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“And Enid and Nerys?” She already knew what she wanted to do, but it would be difficult without the other women.

“I hope to persuade them to remain here,” Rhys said. “Those of us who wait out the winter in the mountains will eat very poorly without them.”

Not for the first time, Catrin wished her cooking skills were better and that there were more she could do to help around camp. “Perhaps I can sway them.”

“I will not turn down any assistance of that nature,” he said. “I would like them to stay.”

“Yes, and I need them to stay.”

They were only a few feet from the stable doors, but he stopped abruptly.

“Catrin, enduring winter in the mountains is no small thing. Selfishly, I would like nothing more than to have you here, but those weeks will be a time of isolation, with no escape from any dangers or deprivations that might arise. In all good conscience, I cannot let you remain here.”

She could barely see him in the darkness, but she reached out her hand until her fingers touched his hair, and she felt the outline of his face. “The weather changes nothing,” she said. “This is where I am supposed to be.”

“If our food and fuel become depleted, or even worse, we experience an avalanche or an injury, there is nothing to be done until the pass clears.”

“I understand, and I would rather be here with you under those conditions than elsewhere worrying myself sick.”

He released a heavy breath, the sound whistling through his teeth. “How is it that I can command a hundred men, but to give one woman directions is beyond me?”

“Because deep down, you know that I am right.”

He turned his head slightly so he could kiss the palm of her hand. “If you cannot persuade Enid and Nerys to stay, you must leave with them.”

“They will stay,” she said. “We all will.”

She felt his head tilt back beneath her fingers, and she followed his gaze heavenward as the first flakes of snow began to fall. Blown in by the north wind and concealed by darkness, winter had come.

Chapter 29

Catrin lifted the lid and studied the thin layer of oats coating the bottom of the barrel. She was so tired of eating porridge she’d been tempted to walk away from her bowl when it was placed before her last evening. But other than a few shriveled root vegetables that she would undoubtedly discover floating in a thin broth later today, this small portion of oats was all that remained of their food storage. She would need to eat porridge again or starve.

“Three days,” she said. “There is sufficient food for three days if we ration it carefully.”

“Marshal Rhys and Dyfan may find something in the traps today,” Nerys said.

“Perhaps.” Catrin was grateful that her friend still clung to hope, even though the traps had been empty every day for the last two weeks and Catrin was beginning to wonder if any creatures had survived the brutal winter.

For the last three months, the conditions in Snowdonia had proven even more taxing than Rhys had anticipated. Heavy snow, strong winds, and bitterly cold temperatures had kept the mountains impassible, and although many of the Welshmen had left for home when the bad weather had first set in, there were eighteen who had remained at the longhouse. With Enid, Nerys, and Catrin included, that meant twenty-one mouths to feed on supplies that had been intended to last two months.

Enid and Nerys had made good use of those weeks to patiently teach Catrin how to cook and wash and clean, and as her skills had gradually improved, Catrin’s usefulness at the camp had increased. She’d offered to help with darning and mending multiple times, but after Enid had declared her efforts with the needle as the worst she’d ever seen, Catrin opted to work in the stable whenever there was sewing of any kind to be done. Rather than take offense at Enid’s blunt assessment, Catrin had been grateful for the excuse to escape the chore to spend time with Seren.

It had taken Seren a few weeks to fully recover from the injuries inflicted by the Duke of Bedford’s whip, but three narrow scars were the only lasting reminders of that ordeal, and the damage to his legs had done nothing to slow him. Whenever the weather allowed, Catrin exercised Seren in the small valley. If Rhys was available, he joined them on Castan. Together they sometimes rode farther afield, and no matter the deep snow or biting cold, Catrin’s exhilaration knew no bounds.

Sharing the beauty of the snow-covered mountains with Rhys had been a gift, sitting beside him before the fire in the longhouse each evening, a joy. After all these weeks, it still thrilled her to feel the touch of his fingers or the warmth of his gaze. And although the words remained unspoken between them, she knew she loved Rhys ap Tudor as she’d never loved before.

“Well, I daresay I can dream of a slice of pork or a poached pear while I eat my next bowl of porridge,” Nerys said, bringing Catrin back to the hunger they were facing with a dramatic sigh.

Catrin placed her hand over her middle and groaned. “Even the thought of those foods makes my stomach growl.”

“I told Glyn that if he made it as far as Conwy, he was to bring me a piece of fruit—no matter how small or withered.” Her eyes lost their focus. “Doesn’t a bite of apple sound heavenly?”

Catrin dropped the lid back onto the barrel of tasteless oats. “You are purposefully torturing me.”

Nerys giggled. “Even if the traps are empty, there is a chance that Marshal Gwilym and Glyn have reached town and will be back soon with supplies.”

“Do you think they made it through the pass?” Gwilym and Glyn had left at first light to make another attempt at leaving the mountains. Up until now, every try had been met with disappointment, and the men had returned exhausted from spending hours digging through heavy snow or traversing dangerous ice. There had been no sign of the two men as yet, but the day was still young.