He started down, but her call stopped him. “My lord, perhaps during some meals you might let him come up to sing. The people would like that, I think.”

He was supposed to woo and placate this girl, and that included giving in to her little requests unless he had a good reason not to. His only one right now was that he might execute Dylan, and a dead man cannot sing. “If he stays with us, I will consider what you ask.”

She favored him with a dazzling smile. It made her look more like her sister.

No guard stood outside the prisoner’s chamber since none was really needed. The key hung on the wall, and as Marcus took it down he realized that Genith must have let herself in as well if she was given the harp.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open. An amazing sight awaited him.

Dylan did not lie on the floor in the darkness. Rather, two candles burned on a makeshift table, and a rough bed had been constructed against one wall. Someone had thoughtfully provided a crockery chamber pot. The remains of a good meal, the same food being enjoyed in the hall, sat on a plate beside a small jug.

The young man jumped to his feet from where he lounged on the bed. He raked his long hair back from his face so that his brave indifference could be seen.

Marcus looked at the straw and blankets, and thought of the girl who had just left, and decided that henceforth there would be a guard after all.

He walked over to the table and lifted the jug. Wine, not ale.

“You are comfortable, Dylan?”

The youth regarded him with the fiery defiance he had shown from the start. “Comfortable enough.”

More than enough, to Marcus’s mind. It was a wonder the chamber had not been decorated with carpets and tapestries.

He knew how these comforts had come here. Not through Genith and Nesta, although they may have seen to some. Others, servants and squires and even knights, had brought them. As lord he was sworn to the English crown, but many within these walls had a lot of Welsh blood flowing in them. Bards were revered among the Welsh, and word had spread that one now lived in the cellar.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Are you one of Llygad’s men?”

He only got a hot stare in response to that question.

“Nesta said that Genith was headed to her father’s men when we caught up with you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m with them. The woman paid me a coin to help escort her sister. Like most, I can use it.”

“If you intended to escort Genith to Llygad’s men, you would have to know where those men are.”

A touch of fear flickered in Dylan’s eyes, barely visible among the rasher, belligerent lights. “The others knew, not me.”