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She would have pressed him further, but the sound of Emyr’s rapid footsteps reached them from the top of the stairs, and moments later, he burst into the antechamber.

“I saw the horses on the road and recognized Hotspur’s pennant,” he said. “He has returned.”

Maredudd looked to Catrin. “Do you wish to speak with the nobleman straightway?”

Truth be told, Catrin did not wish to confront Hotspur at all. But while nothing would be gained from remaining silent, all could be lost. Despite the fact that her anxiety was rising as rapidly as the increasing clatter of hooves coming from the courtyard below, she would rather face her fears now. “I think it wise that we discover the course he has chosen before he has time to implement any other plans,” she said.

Maredudd nodded, his hand going to the sword at his side. “Agreed.” He glanced at the darkening sky through the window. “And should the news be bad, we shall quit the castle within the hour.”

Grateful for the steadying presence of Maredudd and Emyr behind her, Catrin made her way down the stairs. The torches had been lit, and their familiar hiss followed them as they exited the tower and stepped into the inner ward. The men who had accompanied Hotspur were lined up outside the stables, handing over their mounts to the stableboys. Through the chaos, Catrin spotted Hotspur leaving the stables, a large leather pouch in his hand.

“Over there,” she said, pointing to the nobleman.

“He is headed to the keep,” Emyr said.

“Aye,” Maredudd said, “and we shall meet him there.”

They reached the door to the keep at the same time as Hotspur.

“Well met, my lord,” Catrin said. “I trust your time in London was productive.”

“Indeed.” Hotspur glanced at the two Welshmen beside her with barely disguised irritation. His wet cloak and mud-spattered shoes attested to a long, unpleasant ride, and Catrin guessed that he would like nothing better than to claim uninterrupted time to eat and rest. Thankfully, protocol bid him respond otherwise. “Perhaps you would care to join me in the grand chamber.”

Catrin inclined her head politely and followed him up the stairs. Inside the great hall, servants were scrambling to prepare for the men’s sudden arrival.

“I would have victuals for me and my men brought in at once,” Hotspur said, his voice loud and demanding. “I shall take mine in the grand chamber.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The closest maid hurried for the door, presumably to share the nobleman’s request with the cook. Hotspur ignored her, marching directly to the grand chamber, where he took his place behind the table and indicated that Catrin should resume the seat she’d taken almost a fortnight before.

“You may close the door,” he said.

After Emyr obliged, Hotspur placed the satchel on the table and opened the flap. Schooling her features to hide her emotions, Catrin hid her shaking hands beneath the folds of her gown and focused on the scroll Hotspur was withdrawing from the leather bag. He held it up to her, turning it so she could see the seal.

“Henry’s crest,” he said, setting it on the table between them. “Placed upon a royal pardon for Rhys ap Tudor and Gwilym ap Tudor.”

It was as though all the air left Catrin’s lungs at once. Hotspur had secured the pardon. It was done. Behind her, she heard Maredudd shift and knew he had to be as relieved as she was.

“You have my deepest thanks, my lord,” she said.

He eyed her thoughtfully. “It was not come by easily. The king harbors significant ill will toward the Tudors, and I would warn you that he may yet change his mind again.”

“I understand.”

There was no way of knowing how long such a volatile leader would stay this new course, but to have Rhys and Gwilym walk away from Conwy Castle on the morrow as free men was a gift worth taking.

Hotspur leaned back in his chair. “I should also mention that I have likely made a significant enemy of the Duke of Bedford with my meddling.” He looked from Catrin to Maredudd. “Should the time ever come that I need the support of the Tudors, I would hope that it would be forthcoming.”

Maredudd cleared his throat. “Should the need ever arise, the Tudor family will do all in their power to come to your aid, my lord,” he said.

Hotspur gave a satisfied nod. “Then I believe our business is concluded for the night. We leave at dawn for Conwy; I have a castle to reclaim for the king.”

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Rhys walked across Conwy Castle’s inner ward, heading for the garrison. The sun was out for the first time in days, and his men were taking advantage of it. Already, the courtyard was littered with weapons gathered from all quarters of the castle, and Gwilym was supervising the relocation of a stockpile of arrows. The garrison door swung open and Dyfan staggered out, carrying a load of longbows.

“That’s the last of them, Master Gwilym,” he said, setting them on the ground beside a pile of axes.