Page 55

“We must divide. Gwilym, you take one-third of the men and follow after the king. Close enough that he knows you are there, but not so close that he can see your numbers. Maredudd, you and I will march directly to the pass. If we cut through the mountains, we will reach Henry’s waiting soldiers before they are fully prepared to meet us. We will ensure that their numbers are significantly diminished before Henry arrives.”

“Take Dyfan with you,” Gwilym said. “He will know the exact location of the soldiers waiting at the pass.”

Rhys nodded in agreement, appreciative of his brother’s suggestion. Gwilym was not one to concede easily, and mayhap he still harbored doubts about Catrin, but he was willing to accept Rhys’s lead and work with him nonetheless—and for that, Rhys was grateful.

“And you should have Berwyn ride with you. He will know where Henry was last sighted.” He reached out and grasped Gwilym’s hand. “Godspeed. We shall be watching for you at the pass.”

______________________________

Catrin was warm. Blissfully warm. And somewhere close by, women were talking. She stirred, feeling the comforting weight of blankets cocooning her from her chin to her toes. Keeping her eyes closed, she lay still, and after a moment’s silence, the familiar cadence of women’s gentle gossiping resumed.

“I thought she might be waking that time.” It was a young woman’s voice.

“She’s practically slept the whole day away,” an older woman responded.

“She must have been exhausted. You should have seen her when Alun first brought her into the longhouse. Barely standing, she was.”

“Hmm.” The older woman did not sound pleased. “What’s she doing up here anyway? This camp’s no place for a noblewoman.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“No, but her hands are too soft to have seen much work, and her gown, although worn, is made of fine silk.”

“Well, Marshal Rhys knows her,” the young woman said. “And he cares about her well-being. The way he carried her across the longhouse and placed her on this pallet, you’d think he was afraid she might break.” She paused. “Not that Marshal Rhys is afraid of anything, mind. But that was about as close as I’ve seen in him.”

“Well, if you ask me, Marshal Rhys would do well to find himself a good, sturdy girl like you. One who knows how to work hard.”

Catrin suddenly did not wish to hear more. She opened her eyes. The two women were sitting on stools a few feet away, their heads close together, their fingers moving quickly over their darning. They each wore long wool tunics. One woman had dark hair woven into a single plait; the other appeared to be gray-haired, but most of her hair was hidden beneath a brown cowl.

Wiggling her arms out from under the tightly wrapped covers, Catrin gingerly raised herself into a sitting position.

“Oh!” The young woman looked over. “You’re awake.”

The older woman put down her darning, rose to her feet, and picked up the wooden cup sitting on the nearby table. “Here,” she said, bending down and offering it to Catrin. “Fresh mountain water.”

“I thank you,” Catrin whispered in Welsh. She took a drink and allowed the cool liquid to quench her parched throat.

“Better?”

Catrin nodded. “Very much.”

The older woman gave a satisfied nod. “Nerys, hurry and fetch some bread and broth, would you?”

Coming to her feet, the younger woman hesitated. “My name’s Nerys,” she said. “And this is my grandmother, Enid.”

Her grandmother. The comfortable familiarity between them became clear.

“I am Catrin.”

“Well, Catrin, if Nerys will ever do as she’s told, we’ll get some food for you.” Enid gave Nerys a pointed look, and Nerys hastened around the partition and disappeared.

Enid began peeling back the blankets. “Where’s your home, Catrin?”

“Beaumaris.”

The lines on Enid’s face became more pronounced as she pondered that information. “I can’t say that I know many of the noble families on the island. Other than the Tudors, of course.” She was obviously fishing for more information, but Catrin was not willing to give it.

“Are you and Nerys from somewhere nearby?”