Page 75

“I knew it was more than my imagination.” Nerys paused only long enough to put another piece of bread in her mouth before continuing with her nightly monologue. “The way Marshal Rhys looked upon you when you first set eyes on that horse—well, it fair took my breath away.” She chewed a little longer. “If every woman had a man look at her like that, this world would be a better place. That’s what I say.”

Catrin focused on the last piece of parsnip in her bowl, hoping that Nerys would run out of steam soon. She’d stopped responding to her friend’s theories regarding Rhys’s feelings toward her after Rhys had all but confessed them in the grove of trees, but this was the first evening he’d been back at camp since then and she still wasn’t sure what to expect.

Having him there while she tended to Seren’s wounds had meant everything to her, but as soon as the work was finished, he’d needed to attend to other duties, and she’d not spoken to him since. She stifled a sigh. Perhaps this new phase in their relationship would be no easier than the last.

“Here comes Geraint again,” Nerys whispered.

Catrin looked up to see Geraint and Ioan approaching from a nearby table.

Geraint offered her a hopeful smile. “Good evening, Catrin.”

“Geraint, the music shared a few nights back was outstanding. I hope you intend to entertain us again.”

At the sound of Rhys’s voice, Geraint started, and Catrin’s gaze flew to the tall, dark-haired man who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“I thank you, Marshal.” Geraint recovered quickly. “Ioan and I were just coming to ask Catrin and Nerys if they’d like to join us in some singing.”

“I see. And what have they determined?”

Nerys rose. “I am happy to sing.”

Her friend spoke so quickly Catrin wondered if she’d decided to perform simply to escape Rhys. But that left Catrin in a quandary. Should she go, or should she stay? She glanced at Rhys again. He winked. It was so subtle she almost wondered if she’d imagined it, but the butterflies dancing in her stomach had recognized the intimate gesture, and that gave her the courage to put him to the test. “I would be glad to join you also,” she said.

Rhys smiled. “It seems that you will have a strong choir. Do you have room for another?”

Geraint’s eyes widened. “Why, yes, Marshal. There’s always room for an additional voice.”

“Then I, too, would like to sing.” He stepped back, indicating that Nerys and Catrin should precede him. “Ladies.”

“You took the bait,” Catrin whispered as she passed by. She heard him chuckle softly.

“But of course.”

They sang for the best part of an hour, and by the end of the evening, Catrin had learned two important things about Rhys: The first was that the tone of his voice was so rich and so pure, it had the power to make her knees quake. The second was that not only did the Welshmen gathered in the longhouse have full respect for Rhys as their leader, but they also seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. Geraint was the only one who did not seem completely happy to have Rhys in their midst, but when they came to the last song, he caught Catrin’s eye and gave her a small nod, as though to say he understood that something had changed and that he accepted it. In return, Catrin gave him a grateful smile. He did not look her way again, but she saw him laughing with Nerys and Glyn afterward and was glad.

Rhys walked her back to the table where she’d been seated before, but rather than taking her seat, she reached for her cloak.

“I must check on Seren,” she said.

“Is Bleddyn at the stable?”

She nodded. “He said he would stay with the horses through the night.”

“Good.” He hesitated. “May I accompany you there?”

She met his blue eyes and suddenly felt unaccountably shy. “I should like that very much.”

They crossed the room quickly, and when Rhys opened the door, a gust of cold air swirled around their ankles. Closing the door behind them, Rhys paused and looked up at the sky. Clouds were scudding across the moon and obscuring the stars.

“We may have snow by morning,” he said.

Catrin sensed his unease. “Is that a concern?”

“There are supplies that must be fetched from Conwy before the trail through the mountains becomes impassable. And more wood to cut.” He took her hand to guide her through the darkness toward the faint light emanating through the stable’s shutters. “Once winter is here, many of the men will return to their families until the snow melts. ’Tis difficult to practice military skills in such conditions, and the English are unlikely to risk losing men to frigid temperatures and treacherous roads. They will wait to make further advances into Wales until they can be more sure of their success.”

“What will you, Gwilym, and Maredudd do?”

“I have not spoken to them on the subject, but I think it probable that Maredudd will return to Anglesey to be with Margaret, at least for a while. Gwilym is more likely to stay.” He squeezed her hand gently. “My home is here until the rebellion is over.”