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Catrin shook her head, her mind made up. “I would rather try and fail, than not try at all. Once I am on horseback, I can make the journey faster than anyone else. And speed is paramount to this endeavor.”

“Your father would never—”

“My father need not know of it,” Catrin interrupted.

Her lady’s maid rose, her face a picture of anxiety. “Then how am I to explain your absence to him? Or to the duke?”

“With my marriage contract annulled, the duke should have no reason to seek me out, and ’tis quite possible that my father will assume that I am yet indisposed.”

“For how many days? A subterfuge such as that cannot continue long before ’tis uncovered.”

Catrin moved to stand before her. “If all that is required of me is to deliver the message and return, I shall likely be back at the castle within one full day—two days if I must wait for a second boat to cross the straits.” She reached out and took Beti’s worn hands in hers. “But if for any reason I am delayed, I would have you tell my father that I am doing what I feel is right and what my mother would have done in my place.”

“I do not believe that will be sufficient to appease him, my lady.”

“It will have to serve,” Catrin said. “There is nothing more that can be said.”

Beti nodded, but Catrin did not miss the slight quiver of her chin, and for a moment, she wavered. Was she placing too high a burden on the older woman? If Catrin did not return safely, her father’s indisputable alarm and displeasure would be severe, and her lady’s maid would have to face the repercussions alone. But if she did not go, could Catrin live with knowing that she could have prevented the probable deaths of Rhys, his brothers, and countless Welshmen? The answer was instant. Remorse would torture her forever.

“Beti,” she said gently. “If I do not immediately return, and you do not wish to remain at the castle without me, make your way to the home of Maredudd ap Tudor’s wife, Margaret. I feel sure that she would find a place for you until we can be reunited.”

“Very well, my lady.” Tears were now filling Beti’s eyes, and Catrin wrapped her arms around her.

“All will be well, Beti. You will see.” Pulling back, Catrin drew on what little bravery she possessed and gave her an encouraging smile. “Now come, help me make ready for my journey.”

Chapter 19

Catrin watched the guard at the south gate shift his weight from one foot to the other. The early-morning hours were eerily quiet. For the last half hour, the only things that had disturbed the silence were the distant rushing of the ocean waves and the occasional echo of marching feet from the walls above. The faint chimes of the Beaumaris church clock marking the five o’clock hour reached her, and she knew she’d waited in the shadows of the gatehouse long enough. If she did not leave soon, Elfed would be gone.

A door opened across the way, and another soldier left the guardhouse and started for the gate. Catrin waited until he passed, then crept after him. He was a few feet from the exit when the guard on duty turned. She pressed herself against the wall. With the hood of Beti’s black cloak covering her blonde hair, she melded into the darkness. The guard moved from the entrance to consult with his replacement, and Catrin seized the distraction, inching past them and slipping through the archway before either soldier looked up.

Keeping to the edge of the drawbridge, she moved quickly. By the pale moonlight, she was just able to make out the hard-packed surface of the road against the grassy verge, and as soon as she was safely away from the glow cast by the castle torches, she lifted the hem of her forest-green gown and began to run.

Following the sound of the sea, she headed straight for the shore. Familiar buildings—oddly distorted in the moonlight—helped guide her along the harbor road until she reached the spot where Elfed usually sat. There was no one there, and his upturned boat was missing. Panic seized her. Heedless of the clatter of shifting pebbles beneath her feet, she raced across the beach toward the dock.

“Elfed,” she called. “Elfed, are you there?”

“Who’s askin’?” The gravelly voice came out of the darkness, and Catrin’s heart virtually stopped.

“’Tis Lady Catrin.”

There was movement to her right, and suddenly, the old fisherman emerged from the shadows.

“By all the saints, what are you doin’ here at this time of day, my lady?”

“Trying to find you,” Catrin said.

“Me?” Elfed scratched his head in bewilderment. “Whatever would you want from me that couldn’t wait until daylight hours?”

“I need you to take me to Conwy.” There was a moment of stunned silence, and Catrin glanced back at the castle anxiously. “I know that I’m asking much of you, Elfed. Your day’s catch will undoubtedly suffer. Indeed, if it weren’t a matter of life and death, I would not—”

“Whose life?”

Catrin did not evade the question. She would not give details, but this much he deserved to know. “The Tudor brothers and countless Welsh warriors.”

He nodded. “That’s all I need to hear.” He started shuffling toward the water’s edge. “This way, my lady. If we’re lucky, the wind will be at our back.”

They cast off near the dock, keeping their voices to whispers until they had cleared the harbor. Catrin sat on the narrow wooden seat and wrapped Beti’s cloak around herself more tightly. The wool covering was not as warm as her fur-lined cloak had been, but it served as a windbreak to the stiff sea breeze. The water was as black as ink, and time hung suspended as Elfed continued to row. Using the stars to guide him, his stroke was steady and strong. Only his raspy breathing gave any indication that he was working hard.