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He took Castan’s and Seren’s reins in one hand, and with a smile, he offered her his other arm. “Given my problematic relationship with the man, that is wise counsel indeed.”

Chapter 30

Dusk was falling when Gwilym and Glyn returned. They rode into camp with bags hanging from their saddles and guiding a donkey loaded down with supplies. Rhys met them at the door of the longhouse and waited for his brother to dismount.

“This is a welcome sight,” he said, noting the sack of oats for the horses amongst the other provisions. “How difficult was the road?”

“The snow line is rising rapidly,” Gwilym said. “The trail to Llanrwst has gone from buried in snow to obscured by slush and mud. It remains treacherous, but ’tis passable. Once we reached the Conwy Valley, we were able to travel faster.”

“Did you encounter any problems in town?”

“The English have depleted the locals’ resources in Conwy, much as they have in Beaumaris, so supplies were not easily had, but once the merchants learned where the provisions were going, they unaccountably found extra.”

“And you paid them well.”

“Aye.” Gwilym handed off a sack to one of the men who had come out to help. “They were pleased.”

Rhys stepped aside as Ioan walked by with a sack on his shoulder. The Welshman’s smile was wide as he entered the longhouse with fresh provisions. The men who were unloading the donkey were laughing, their voices more jovial than they’d been in a month. The news was good. The pass was open, Gwilym and Glyn had made the journey safely and successfully, and the merchants in Conwy were pleased with their payment. Why, then, was he experiencing uneasiness?

Rhys studied his brother more carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders and the lack of jesting between him and Glyn. “There is something more,” Rhys guessed.

He did not miss the exchange of glances between the two travelers, but Gwilym waited until Emyr had carried the last sack into the longhouse before he replied.

“There is more,” he said. “And ’tis troubling.”

Rhys’s heart sank. “Take your horses and the donkey to Bleddyn, then meet me in the longhouse.”

“Is Catrin inside?” Gwilym asked.

“She is.”

He nodded gravely. “She should hear what we have to say.”

Rhys’s uneasiness was rapidly becoming full-blown dread. What could Gwilym possibly wish to discuss in front of Catrin? “I will ask her to join us, and if you make haste, you can share your news before the evening meal is served.”

Gwilym wasted no time. He clicked his tongue and led his mount toward the stable. Rhys watched Glyn follow behind with his horse and the donkey, then he went in search of Catrin.

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Rhys sat at the table in the corner of the room, with Gwilym opposite him. Catrin was at his right, her face pale. Glyn sat across from her.

“Very well,” Rhys said. “What is this news that is so serious it has knocked the smile off your face?”

“Henry has put a price on our heads,” Gwilym said without preamble. “Yours, mine, and Owain’s. We are officially outlawed.”

Rhys did not move. He barely remembered to breathe. Outlawed. Heaven help them. If so much as one man or woman recognized them and divulged it to someone in authority, he and Gwilym would hang on the nearest gallows. He reached for Catrin’s hand, and she wrapped her cold fingers around his.

“Thankfully, a notice was posted on the north gate of the town wall, and we happened upon it before entering the town,” Gwilym continued. “And seeing as Glyn was raised in Conwy, he knew who could be trusted with our orders. He did all the negotiating, and I kept my head covered.”

“Is this the Duke of Bedford’s doing?” Catrin asked.

Gwilym shrugged. “Rhys and I have crossed Henry’s path one too many times, but given that the duke threatened to have us put to death when we humiliated him so soundly at Pensarn, it would not surprise me to learn he influenced the king on this matter.”

At Catrin’s stricken expression, Rhys spoke up. “Catrin, this is no more your fault than Seren’s wounds were. Henry would likely have considered this without the duke’s prodding.”

“You are right,” Gwilym said. “As is Catrin.”

Rhys glared at him, but Gwilym raised his hand as if to hold back his brother’s tirade. “Listen. Glyn and I have spoken of virtually nothing else all the way from Conwy, and we have come up with a plan. It involves giving Henry back something of great worth in exchange for pardons, and its success may ride upon another’s belief that Henry was unduly influenced by the Duke of Bedford.”