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Her frantic departure from Beaumaris seemed a lifetime ago. Catrin glanced down at her shoes. Now that the fire was beginning to dry the leather, salt crystals from the seawater were forming in wavy, white lines along their tops.

“I left the castle before dawn,” she said. “Elfed rowed me across the straits, and I purchased a mount in Conwy.”

It was Rhys’s turn to look stunned. “Do you mean to say that you have been traveling here since the early hours of the morning? In this weather?”

“Yes.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and uttered something under his breath. “When was the last time you had any nourishment?”

“I-I believe it was . . .” Catrin looked down. She could not remember the last time she’d eaten.

“Catrin.” Was it irritation or worry in his voice? She could not tell. “What were you thinking? You are only now recovering from the friary fire.”

“I was thinking that I had only hours before it would be too late. That after having done nothing to prevent what happened in Llanfaes, perhaps I could actually do something that would make a difference now.” All at once, it was too much. The questions. The accusations. The disbelief. She rose to her feet. “I was the only one with any hope of making the journey in time. Neither Beti nor Elfed could ride such a distance, and I would not trust the message or the destination to anyone else.” Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head, suddenly feeling defeated. If the Tudors chose not to believe her, so be it. She had done what she had set out to do. They had been forewarned. “If you would call for my guide, I will don the mask, and he can return me to Llanrwst.” She took a step away from them, and the floor tilted. Dropping the blanket from around her shoulders, she reached for the arm of the chair to steady herself, but it was not there. She missed her step, and then her feet were no longer on the floor at all.

“Call for Enid and Nerys.” She felt Rhys’s arms holding her, but his urgent voice sounded far, far away. “She needs dry clothing and food.”

Chapter 21

“You believe her?” Gwilym asked.

“I do,” Rhys said. “I’ve never known her to be false.”

Gwilym snorted. “You speak as though you share a long history, but you barely know the woman.”

Rhys ran his hand across his face. It was true. A few short weeks ago, he’d been unaware of Lady Catrin Buckley’s existence. And yet he felt that he knew her. Deeply. He thought back over their interactions. In every instance, she had been true to her principles and loyal to her friends. She had kept Beti on as her maid, despite the older woman’s physical limitations; she had snubbed convention at the castle banquet to speak with Margaret; and in the ultimate test, she had been willing to risk her own life for Brother Robert’s.

“I know enough to recognize her trustworthiness,” he said.

“Is that what Henry believes to?” Gwilym said. “Or the stoat she’s betrothed too? Mayhap they consider her trustworthy enough to use as a lure.”

Was that possible? Rhys glanced over his shoulder. From behind the partition at the far end of the longhouse, he could hear the soft murmur of women’s voices. Enid and Nerys were at Catrin’s side. They had already proven themselves proficient in tending to the wounded men and were perfectly capable of restoring Catrin’s strength. So why did he fret over her still? Why did Gwilym’s reminder that she was betrothed to another make him want to run the duke through with a sword? If he was to lead his men to battle with a clear head, he needed to rid himself of these feelings. Immediately.

“No matter his faults,” Rhys said. “’Tis most unlikely that the Duke of Bedford would deign to allow his future bride to make the journey from Beaumaris unaccompanied. I believe she acted alone and upon her own convictions.”

“I am of the same opinion.” Maredudd entered the conversation for the first time. “I can think of few women who would dare attempt what she has done this day. And none would see it through in such dismal conditions unless motivated by a firm personal resolve. No royal dictate would carry her so far.”

Gwilym stared at him, wide-eyed. Maredudd responded by raising a quizzical eyebrow, and Rhys noted the interaction with a wry smile.

“I believe our younger brother understands the female mind far better than we do, Gwilym. His counsel is wise,” Rhys said.

“Just because he is married does not make him an authority on all women,” Gwilym said, but the bluster was gone from his voice. He jerked his head in the direction of the partition. “Particularly that one.”

A knock sounded on the door. The men swung around to face the longhouse entrance as a man walked in and lowered the dripping hood of his cloak.

“My apologies for the intrusion, Marshal Rhys,” Berwyn said, inclining his head in acknowledgment of the three men. He stepped closer. “A messenger has just come from Conwy. King Henry and his men were seen disembarking the ferry from Beaumaris. They bypassed the castle and are now headed toward Mid Wales.”

“And Horseshoe Pass,” Rhys guessed.

Berwyn blinked. “Aye, Marshal. That is their direction.”

Rhys offered him a thin smile. If Gwilym wished further proof of the validity of Catrin’s story, Berwyn had just offered it to him, and as far as Rhys was concerned, their course was set. “I thank you for the timely communication,” he said. “Have the men make ready for immediate departure.”

Berwyn gave a crisp nod, then turned and exited the longhouse.

“You have a strategy?” Maredudd asked.

Rhys pondered his options. To outwit the English king, the Welsh would need to appear to fall in with his plan even as they hatched one of their own.