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“I heard dripping coming from the longhouse roof a few hours ago. If the temperatures have warmed enough to melt the snow here, there’s a good chance ’tis cleared down below.” Nerys started back toward the fireplace, where a pot of snow was finally coming to a boil. “Besides, if there was ever a man motivated by food, ’tis Glyn. He’d cross untold frozen rivers and snow drifts if it meant he’d eat a good meal at the end of it.”

Catrin smiled. As her own relationship with Rhys had developed and strengthened during their three months of isolation, so too had the attachment between Nerys and Glyn. The fondness between them was almost as obvious as Enid’s pleasure over their situation

The longhouse door opened, and Enid bustled in. “The men who went for more wood are back,” she announced. “And Marshal Rhys and Dyfan are coming in right after them.”

“Does it look like they caught anything?” Nerys asked.

“Not as far as I could see.”

Catrin’s heart sank. Their lack of food was weighing heavily on Rhys, and she knew that finding the traps empty once more would be a bitter blow. Donning her cloak, she slipped outside. The afternoon sun reflected off the sparkling snow, and Catrin put her hand to her eyes to protect them from the glare. Four men were busily unloading a pile of chopped branches from a sledge near the stable. Two others were approaching the longhouse on horseback, their slumped shoulders attesting to their lack of success. She walked to meet them.

Rhys saw her coming and reined Castan to a halt. “Go ahead, Dyfan,” he said. “I shall follow you shortly.”

Dyfan nodded and continued toward the stable. Rhys turned his weary eyes on her and managed a smile.

Catrin reached out to pat Castan’s neck. “Have you been out so long that you are in need of some time by the fire? Or would you rather accompany Seren and me on a short ride? I had thought of going out as far as the fork in the river.”

“If you were sitting beside the fire, I would choose that,” Rhys said. “But if you are taking Seren for a ride, I will stay in my saddle.”

Catrin smiled. “I shall hurry.” She had Seren saddled and ready in a matter of minutes, and when she rode out of the stable, the joy she felt in simply seeing Rhys waiting for her must have shown on her face, for his blue eyes crinkled.

“You are excited for this outing,” he said.

“How is the snow?”

He chuckled, obviously knowing full well her reason for asking. “It will make for a good walk but is still too deep and icy for a run.”

Catrin tamped down her disappointment. “Then we shall enjoy all we can see traveling at a slower pace.”

They rode in companionable silence past a grove of trees, following the sound of water running beneath the icy crust that coated the river. The air was crisp and clear. Every sound, from the horses’ footfalls to the creak of leather, was magnified, and shadows from the mountain peaks turned the bright, white mountainsides a soft shade of pale blue.

“’Tis so beautiful,” Catrin said, reining in Seren to gaze at the view across the valley.

Rhys nodded, halting beside her. “When I stop long enough to take in the majesty of this place, I am reminded of why I am here. Why we are all here.”

“This land is worth the sacrifice and the fight, is it not?”

“Aye.” His voice was low. “For me, it is.” He looked at her. “For most of the men and women in our camp, the hardships they experience here are not so very different from those they endured in their own homes and communities before the rebellion began. But you have given up luxuries, riches, and a title; you have given up everything for this cause.”

“Not everything.” She paused. “I would be speaking falsehoods if I claimed to have never lain on my pallet in the longhouse and dreamed of my soft bed at the castle or shed a tear at my calloused and scraped hands after working in the stable or wished for a meal of venison or pheasant when I have been offered broth. But those things are of no import when compared to what I can claim. My convictions are intact, my friendships have grown, and, thanks to you, I have Seren.”

“You truly have no regrets?”

Catrin bit her lip. After all this time, had Rhys still not grasped that the Welsh blood running through her veins tied her to this land and people as powerfully as his Tudor blood did for him? “None.”

For a moment, Rhys did not speak. From somewhere beyond the trees to their right came the distinctive honk of geese. In one swift movement, Rhys slid the bow off his shoulder, pulled an arrow from his quiver, and nocked it.

Catrin scoured the sky. “Do you see them?”

Rhys did not reply. His attention was riveted on the grove of trees. Seconds later, a perfect v-formation of geese appeared, sailing high above the upper branches. Catrin heard the whoosh of an arrow going airborne, followed almost immediately by another. Like rocks, two geese dropped out of the sky and landed in the snow a few yards ahead of them. Giving honks of displeasure, the other geese closed ranks, and without pause, continued flying southward.

Stunned, Catrin’s gaze moved from the geese above to the birds on the ground to Rhys beside her.

“With only two arrows, you brought down two birds?”

“So it would seem.” Rhys grinned and shouldered his bow. “It may not be venison or pheasant, but do you not think roast goose sounds considerably more appetizing than porridge for supper?”

Catrin laughed. “I can think of nothing better.”