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Gwilym’s eyes widened. “I cannot believe Lord Buckley capable of such a thing—not with his own daughter.”

“Neither can I,” Rhys said. “But the Duke of Bedford—who seeks nothing more than new ways to win King Henry’s favor—is yet at the castle and would most certainly consider it.”

“Even though she is to be his wife?”

Rhys took a deep breath. “Apparently, Catrin has declared her refusal to marry him and the nuptial arrangements have been nullified.”

“Which means the duke may add desire for revenge to his craving for greater power.” Maredudd spoke for the first time, his succinct analysis sending chills down Rhys’s spine.

“Quite apart from the fact that we owe her a debt of gratitude for the intelligence she brought from Beaumaris Castle, I would never knowingly send a woman into such a perilous situation.”

“Can she not go somewhere else?” Gwilym asked.

“I am open to your suggestions,” Rhys said. “But given the fact that the duke would undoubtedly locate her if she visits someone within the nobility and she has not the skills necessary to work elsewhere, her options are few.”

“Why are you so anxious for her to leave?” Maredudd asked.

Gwilym gave him a startled look. “Do you truly need to ask? Rhys has been charged with leading the rebellion in this part of Wales. If Lady Catrin is here, he will be unable to think on anything or anyone else.”

Maredudd shrugged. “You may be correct. But if Rhys’s feelings for Lady Catrin run as deeply as you believe, I would submit that the opposite is also true. If he knows that she is safe here in the mountains, he will spend far less time worrying about her—and therefore have his mind free to focus on military strategies—than he would if she were elsewhere.”

Gwilym stared at him, and Rhys’s lips twitched as he fought back a smile.

“I stand by what I have said previously,” Rhys said. “Maredudd understands matters of the heart better than either of us.”

Gwilym shook his head ruefully. “It will take time to adjust to being out-thought by my younger brother.”

“Then before the wind changes and you no longer consider me knowledgeable on the subject, let me offer one more word of advice to Rhys,” Maredudd said. “Lady Catrin is an attractive woman. If you choose to not make public her title or your feelings for her, you must be prepared to watch other men at the camp make overtures of interest.”

As the truth of Maredudd’s words sank in, Rhys’s stomach clenched. Gwilym took one look at Rhys’s expression and burst into laughter.

“All is forgiven, Maredudd. If your gems of wisdom can so convincingly put Rhys in his place, you may share them anytime you please.”

______________________________

It had been five days since Catrin had spoken with Rhys in the stable. Five long days of rising early, helping Enid and Nerys with their chores, exercising the horses, helping prepare food for the evening, and sitting through the meal without so much as glancing in Rhys’s direction. Nerys had been thrilled to learn that Catrin was to stay at camp; Enid had grudgingly admitted to being glad of the extra help. And although Catrin was not yet sufficiently confident in her skills to work alone, she was learning how to make Enid’s cawl, and her last batch of barley bread had rivaled Nerys’s in taste and texture.

Once she’d successfully reassured Bleddyn that her presence in the stable in no way jeopardized his position, he’d been happy to hand over the most spirited horses to her care, and exercising Castan and Mellten had quickly become the highlights of each day. Sometimes her rides took her past the men practicing their archery and swordplay. If she saw Gwilym or Maredudd, she would nod politely, and they would respond in kind. Catrin had no way of knowing what Rhys had told them regarding his decision to let her stay, but she was grateful that they appeared to have accepted it.

When Rhys was supervising the training sessions, she purposely kept her distance, taking the horses to the other end of the narrow valley and returning them directly to the stable. As much as she ached to talk to him and see him smile or hear him laugh, she would not risk her tenuous position at the camp by approaching him without invitation. She did not think that any of the men had noticed her lack of contact with their chief marshal, but Nerys had, and her curiosity over their relationship was becoming harder and harder to assuage.

“I don’t understand it,” Nerys said, dipping her crust of bread into the meat drippings in the trencher they shared. She’d repeated the same phrase every evening since the men had returned from battle, and Catrin knew exactly what was coming next. “I saw his face when he put you down on the pallet after you collapsed. If he hadn’t had to leave for Horseshoe Pass, I swear he never would have let you go. That’s how much he cared.” She chewed her bread, her gaze moving to the head table. “And now he’s marching around the camp with a big black cloud hanging over his head and acting like he doesn’t know you’re here.”

“He’s a busy man.” Catrin had run out of reasons to give her friend and had started repeating herself almost as much as Nerys was wont to do. “He has far more important things to think upon.”

“No.” Nerys was firm. “That’s not it. That day you arrived, there was nothing more important to him than you.”

Catrin sighed. The truth was, being ignored was turning out to be much harder than she’d anticipated. She had very little contact with anyone other than Enid, Nerys, and Bleddyn during the day. Some of the men regularly sought her out in the evenings, and she always smiled and conversed politely, but she had a hollowness inside that refused to be filled no matter how pleasant the conversation or how gallant the warrior.

“Here comes Geraint again,” Nerys said, giving her a quick nudge with her elbow. “I think he comes to talk to you more often than Glyn talks to me.”

Catrin looked up just as Geraint arrived at her table.

“Some of us lads are going to have a sing-along,” he said. “Bleddyn mentioned that you have a grand voice. He’s heard you in the stable, see.” He shifted his feet awkwardly. “Well, we wondered . . . it would be right nice to have a female voice join us.”

Catrin had fond memories of singing with her mother. It had been her mother’s antidote for discouragement of any kind. Perhaps singing with some of the men would help alleviate a portion of Catrin’s loneliness. “If the songs are familiar, I would be happy to participate,” she said.

Geraint smiled widely. “What of you, Nerys? I’ve heard you singing over your cooking. Will you join us?”