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“Bit early for you and yer brother to be out rowin’, ain’t it, Master Rhys?”

“Elfed!” Rhys released the breath he’d been holding.

“Aye,” Elfed said, shuffling forward. “And I’m thinkin’ that unless you’re plannin’ on helpin’ me fillet my morning catch, you’d best be putting away that knife of yers.”

Rhys slid his knife back into his girdle and saw Maredudd do the same.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, sneaking up on people like that, old man,” Maredudd grumbled.

“I’ll see if I can’t have these old bones creak a bit more next time,” Elfed said dryly.

“You have our apologies, Elfed,” Rhys said, giving his brother a glare. “We’re anxious to be away without attracting the attention of the English guards.”

“I reckon you’ve got until the clock strikes seven, Master Rhys. That’s when they’ll be lookin’ toward the harbor again.”

Why hadn’t he thought to ask Elfed about the guards’ routine rather than waiting outside, watching their movements for over an hour? The observant fisherman was the source of all manner of information—particularly regarding the occupants of the castle.

“Has there been any unusual activity recently, Elfed?” Rhys asked.

“Not since the fire,” he said stonily. “There was plenty of celebratin’ at the castle after that, but it’s been quiet for the last day and a half.”

Rhys could well imagine the rejoicing amongst the English soldiers that night. But he knew there had been at least one castle resident who had not joined the reveling. Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to the flickering torchlight coming from the castle’s south tower. How was Catrin faring now? Was her breathing improved?

In the time since they’d parted, he’d acquired a mount and ridden to Penmynydd, helped Maredudd relocate Margaret and a few of the family’s most-prized possessions to Margaret’s family home, and found places for each of their retainers to dwell until they could return to Penmynydd. It had been a grueling and demanding thirty-three hours, and yet, through it all, thoughts of Catrin had consumed him.

What was it that had motivated her actions that night? Worry over the well-being of her mother’s grave had certainly played a part, but surely she would not have entered the burning friary if that had been her only concern. Her bravery in entering the inferno shook him still. Especially when he contrasted it with the vulnerability she’d shown while fighting for her every breath in his arms afterward. His feelings at that moment had overridden his good sense. He should not have ridden back to Beaumaris with her. He knew better. But his head could not argue with how right it had felt to hold her close or how wrong it had felt to watch her ride away.

“So there’s no rumor of more razing to come?” Maredudd’s question brought Rhys abruptly back to the present.

“I haven’t heard any mention of Penmynydd, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” Elfed said. “There’s been some couriers sent off to Conwy in a hurry, but nothin’s come back from there yet.”

“Would that we knew the contents of those missives,” Rhys muttered.

“Aye,” Elfed agreed. “But seeing as not one of us is privy to exactly what Henry’s thinkin’, if I was you, I’d keep an eye on what they’re up to at Conwy Castle. Henry’s sendin’ off some kind of instructions, to be sure.”

Rhys shook his head in astonishment. “If you ever want to give up fishing, Elfed, Glyndwr’s army could use you as a marshal.”

The old man chortled softly. “I do a lot of thinkin’ in my boat and a lot of watchin’ at my nets. But those things don’t often amount to much.”

“Well, your wisdom has been of help to me more than once, old friend.”

Elfed gave him his trademark, virtually toothless smile. “Then let me give you one more piece of advice, Master Rhys.” He pointed a crooked finger at the dark shadow that marked the dock. “Put yer boat in over there. As soon as you’ve cleared the harbor, raise the sail. The wind’ll have yer back this mornin’.”

“Many thanks, Elfed,” Rhys said, picking up the boat.

The old man lingered long enough to watch Rhys and Maredudd shoulder their oars before disappearing into the half-light as quietly as he’d come.

Rhys took the lead, moving swiftly across the beach until they reached the dock. Setting the boat in the water, they scrambled inside, reclaimed their earlier positions on the wooden seats, and pushed off. Within minutes, the two brothers had rowed out of the harbor and into the straits.

______________________________

Catrin stood at the window of her bedchamber and gazed out over the tops of the castle walls, to Beaumaris, the sea, and the Snowdonia Mountains beyond. There was an emptiness inside her that she did not know how to fill. It had been three days since she’d returned to her room tattered and wheezing, but thanks to Beti’s ministrations, she was already much improved. Washing the dirt and soot off her hair and skin and disposing of her filthy, torn clothing had removed the outer reminders of her ordeal. Rest and Beti’s horehound tea had worked wonders on healing the irritation within her lungs. Indeed, she was now well enough that she could have taken a short walk about the castle or to the stables had she wished to, but for the first time in her life, Catrin did not want to leave her chamber.

The fear of running into the Duke of Bedford was an even greater deterrent than it had been before. That concern was closely followed by her unwillingness to join the king and his retinue for a meal in the great hall. The thought of feigning pleasure at their company and listening to their boasts made her feel ill. So ill, in fact, that it had been all too easy to request that bread and broth be delivered to her bedchamber in lieu of eating with their esteemed guests. She was most assuredly still indisposed.

Although her coughing had lessened, terrifying nightmares still interrupted her nights. Sometimes it was Brother Robert who was trapped by the flames; other times, it was she who was caught beneath the crumbling friary walls, but most often, it was Rhys who was encircled by taunting English soldiers, each wielding a burning torch. She would awaken to Beti shaking her out of her dreams and the screams that left her hoarse, only to have the nightmares repeat a few hours later.

Unfortunately, her worry over Rhys’s welfare had spilled over into her waking hours. According to Beti, there had been no movement of the English troops since their return from Llanfaes, so Catrin had to conclude that they were as yet unaware of Rhys’s and Maredudd’s presence on Anglesey. She prayed it remained that way until Margaret was safe and they had removed themselves from the island completely.