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Maredudd turned to face the door of the longhouse. Margaret stood, watching silently. Maredudd smiled at her, and when she responded with a shy smile of her own, Rhys experienced an unexpected stab of envy. His new sister-in-law had accepted his and Gwilym’s unexpected arrival without complaint, and she’d listened attentively to the stories of their exploits abroad while they’d sat around the fire waiting for the rain to abate. But it was obvious that the consideration she’d shown Rhys and Gwilym over the last two days was nothing to the genuine affection she shared with their brother.

“We shall return before nightfall,” Maredudd said.

Margaret nodded, and Gwilym raised his hand in farewell. Then, wheeling Castan around, Rhys urged his mount forward and led the way up the hill.

Moisture clung to the leaves on the trees and bushes, and the road was muddy and pocked with puddles. The cool, damp air gradually warmed as the sun rose higher, and tiny daisies in the hedgerows raised their heads toward the sky. Rhys found himself relaxing as he and Maredudd followed the road at a leisurely pace, encountering nothing more than a fox and a flock of crows along the way.

Rhys spotted the English flag flying atop one of the castle towers when they were yet a ways off, and by the time the towers came fully into view above the trees, they were close enough to Beaumaris to smell the sea and hear the seagulls’ cries. They followed the road through the outskirts of the small town until they reached the drawbridge that led to the castle’s main gate. Their horses’ hooves clattered loudly on the wooden planks as they crossed the moat to the gatehouse and approached the two English guards who were standing side by side, blocking their entry.

“State yer names and business at the castle,” one of the guards demanded.

“Maredudd ap Tudor and Rhys ap Tudor,” Maredudd said. “Here to deliver taxes to Lord Buckley from the commote of Malltraeth.”

“Go ahead,” the guard said. “You may stable yer horses and wait on Lord Buckley in the great hall.”

“I thank you.” Maredudd gave the guard a curt nod, and Rhys followed him into the outer ward.

It had been many years since Rhys had visited the castle, but the passage of time had done nothing to dim the architectural majesty and defensive brilliance of the structure. An eight-sided curtain wall with twelve turrets surrounded the outer ward. Archer slits were cut into the thick walls at regular intervals, offering bowmen protection while giving them the best vantage point for an impeding attack from without. A second wall, even thicker than the first and including six towers and two huge gatehouses, divided the outer ward from the inner ward, where the accommodations and domestic buildings were found.

Maredudd led him though the arched entrance of the south gatehouse into the inner ward. Soldiers stood at regular intervals atop the thick walls, and a few more were monitoring the activity in the harbor from the upper reaches of the south-facing towers. In the courtyard, servants were hurrying back and forth across the wide expanse, from the kitchen to the great hall, and a couple of noblemen were in deep conversation at the entrance of the south tower.

“That’s Goronwy ap Ieuan and Griffith ap Dafydd.” Maredudd spoke quietly in Welsh. “They’re neighboring bailiffs from the north side of the island. Must be that they also waited for the weather to clear before bringing in the taxes from their commotes.”

Rhys gave the men another quick look before turning his attention to his left, where the wide stable doors creaked open. The two brothers watched while a gray-haired man led a stunning black stallion into the courtyard. The horse tossed his head wildly and danced away from the door.

“Steady now, Seren.” The stablemaster pulled gently on the straps in his hand. “You’ve not much longer to wait.”

The only marking on the black stallion’s velvet coat was a white spot on his forehead. Like a bright pinpoint of light in a dark night sky, it was easy to see how the stallion came about his name. Nevertheless, Rhys couldn’t help but wonder at the English nobleman who would choose to call his horse by the Welsh word for star.

The stallion gave the stablemaster a forceful nudge before snorting nervously. Castan gave an answering snort, and Rhys reached down to give his horse a reassuring pat as a young woman exited the stables. She wore a dark-green, silk gown, and her fair hair was parted down the middle and gathered in a silver mesh caul at the nape of her neck. With her back to the waiting Welshmen, she spoke briefly to the older woman, who was standing beside a stableboy holding the reins of a docile white mare. The noblewoman then stepped up to the black stallion and placed her small hand on the base of his broad shoulder.

A frisson of alarm shot through Rhys, and he edged Castan closer to Maredudd. “What is the stablemaster thinking?” he said, speaking in Welsh. “That’s too much horse for any young woman to handle.”

Before Maredudd could respond, the noblewoman swung around, and for a split second, Rhys saw a flash of something that looked remarkably like irritation in her hazel eyes, then she turned and spoke softly to the stablemaster. The old man moved closer, bent down, and cupped his hands beside her. Moments later, she was in the saddle. She leaned forward to whisper something into the ear of the now-passive stallion, and with a word of thanks to the stablemaster, she gave Rhys a curt nod and started out of the inner ward with her aged maid riding the white mare behind her.

At his side, Rhys heard Maredudd chuckle. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Lady Catrin heard you question her ability to manage her mount and was not happy about it.”

“Did you see how that stallion was behaving before she got to him?” Rhys said, feeling unaccountably defensive.

Maredudd nodded. “Aye. But I also know Lady Catrin’s reputation as an accomplished horsewoman.”

“Well, you should have spoken up,” Rhys said grumpily.

“When would you have had me do that?”

Rhys scowled, and Maredudd chuckled again.

“Exactly,” Maredudd said. “Now, let’s leave our horses and go give Lord Buckley the people of Malltraeth’s coinage.”

Placing their mounts in the care of a stableboy, they started across the courtyard toward the south tower. Rhys scanned the area, making note of the placement of the English guards within the inner ward, along with the weapons on display. But despite his interest in the military operations within the castle, he couldn’t quell his curiosity regarding the young woman with the black stallion.

“Who is Lady Catrin?” he asked his brother.

Maredudd looked at him with surprise. “She’s Lord Buckley’s daughter.”

Lord Buckley’s daughter. Suddenly, the image of the missive he and Gwilym had commandeered on the boat came to mind. “Does he have other daughters?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Maredudd said. “Leastwise, she’s the only one at the castle.” He looked at Rhys sideways. “Why the sudden interest in Lady Catrin?”