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Nerys moaned. “Very well. I will go.” She staggered to her feet and followed Enid around the partition, but she was back moments later, carrying Catrin’s gown and underclothing.

Catrin accepted them gratefully. “Thank you, Nerys.”

She nodded, running her fingers down the dark-green fabric. “Your gown is very fine.”

At the young woman’s wistful tone, Catrin experienced an unexpected twinge of guilt. She had purposely worn one of her oldest, most worn gowns for this venture, and yet it was still so much grander than anything Nerys or Enid owned. For the first time in her life, the discrepancy between their situations did not sit well.

“Once I am dressed, may I assist you with your work?”

Nerys looked at her, startled. “You would wish to do that?”

“Very much.”

“Can you lay a fire or make barley bread?”

Catrin shook her head regretfully. “I . . . I have done neither.”

“Then mayhap you could help with the mending. There is always so much, and I am certain you are proficient with a needle.”

Catrin’s heart sank. “I am a very poor seamstress, but if you are willing to teach me, I would be happy to try any of those skills.”

“Then we shall begin with the fire.” Nerys gave her an encouraging smile. “And once the cawl has warmed through, you may help me take it to the few men who are left at camp.”

“How many are here?”

“Apart from Bleddyn, there are three who are recovering from wounds sustained in a skirmish about a week ago.”

That must have been the battle Rhys had told her of. The one that had enraged King Henry so greatly, he’d set fire to the Tudor family burial site. Tamping down her fear of what the Welshmen might be facing at the hands of the English monarch this very moment, she hurriedly exchanged the chemise she was wearing for her own clothing and followed Nerys into the center of the longhouse.

There was no sign of Enid, but thanks to Nerys’s patient tutoring, it did not take long before hungry flames were licking the base of a large pot and the savory smell of cawl pervaded the room. Catrin helped Nerys fill three bowls full, then walked with her to the opposite end of the longhouse, where another partition delineated the area set aside for the wounded.

“We have your food.” Nerys called out her warning, then led Catrin around the screen.

Six pallets lay side by side, but only three were currently occupied. One man lay with his eyes closed while Enid applied some kind of salve to an ugly wound on his leg, but the other two were sitting up expectantly.

“It smells grand.” The older of the two men sniffed the air appreciatively.

“’Course it does.” A freckled-face young man gave Nerys a big grin. “Nerys and Enid made it.”

Nerys rolled her eyes. “You say the same thing every day, Ioan.”

“And I mean it every time,” he said, reaching for the bowl she offered.

“This is Catrin,” Nerys said, moving slightly so the men could see Catrin standing behind her.

“She’s going back to Beaumaris today,” Enid added.

Nerys gave her a puzzled look before pointing to each of the men in turn. “This is Ioan, Huw, and Glyn.”

“Welcome to the mountains,” Ioan mumbled, his mouth already full of food. Huw gave her a polite nod, and over on the far pallet, Glyn opened his eyes and gave her a faint smile.

Catrin handed the bowl she held to Huw, then watched as Nerys waited for Enid to wrap a fresh bandage around Glyn’s leg.

When Enid was finished, she rose to her feet. “Your wound’s not as angry as it was, Glyn. The redness is improved.”

Glyn’s pinched features suggested that he was still in considerable pain, but he pushed himself upright. “I am grateful to you, Enid. I would’ve lost the leg without your care.”

Enid patted his shoulder. “I know ’tis not easy to lie here when you want to be out with the other men, but I believe you will be rewarded for your patience. Now, eat your cawl. You need your strength to keep up the healing.”