“And my bride. What would she prefer?”

Genith lowered her gaze modestly. “The decision is yours, my lord, but if he can sing for us and ease this journey, I would have him spared.”

“Then it will be so, for now.” He gestured for the women to get into the wagon. “We will delay all punishments until we get to Anglesmore, where the rights of judgment are legally mine.”

Nesta helped Genith into the wagon, and climbed in to settle beside her. She could have done without Marcus’s reference to all punishments.

They crossed Offa’s Dyke, the ancient border of Wales, before nightfall. Marcus decided they would camp rather than seek shelter at some manor house. They were in Clun now, a marcher estate held by Fitzalen, the Earl of Arundal, and Marcus did not want to be explaining the situation to Arundal if he was in residence here.

The women created a little camp adjacent to the men’s. After a meal had been cooked and served, one of his soldiers eagerly brought the prisoner forward. He put Dylan near the main fire and cut his bindings. Dylan removed the sack from his back, and withdrew his harp.

As soon as the fingers touched the strings, Marcus knew that Dylan was a bard. His voice and skill announced it as surely as the old legends he sang. The harp itself, inlaid with silver knotted lines, possessed an ancient look. Marcus guessed it had been given to Dylan by an older bard, who had in turn received it from one, and on and on back through time.

Aye, he should have hung the young man. Dylan would not have to raise a weapon or attempt escape to be trouble. He need only sing the right song at the right time to speak sedition to the Welsh people.

Bodies gravitated to the pure sound of the music, and soon a hushed audience circled the fire. Genith’s soulful eyes appeared glazed, as if the songs entranced her. Or perhaps the bard did. Marcus knew that should concern him more than it did. Still, he would have to find out the truth behind Genith’s attempt to flee.

Seated on a log at the edge of the group, Nesta attended to the entertainment more impassively than the others, occasionally ducking her head as if Dylan could not even hold her attention.

Marcus circled through the trees surrounding the clearing, drawn to that bobbing head. The music trickled over and around him as he approached her, and the breeze and forest sounds seemed a part of the melody.