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Catrin had entertained similar concerns, but she refused to fall prey to her fears; Rhys and Gwilym were counting on them to succeed.

“He will let us in,” she said. “And he will hear us. We shall not leave until he does.”

Maredudd grinned. “After all these months dwelling in a lowly Welsh camp in the mountains, there may be a small portion of self-assured English noblewoman within you yet.”

“If I can fool Hotspur into believing so, it may work for our good.”

He chuckled. “Of that I have no doubt.”

Their horses’ hooves clattered against the wooden drawbridge, and by the time they reached the gate, the guards were waiting to receive them.

“Who goes there?” A brawny guard wearing Henry’s colors eyed them suspiciously.

Maredudd responded in English. “Maredudd ap Tudor escorting Lady Catrin Buckley to speak with Sir Henry Percy.”

“Sir Henry is not accepting visitors.”

“Is that so?” Maredudd said, doing little to hide his irritation. “Mayhap he would reconsider if he were informed that one of the Prince of Wales’s field marshals and the daughter of Alwenna ferch Ioan of Flint have come with vital information for King Henry?”

The soldier blinked a few times, obviously taken aback. “I shall make inquiries,” he said.

Maredudd gave him a curt nod, and the young guard disappeared into the gatehouse.

“How long do you think he will make us wait?” Catrin whispered.

Maredudd shrugged. “It will depend upon whether his commanding officer allows us through without consulting with anyone else.”

Catrin nodded. The rain was beginning to penetrate her cloak, but no matter the chill seeping into her bones, she was determined to face Hotspur with dignity.

“He is returning,” Emyr murmured.

The guard approached from the other side of the gate. “Sir Henry is being informed of your arrival. You may take your mounts to the stables, and a page will guide you from there to the grand chamber.”

“Very good,” Maredudd said.

The grinding of the winch announced the raising of the portcullis. Catrin sat tall in her saddle. With a quick glance to be sure that Maredudd and Emyr were behind her, she inclined her head slightly at the guard and rode inside.

It was immediately apparent that the square-shaped fortress was smaller and simpler in design than Beaumaris Castle. There were round towers on three of the corners and a large keep on the fourth, but the layout of the outer and inner wards was familiar, and Catrin confidently led the way past the kitchen to the stables. Once there, they dismounted, handed off their weary horses to the stableboys, and followed a gangly page to the entrance of the keep.

A spiral staircase led to the great hall, where servants were hurriedly preparing the tables for the evening meal. Catrin glanced around with interest. She had never before seen the crest above the fireplace, and the tapestries hanging on the walls were new to her, but the rows of goblets and wooden trenchers on the long tables and the clatter of benches being moved into position on the straw-covered floor were all too familiar. She could almost imagine that she was back in Beaumaris Castle, answering one of her father’s summonses.

“This way, my lady.”

Catrin gave the large fire blazing in the fireplace a brief, longing look as she walked past, then she lowered the hood of her cloak and faced the door to the grand chamber. The page knocked, and at the sound of a male voice, he opened the door and stepped aside so that Catrin, Maredudd, and Emyr could enter.

The man sitting behind the desk rose to his feet. He was tall, with dark-brown hair and a dark beard trimmed to a fine point a few inches beneath his chin. His hazel eyes studied her openly as she moved toward the table.

“Sir Henry,” she said, dropping to a curtsy. “I thank you for granting me and my escorts an audience.”

He bowed his head. “I answer to Hotspur, my lady. And a visit from an English noblewoman with close ties to one of Flint’s most respected families is a rare event. I confess, I find your unexpected arrival and choice of companions most intriguing.” He pointed to a chair across the table from his. “Please. Take a seat.”

Catrin lowered herself to the wooden chair, grateful to hide her shaking limbs before they gave away her anxiety. Maredudd and Emyr remained on their feet behind her, and Hotspur looked at her expectantly. It was time.

“Are you aware of the bounty that has been placed upon the heads of Owain Glyndwr, Rhys ap Tudor, and Gwilym ap Tudor, my lord?”

“I have heard word of it.” He leaned back in his seat. “It would seem that they have made bitter enemies of King Henry.”

“After the success the Welsh enjoyed in their skirmishes against the English last year, I believe it safe to say the king does not look upon those men fondly,” Catrin said, “but I think it unlikely that he would have put a price on their heads without the strong encouragement of an advisor.”