“Your caution speaks well for your judgment, but I doubt it was necessary. I do not know how Nesta journeyed from Scotland to London, but I doubt she has the coin to journey back. Nor is there anywhere to take the girl.”

“She could sell a jewel and get the coin. She could take Genith to her father’s rebels.”

“She has no jewels or property of value. They were taken by her husband’s son by the first marriage, and the little remaining was required by the convent for her place there. And ladies do not live in the forest with wild men.”

Stratford said it confidently, but something in the reference to the rebels obviously provoked his mind. He began absently handling the parchments lying in front of him, fingering their edges with a distant expression in his eyes.

“You brought word when you arrived from the marches that their raids had ceased since midsummer,” he said.

“There has been little trouble. So little that some of the border lords think they have disbanded.” It was one reason why the expectation that he crush those rebels had not concerned him overmuch. Despite Llygad’s attempts to rouse Wales to his banner, this rebellion had always been more a nuisance than a threat, the most recent in a long line of minor insurgencies in a land well conquered by the King’s grandfather.

Shrewd lights entered Stratford’s eyes. “We do not think it likely that they will disband. If they did not last year after Llygad’s death, they will not now. It has become a way of life for them, and an excuse to act like thieves. However, things have been too quiet in the west. The Welsh chieftains have been too accommodating. No complaints. No demands. A very odd silence has descended.”

Marcus knew of the peace and silence. Like the other marcher lords, he had been enjoying the respite from petty jealousies and switching loyalties among the Welsh chieftains who still held status and lands, albeit with England’s permission.

Stratford continued, thinking aloud. “With the King out of the country, and so many of his barons with him, if anyone thought to join with these thieves and make a move, it would be now.”

“They would never follow Carwyn Hir. He took Llygad’s place upon his death, but he is not of princely blood, not uchelwyr. If he approaches Welsh leaders for an alliance, I cannot see that he would be welcome.”

“What if someone of Llygad’s blood spoke in his name? Or Carwyn spoke in hers?”

Marcus saw where Stratford was going. He suddenly remembered the warning of danger in the garden.

“I wonder where Nesta has been these last months,” Stratford mused, tapping his fingers on his table. “I should follow my instincts and keep her in close confinement here, but that will never do. Edward would have my head if he learned I had imprisoned her without any evidence.”