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Rhiannon kept her eyes forward as the castle came into view. It sat on a rise, surrounded by a tall curtain wall. The silhouettes of three round towers stood out against the night sky, torches burning brightly from each one. At the base of the hill, a dark ribbon cut across the pasture, accompanied by the distinctive sound of running water.

“There is a river,” Rhiannon said.

“The River Tywi,” Gwenllian said. “It cuts through this valley. The castle sits upon a ridge a considerable distance above its northern bank.”

Rhiannon’s heart lifted. It was not the sea, but perhaps she could visit the river if ever she craved time beside the water.

The horses’ hooves clattered over the wooden drawbridge, the sounds all but eclipsing the grinding of the rising gate. A trumpet sounded again, closer this time, and suddenly they were inside the castle.

Small buildings lined the curtain wall. Rhiannon guessed that they belonged to such artisans as the blacksmith, the tanner, and the fletcher. Two buckets attached to long ropes sat at the base of a low stone wall that circled a well, and a large oven located across from another building marked the location of the kitchen. Up ahead, the stable stood with doors wide and torches blazing to welcome them.

Stableboys and grooms milled around, taking charge of weary horses as their riders dismounted and started toward the inner courtyard. Rhiannon saw Owain Gwynedd disappear with Hywel and Cadwgan immediately behind him. The queen took longer and stood near the stable door, waiting for Gwenllian and Rhiannon to join her. They guided their mounts forward, stopping as two grooms stepped up to help them.

“May I assist you, my lady?”

The man’s workworn hand reached out to take the leather straps, and in the flickering light of the nearest torch, she saw a small portion of a vicious-looking scar that disappeared beneath the sleeve of his tunic. She shifted slightly so as to lift her leg over the upper pommel and caught her first clear look at the man’s face. Her breath caught. “Dai!” Her shock was mirrored in her father’s head groom’s expression. “Is it truly you?”

“Miss Rhiannon.” Dai’s smile warmed her heart. “Well, aren’t you a sight to behold.” He helped her to the ground. She took a tentative step, grateful that her legs did not fail her.

“How ever did you come to be at Dinefwr Castle?” she asked.

“Heledd grew up in a hamlet not far from here,” he said. “When the new master arrived at Bryn Eithin, he brought his own servants with him. He had no need of us, so we traveled back this way. Lucky for us, the castle had need of help.”

“Do you mean to tell me that Heledd is also here?” Rhiannon’s voice caught in her throat.

“You know full well that I wouldn’t dare go anywhere without her.” He grinned. “She serves as the castle’s laundress. You’ll most likely find her in the north tower.”

The north tower. Rhiannon swung around. Which was the north tower? All around her, guards were dismounting and horses were being led into the stables. Gwenllian had joined her mother and was waiting, watching her expectantly. “I am needed elsewhere, but I cannot go another day without seeing Heledd.”

He chuckled. “The moment she knows you are here, she’ll leave what she’s about to find you, Miss Rhiannon. Have no fear of that.”

“I will be watching for her.”

He began leading her horse away. “I’m right glad to see you again, miss.”

Rhiannon smiled, a wave of gratitude for this unforeseen miracle sweeping over her. “No more so than I am to see you, Dai.”

She waited until he disappeared among the shadowy forms of the other grooms and horses entering the stables before hurrying to join Gwenllian, her mother, and a castle escort. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting,” Rhiannon said.

“We must hurry,” her aunt said, allowing no time for explanations. “The king will be wondering what has become of us.”

With a nod to their escort, she started through the entrance to the inner courtyard. Gwenllian and Rhiannon fell into step behind her.

“Who was it that you were talking to?” Gwenllian asked.

Rhiannon slipped her arm through her cousin’s, unable to contain her smile. “An old friend,” she said. “And it made every step of that infernally long journey worthwhile.”

“More trumpets,” Knud said as a third blare cut through the air. “Word must have reached the castle that Leif, son of Jarl Ottar of Dyflin, has arrived.”

Ignoring Knud’s teasing, Leif thoughtfully studied the edifice standing atop the rise. Darkness shrouded the tref below, but the fortress was ablaze with light. “Something significant is happening,” he said. “It’s hard to believe that Prince Cadell would arrange a large social function so soon after his older brother’s death. He is doubtless still in mourning.”

“Well, whatever it is, it will have caught the attention of the townspeople. Someone will share the news with us.”

“I daresay,” Leif said. It was going to be difficult to gain the trust of the locals, particularly with Knud’s limited ability to communicate, but it was vital that they know what was occurring at the castle before they entered. “I shall ask at the inn.”

“I pray they have lodging available,” Knud said. “I was ready to dispense with being in a saddle hours ago.”

Leif grunted his agreement. Norsemen spent far more time in longboats than on horseback. He was quite sure that whatever saddle-soreness Knud might claim, his could rival it.