She saw English soldiers, in whose minds this day would quickly fade, since no battle had been fought. She saw Arundal, who would be well contented that a conquered people had been kept under England’s heel.

On the distant hill, however, she saw Welsh men who would return to their fields and their families, and teach their sons and grandsons to be ready when the next call came. Because of Mark, the dream would not be made real this year, but, also because of him, neither would it be crushed.

“I see a Welsh army and an English army, Mark.”

He lifted her hand, and kissed it. “I see only people, my love. Our people.”

CHAPTER 26

Marcus gazed out the window of Joan’s London house, watching the children play. They tumbled around the garden, flush-faced from the cold. The house was full of them today. Addis and his wife Moira had brought their brood over to join a little feast to welcome him and Nesta to the city.

Addis claimed to be visiting London to see to his wife’s property, but Marcus knew the real reason. He had really come to give Edward his account of what had happened in Wales, should Marcus’s own version be doubted.

“So, who was this Scot whom her sister was to marry?” Rhys asked, probing for the details to complete the story Marcus had just told him.

“Robert the Bruce’s grandson, Robert the Steward. He is next in line in their claim on the Scottish throne, after the Bruce’s son.”

Rhys whistled lowly. “It would have been a shrewd alliance. Although not so good for the girl. It is said that the Steward has sired enough bastards to fill a shire. You probably saved her from much unhappiness.”

That was true. Of course, Genith would not have known much happiness with Edward’s choice of husband either.

“Considering your tale, I am not sure that I should be welcoming you in my home like this,” Rhys said. “Then again, you have spared me a hard choice, so perhaps I should be grateful.”

“You have lived in London almost your whole life, Rhys. You even serve the King. I would not have thought the choice would have been very hard at all.”

“I am Welsh. That does not change, no matter where one lives or whom one serves.”

“Would you really have gone back to fight in such a war?”

“Probably, if there had been a true chance for success. I think that I would have had a lot of company on the road too.” He smiled, and shrugged. “I am Welsh.” The affirmation did not come in English this time, but in the ancient language of his homeland.

Marcus had a vision of men leaving castles and abbeys and universities and towns, streaming across England toward the western mountains.

He had done the King a greater service than he had thought.