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She picked up her bowl of salve and the dirty bandages and moved away as Nerys offered Glyn the bowl.

“Good news today, Glyn,” Nerys said shyly.

“Aye.” Glyn smiled a slow, tender smile, and Catrin caught the slight blush in her new friend’s cheeks. “It’s been a long time coming, but I’m mighty glad to hear it.”

“As am I,” Nerys said.

“My shoulder is also much improved,” Ioan declared from his pallet.

Nerys looked away from Glyn and gave a light laugh. “That is good; I shall not have to wait on you much longer.”

Ioan thought about that for a moment and frowned. “Mayhap I will relapse.”

Glyn shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

“Ioan you are a halfwit,” Huw said with a chuckle. “But we are right glad to have you here to keep us all amused.”

While Ioan appeared to weigh whether Huw’s comment was complimentary or insulting, Nerys turned back to Glyn. “I shall come back for your bowl and bring you some mead when I am finished making bread.”

“I am sorry to trouble you.”

“’Tis no trouble,” she said. He gave her a searching look, and she smiled reassuringly. “Truly. I am glad to do it.”

The tension left his face. “I thank you, Nerys.”

Leaving the men to their meal, Catrin and Nerys crossed the large, empty room to serve themselves some cawl.

“Where is your grandmother?” Catrin asked. “Has she already eaten?”

“I imagine she’s gone to milk the goats,” Nerys said. “We have three of them, and if one of us doesn’t see to them first thing, they bleat their displeasure to the whole world.”

Catrin laughed. “I’m told goats can be bad-tempered creatures.”

Nerys nodded, looking thoughtful. “They surely are, but my grandmother is not. I’m bewildered by how ill-disposed she has been toward you. She is known for her kindness.”

“I daresay that with my lack of practical skills, she sees me as a burden rather than as a help.”

“That could be,” Nerys said. “But are you truly any more of a burden than the wounded men?”

Catrin thought back upon her arrival at the camp. “My presence here may have created unnecessary tension between the Tudors.” She swallowed her regret. “Few things could be a greater burden to the camp.”

“The Tudors.” Nerys gasped. “That’s it.”

Catrin stared at her. “I do not understand.”

Nerys reached for a bowl and filled it with cawl, then handed it to Catrin before filling one for herself. Taking a seat on the closest bench, she indicated that Catrin should join her.

“I would not have you hold this against my grandmother,” she said. “She’s a good woman, but sometimes ’tis hard to reason with her.” She sighed. “Ever since we arrived at the camp, she has had it in her head that I am the perfect match for Marshal Rhys.”

“Rhys . . . Rhys ap Tudor?”

“Aye.” Nerys glanced at her. “Like me, she must have seen how he looked on you when he lowered you to the pallet before he left, and I fear it has caused her to see you as a threat to her grand design.”

“I am no threat,” Catrin said. “Rhys would have done the same for any woman who collapsed before him.”

Nerys shrugged. “You may believe that if you wish.” She pushed a small piece of swede around her bowl. “My grandmother refuses to accept that I do not share the same desire. I’ve barely spoken to the marshal. If he ever acknowledges my presence or hers, my knees tremble for fear that I will make a fool of myself the moment I open my mouth or, worse, that she will say something that will embarrass me further.”

“Do you wish it were different?”