I had sent prior warning of our arrival and in order to avoid unwanted recognition by the townsfolk we were disguised in common soldiers’ sallets and battered leather brigandines. We left our horses at an inn and walked to the house – it was a moment I had been longing for, yet I was unprepared for the rush of emotion I felt on seeing Jane’s sweet face. It was three years since our meeting in St Aedan’s ghostly churchyard at Bettys Newydd and yet if anything she looked younger and prettier than I remembered. Although I had visited a barber on the way through Carmarthen, I knew that my face had been marked by the uncertain life of a wandering exile; a neatly clipped beard could not disguise the erosion of the years and I was now turned forty. Jane, too, had suffered trials and tribulations enough to leave their stamp on her countenance but I could not see it.

The children were standing beside her in the centre of the hall but I eagerly took Jane in my arms, heedless of the watching household.

As I kissed her mouth and breathed the scent of her skin, I felt her melt into my embrace like a hot flame around a fresh log. Standing back, as dignity dictated, was torture.

‘Welcome to Tŷ Gwyn, my lord,’ she said, her smile as warm as mulled wine. ‘We all so much relish your coming.’

There was a slight emphasis on the ‘all’, which prompted me guiltily to turn my attention to the children. They stood in order of age, a solemn row of wide-eyed youth, figures that I knew but did not know, with the faces of strangers.

‘Elin,’ I said, placing my hand on her head where a plaited silk circlet barely restrained her sunburst of copper curls. I gently kissed her forehead. ‘My beautiful daughter.’

It was an involuntary remark for she was indeed beautiful, tall for her age and slim with sparkling speedwell blue eyes and a determined curve to her full red lips. She wore a plain green kirtle over a lace-trimmed chemise but there was nothing demure about her response, which caused her mother to frown and pierced my heart like a knife. ‘It is good to meet you, my lord father – at long last.’

I hid my pain, gave her a smile and a nod and moved on to Davy. Someone had obviously made a valiant attempt to tidy him up but somehow he still retained a smudge of dirt on his cheek and a cobweb in his hair, as if he had been rummaging in a dark cellar. He had such a look of Owen about him it was uncanny, straight nose, strong shoulders, thick chestnut hair and tawny brown eyes. Time seemed to stand still, so I squeezed his shoulder, man to man. ‘You look fit, Davy,’ I said.