She circled the wall two times, examining her response to him, fighting the truth of her weakness, and eventually admitting the shame of it. Her inner argument left her disgusted with herself.

She stopped and looked down into the yard. Marcus stood at the top of the keep stairs, his body encased in armor. The sun glinted off the metal and made his hair glow, turning him into an image of chivalrous beauty and strength much like the ones she put in her designs.

He was watching her. Despite their distance, she felt the intensity of his attention. Stripped of its defenses by her self-examination, her heart flipped foolishly and then sank painfully.

Once more he would ride out, as he had so often since their false betrothal. He was finding evidence of more than small raiding parties.

Some of the men he had called to arms had not come here, but had headed into the hills instead. There had also been reports of cymanfaoedd, meetings being held throughout the region.

If that was true, she should rejoice. She felt no triumph or elation at the notion, however. Marcus looked glorious in armor, but she did not like seeing him in it.

A spike of anger pierced her. A new wrath, unlike the one she had clung to these last days, stabbed hotly. There was nothing righteous in this blade of rage. It was unholy and unforgivable. In that instant of seething rebellion, she hated her father, and his dream, and Wales itself.

Marcus rode out the gate. She ran to a section of the wall overlooking the western fields, and watched him join his men and ride away. Waves of yearning and anger and head-splitting confusion hit her, and she gritted her teeth with frustration.

Beneath the chaos there flowed a heartbreaking helplessness. They were trapped on a fast current that would take them where it chose now, and steering clear of rocks would be nigh impossible.

Nesta woke in the middle of the night. Her sleep had been fitful, and alive with vivid dreams of swords and death.

She sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly alert. Her women dozed under blankets, but the chamber seemed sticky and hot to her. She rose and stepped over to the window, and lifted a corner of the oiled parchment that had been placed over the thick slit to keep out the night’s chill. The flow of cold air felt delicious.

The sky looked clear and beautiful and full of stars. Its vastness offered a soothing balm. She reached for her gown and drew it on and hastily tied the lacing.