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Nerys’s cheeks colored prettily, but she shook her head. “I will enjoy listening to you this time.”

“Very well.” He offered Catrin his arm. “The singers are gathering by the fire.”

The men cheerfully made room for her, and once they’d selected their favorite tunes, they began to sing.

There was something about the men’s voices raised in song that touched Catrin deeply. She joined in on the well-known ballads, blending her voice with theirs, and experienced a sense of emotional homecoming unlike anything she’d felt before. It replaced her earlier feelings of isolation, and when the singing was finally over and the applause died down, she knew she had participated in something good.

“I thank you, Geraint,” she said as he walked her back to her table. “I have not heard some of those songs in years.”

“Then you did well to remember the words,” he said. “And Bleddyn did not exaggerate your musical ability. You must join us again.”

She smiled and took her seat. “I should like that.”

Geraint gave her a pleased nod and walked away.

“You were marvelous,” Nerys said.

Catrin laughed. “I doubt I could be heard over so many strong male voices.”

“There may have only been one of you, but you held your own,” she said, then leaning closer, she added, “and Marshal Rhys did not take his eyes off you the entire time.”

Catrin could not help herself. She glanced over at the head table. But Rhys was not in his customary seat; he was walking across the room toward her. She felt Nerys’s urgent kick under the table moments before he stopped before her.

“Good evening, Catrin.” He inclined his head to include her friend. “Nerys.”

At her side, Catrin was vaguely aware of Nerys shifting nervously, but her eyes did not leave Rhys’s. Had she been wrong to get up in front of the men? Was that the reason for his sudden appearance at her table?

“May I speak with you privately?” he said.

“Of course.” Catrin rose to her feet.

“Do you have a cloak nearby?”

She nodded and reached for her cloak, hoping that her shaking fingers would not betray her tumultuous emotions. He gestured toward the door, and with the eyes of almost all the occupants of the large room upon her, she walked outside with Rhys at her elbow.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Rhys took the cloak from her hands, and without a word, he placed it around her shoulders and attached the clasp. Taking her hand, he started toward a small copse of trees sufficiently far from the longhouse to be out of sight of any of the building’s occupants.

The moon shone down upon them, and myriad stars added their twinkling light. Catrin’s breath hung before her in little puffs, but she matched her stride to his and said nothing, waiting for him to break the silence. An owl sailed by, settling on the branch of the nearest tree. Rhys gave the bird a passing glance, then drew Catrin beneath the neighboring oak.

“Forgive me, Catrin.” His voice was low. “I cannot abide by our agreement.”

She reeled back in shock. “You are sending me back to Beaumaris?”

“No! I swear, not that.”

“Then what?” She tried to calm her racing heart. He would not send her away; he had promised he would not.

For a few moments, he stared silently at the night sky above them, then he took a deep breath and looked back at her. “Up until very recently, I believed that to be a strong leader, I needed to ignore my personal feelings and concentrate solely on my duties. And I have tried. For five long days, heaven knows how hard I have tried. When you exercised Castan, I suppressed the desire to join you; when I could have sat beside you in the longhouse, I took another seat; and when I heard your beautiful voice coming from the stable, I walked away.” He held her gaze, and she saw the agony in his eyes. “Can you guess what has happened since that show of ‘strength’?”

Confused, Catrin shook her head.

“I have been irritable with my brothers, impatient with the young archers, discourteous to Enid, and fiercely jealous of any man who has spoken to you. In short, I have been the worst possible leader.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his agitation clear. “Tonight in the longhouse, I experienced my own epiphany. I cannot maintain my role as chief marshal at this camp unless I am first true to myself.”

Catrin was beginning to believe that her pounding heart would never recover from this night. “I . . . I do not understand. What is it that you mean to say?”

“I mean to say, sweet Catrin, that I can no longer treat you with indifference.”

When had breathing become so difficult? “But what of your men? Will they not come to resent my presence here?”