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They parted at the door to Catrin’s chamber, with plans to meet again for the evening meal.

Mary, the maid who’d been assigned to assist her during her stay at Flint Castle was in the room, replenishing the fire. The young servant had been attentive to Catrin’s every need. But these past few days, with the weight of an uncertain future bearing down upon her, Catrin had found herself longing for Beti’s comforting presence.

There had been many times over the weeks they’d been apart that Catrin had wished for Beti beside her. She’d missed her gentle kindness and her motherly wisdom. Catrin was certain that had she sent for her, Beti would have come, but the transition would have been difficult for her aged maid. Life in the mountains was taxing, and as much as Catrin had missed her, she knew it was better for Beti that she remain with Margaret.

Catrin took off her cloak and moved closer to the fire, extending her hands to the flames as her thoughts inevitably moved from Beti to Rhys. After having spent time with him virtually every day in the mountains, she missed him more than she could have imagined. She found herself looking for him in the crowded great hall or listening for his footsteps coming up behind her. Sometimes a fleeting expression on Maredudd’s face or the twinkle in his Tudor-blue eyes would remind her so strongly of Rhys, she had to look away.

Her chest tightened at the thought of what lay ahead. If Hotspur did not appear by fortnight’s end, she would return to Conwy to be with Rhys. She would seize whatever time remained to them before someone acted upon Henry’s decree and tore him away from Wales, from his men, and from her.

“Are you well, my lady?”

Mary’s concerned voice cut into her reflections, and with a start, Catrin realized she’d been crying.

“I am.” She wiped away her tears and mustered a smile. “Or, at least, I shall be.”

Mary hovered uncertainly. “Are you in need of anything in particular?”

“Nothing that you or I can summon, I fear.” Catrin sighed. “Has there been any rumor amongst the servants of Hotspur’s imminent return?”

“Not that I’ve heard, my lady.”

A knock sounded on the door. Mary offered Catrin an apologetic look, then scurried across the room to answer it.

“A missive has come for Lady Catrin.”

Catrin hurried to the door. Had Hotspur sent news? The page standing without the door handed her a sealed letter.

“The courier remains in the inner ward, my lady. He was told to wait for your reply.”

Catrin glanced at the seal, immediately recognizing the Tudor crest. The sender was not Hotspur but Rhys. With her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest, she nodded her thanks. “I shall respond forthwith.”

“Very good, my lady.” He stood, awkwardly waiting.

“You may go,” Catrin said. “Either Mary or I will ensure that the courier receives my response.”

He backed up a few paces, and Catrin closed the door between them. Moving to the chair by the fire, she sat. Then with fumbling fingers, she broke the seal and read the short message written in Welsh.

C,

We have heard nothing from M or you. Conditions here are such that waiting is no hardship, but I must know that you are well.

R

“Mary.” Catrin was on her feet again. “Parchment and a quill. Can you fetch them for me?”

“I believe you will find what you need in this chest, my lady.” Mary stepped up to the chamber’s only table and lifted the lid of a small box sitting on its surface. Catrin joined her and looked inside. Parchment, quills, a sharpening knife, ink, and wax were laid out tidily within. It was exactly what she needed.

“I must write a few lines,” Catrin said. “It will not take long.”

“Of course, my lady.” Mary moved away, and with a sharpened quill in hand, Catrin faced the piece of parchment on the table. Somehow, she must compose a message that was clear enough to reassure Rhys of her well-being whilst being sufficiently cryptic to give away none of their plans should the letter fall into the wrong hands.

R,

I am well, as are M and E. H has undertaken the assignment, and we are forced to remain here until he returns or until Monday, at which time, we shall come to you.

C

She read over the message twice, then she folded the parchment and sealed it closed with melted wax.