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“Hywel!” Her shout was muted by her panting.

Hywel stepped out of the stables, pulling on his riding gloves as he walked. “Rhiannon,” he said, his forehead creasing when he noticed her disheveled appearance. “Is something amiss?”

“The Vikings,” she gasped. “They are coming.”

He reached her in five rapid steps and took her reins. “How soon will they be at our shores?”

“I cannot say exactly how fast they are traveling. Upon spotting them on the horizon, I left the beach to alert those at the llys. By the time I reached my horse, the outline of the ship at the head of the fleet was clearly visible.”

Hywel gave a succinct nod. “You have done well, Rhiannon. I shall inform my father immediately. We shall be ready when they arrive.”

They’d furled the sail. With the shore in sight, forty Vikings were now manning the oars of the largest longboat in Leif’s father’s fleet. Cadwaladr and two of his men sat in the center of the boat with Leif’s father. Cadwaladr’s other men were scattered among the accompanying vessels. Leif sat in the bow beside his brother, Bjorn, his oar moving in unison with the others even as his eyes scanned the people standing on the beach, searching for the one person he wished to see most.

“It appears that we did not catch them unawares,” Bjorn said. “Do you recognize anyone?”

“The older gentleman wearing the purple cloak is Owain Gwynedd. Beside him, the fellow with brown hair, is his edling, Hywel. I assume the other men are members of the uchelwr.”

“And the women?”

“The one in the green gown is the queen. The one to her right is her daughter, Gwenllian. Next to her is the queen’s niece, Rhiannon.”

Leif allowed his gaze to settle on Rhiannon, and it was all he could do to maintain his slow but steady pace at the oar. She’d been in his thoughts almost constantly since he and Knud had ridden away from Dinefwr Castle. He’d prayed for her recovery and had ached to be with her again. If it had been his choice, he would have returned to Gwynedd as soon as he’d delivered his message to Cadwaladr, but his father had insisted that they wait for the return of the Vikings who had been abroad. Given how much livestock Owain Gwynedd had pledged to assemble, the extra time had likely been needed. Unfortunately, awareness of that truth had not made the postponement any easier to bear.

Ten more pulls and the hull skimmed the sand. The familiar vibration traveled down the longboat, and with well-practiced precision, the Vikings stowed their oars. Several of the men leaped out, wading through the thigh-deep water to drag the longboat onto the beach. Leif glanced behind him. A dozen more vessels were rapidly approaching. Nine of them were the sturdy karve longboats built with wider hulls to take cargo and livestock. Three were faster, narrower longships, carrying men and provisions. Leif’s faering was nowhere to be seen, but Leif had full confidence that Knud had followed his request to follow after the other boats and would bring the faering to shore successfully.

The longboat ground to a halt. The Cymry watched silently as Leif’s father and Cadwaladr exited the vessel. Leif and Bjorn followed them onto the sand, walking behind them as they started up the beach. Leif’s eyes found Rhiannon’s. The air hummed between them. She swallowed. He saw the movement and the pale pink line that marked her throat where Cadwgan’s knife had broken her skin. A little below her scar, the late-morning light reflected off the silver pendant hanging around her neck. He smiled. Her answering smile was instant.

“Welcome to Ynys Môn, Jarl Ottar of Dyflin.” Owain Gwynedd’s greeting was accompanied by a polite incline of his head. He then turned to his brother. Myriad emotions flitted across his face before he settled on something that appeared remarkably like relief. “Cadwaladr. I am glad you are come.”

“Would that you had had more faith in my trustworthiness weeks ago,” Cadwaladr said, his expression guarded. “But I am grateful to have my feet planted on Gwynedd’s soil once more.”

“Leif.” At his father’s pointed reminder, Leif translated the Gaelic conversation. His father nodded approvingly, and Owain Gwynedd spoke again, gesturing toward the distant tree line.

“We are to go with him to his court, I assume,” Leif’s father said.

“Aye. He wishes to continue our discourse there.” Would Rhiannon accompany the men to the llys? Leif glanced at her. The warmth he’d seen in her expression only moments before was gone. Her face was ashen, the fingers of one hand clasped tightly around Gwenllian’s arm. Gwenllian spoke to her. Rhiannon shook her head, released her grip on her cousin, and stumbled back a few paces.

What had caused such a dramatic reversal in her mood? Swiveling, Leif scoured the area that had drawn her attention. Understanding came like a sickening punch to the abdomen. Rune. The vicious man who had killed Rhiannon’s father and stolen her mother’s jewelry was walking up the beach not more than half a dozen paces behind Leif.

“Leif.” This time, it was Bjorn’s voice that pulled Leif’s attention back to his duties. “We must follow the Cymry.”

Rune laughed at something. A loud, raucous laugh. Leif’s stomach curdled. His responsibility was to attend his father and the king, but how could he leave Rhiannon now?

Owain Gwynedd, Hywel, and their men were already leading his father and Cadwaladr to the waiting horses. Leif looked back at the women. Gwenllian and her mother stood alone. A trail of small footprints led away from them, and as Leif’s gaze followed them up the beach, he caught a flash of blue as Rhiannon disappeared beyond a distant sand dune.

“Tell Father I shall join you shortly,” Leif said, and before Bjorn could object, he hurried to join the waiting women.

“Forgive my unsolicited approach,” he said, bowing to the queen and Gwenllian. “I must attend to my father’s and the king’s needs straightway, but before I go to the llys, I must know what has become of Rhiannon.”

“You are the one who rescued her from Cadwgan’s clutches,” the queen said.

“I am.”

“I have yet to thank you. Rhiannon is like a daughter to me, and I tremble to think what would have happened to her had you not escaped the great hall at Dinefwr Castle.”

This was not the time to share the depth of his feelings for Rhiannon. Rhiannon deserved to be the first to hear it. But if the queen considered his past efforts worthy of praise, he was willing to use that to his advantage. “If you feel that you owe me anything at all for my part in Rhiannon’s release, I beg you to tell me where I might find her now.”

The queen frowned. “When she left us, she expressed her wish to be alone.”