her shoulders. Before she could protest, he leaned down and scooped her into his arms.

“I am not so very invalid, Rhys,” she said. “With your arm to lean on, I believe I can walk.”

He gave a dismissive grunt and started toward the road. “There will be time enough to test your strength when you are faced with the castle stairs.”

That daunting thought was enough to persuade Catrin not to argue. And there was something rather wonderful about being cradled in Rhys’s arms. For a few short minutes, she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes to everything around her.

Chapter 16

There was a shuffle of hooves coming from the trees just beyond the bend in the road. Rhys walked toward the sound, and before long, he heard a welcoming nicker. In his arms, Lady Catrin stirred.

“I hear him,” she said.

“Aye,” he replied. “We must be close.”

“Then perhaps you should set me down.”

Mentally chastising himself for being loath to relinquish Lady Catrin to her horse, he slowed his steps. “Do you think you can stand?”

She gave a croaky chuckle. “I shall never know if you do not allow me to try.”

Reluctantly, he lowered her feet to the ground, then waiting until she had her hand firmly clasped upon his arm, he released her. She wobbled slightly, then righted herself.

“Seren,” she called.

The horse gave an answering whinny, and Rhys caught a ripple of movement in the blackness.

“Come,” he said. “I see him.” Slowly, he guided her a few more steps to their right until, with a pleased snort, Seren greeted her with a gentle bump of his nose against her shoulder.

“There you are.” Lady Catrin let go of Rhys’s arm and ran her hand down Seren’s long neck. “Forgive me for keeping you out in this foul air so long, boy. But I am exceeding glad you are here to take me back to the castle.”

Rhys listened to her quiet conversation in bemusement. Only now that she was speaking to her horse did he realize that she had been conversing with him in Welsh all along. It had been so natural and so flawless that he’d given it no thought.

“Your fluency in the Welsh language is remarkable,” he said.

She turned her head, and he could just make out her features. “I spoke it with my mother every day.”

He nodded. “I wish I had known her.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I believe you would have liked each other very well.”

“I daresay we would.”

She shifted a little. “Where is Castan?”

Rhys recognized the unexpected question for what it was: a silent plea to change the direction of their conversation to something less painful.

“He is awaiting my return in Conwy,” Rhys said. “Maredudd and I crossed the straits in a small fishing vessel, which required that we leave our horses behind.”

“Then how did you arrive at the friary?”