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Rhys fought back a smile. He’d known full well that Gwilym would not take the duke’s life in the river, but the fact that the nobleman had not known it had most certainly worked to their advantage. Now he was trussed up with the rest of his men and could spend the night under the stars, cursing his misfortunes. Come early morning, a passerby would undoubtedly free the men, but by then, the cart would be well on its way back to Anglesey, and Seren would be with Catrin in the mountains.

“Is the driver ready?” Rhys asked.

Maredudd nodded. “Aye. He knows what to do. Dyfan and Emyr will escort him as far as the Beaumaris church and will ensure that everything is delivered to the priest.”

“And the message for Lord Buckley?”

“He will return the cart to the castle and tell the constable that Lady Catrin is safe and well and that her horse, Seren, has been restored to her.”

Gwilym leaped off the cart. “Then he will add that the Duke of Bedford has had a change of heart and is donating the coinage he took with him to the rebuilding of the friary at Llanfaes.”

Rhys chuckled. “If the driver can persuade Lord Buckley of that, we shall all be the better for it.”

“Agreed,” Maredudd said.

Dyfan and Emyr escorted the Englishman to the cart, and the marshals watched as the driver resumed his seat. Once he was situated, the Welshmen guided their horses into position on either side of the wagon. With a deferential nod directed at Rhys, Dyfan gave the driver a brusque order, and the cart started moving.

“Have the men prepare to leave,” Rhys said, already making for the ash tree where Castan and Seren were tethered. “There is mayhap an hour of daylight left; we must use it well.”

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The water seemed colder now than it had only two weeks before. Catrin looked up from her spot by the gurgling stream and studied the surrounding mountains. Most of them were white-capped, and she knew it would not be long before the snow line fell below the camp. How much more difficult would it be to complete her chores then? Already, the dipping nighttime temperatures made arising in the morning less attractive; she could only imagine the additional challenge deep snow would bring.

A hawk sailed by, its forlorn cry echoing through the valley and reminding Catrin that she’d been away from the stable long enough. Pulling her wooden pail out of the stream, she shook the water droplets off her stinging fingers and rose to her feet. This was the last of the water she needed to replenish the empty troughs. Bleddyn didn’t think the men would be gone so long this time, and once all the horses were back, they would be glad to have these extra jobs already completed.

Grasping the pail by its handle, Catrin lifted it carefully. She would rather carry this heavy load once than lose so much water to haste that she was forced to make another trip.

Crossing the strip of rocky ground that followed the stream downhill, she joined the meandering sheep trail that led into the valley where the longhouse was located. Bracken, curling and spotted brown, grew in clumps between the boulders, and faded cloverleaves encroached upon the scrubby grass. Even the vegetation seemed tired and ready for a winter rest.

She had almost reached the copse of trees that hid the narrow valley from view when she spotted Nerys running toward her from the direction of the longhouse.

Lowering her pail to the ground, Catrin hurried to meet her. “Has something happened?”

“The men are returned,” she panted. “They are just now gathering in front of the longhouse.”

She paused to catch her breath, and Catrin’s gaze darted from her friend’s flustered expression to the trees blocking her view of the building. Surely Nerys would not come to her in such a hurry unless something terrible had happened.

“Is Marshal Rhys . . . is he . . . ?” She could not bring herself to say more.

Nerys took one look at her face and must have realized her fears. “No. No. He is here, and he is well.” She grabbed Catrin’s hand and started towing her down the path toward the trees. “But he asked that I find you and bring you to him.”

“The water,” Catrin said, not sure whether her emotions or her legs were struggling most to keep up with her friend.

Nerys waved her free hand. “It can wait. Bleddyn can come for it once he’s stopped gaping at the horse.”

“What horse?”

“Come,” Nerys said firmly. “You shall see.”

When they broke through the other side of the copse of trees, Catrin discovered that the entire company had indeed gathered outside the longhouse. Most of the Welshmen had dismounted, and in the sea of men and horses, it was hard to pick out Rhys or his brothers. Nerys did not give her any opportunity to search for them though. Without breaking her stride, she continued to pull Catrin across the grassy area toward the front of the assemblage.

Only when they were a few feet away did Nerys slow to a walk.

“You see Bleddyn,” she said, pointing to the stableboy, who was standing with his back to them alongside some of the other men. “He has not moved from that spot since he came out of the stable.”

“But why?”

Nerys smiled. “I believe Master Rhys wishes to show you.”