He thought about the tapestry design that Nesta had sold Iolo yesterday. Others had been sold that way, most likely. Slowly, methodically, for months and maybe years, Nesta had been procuring coin, and not just for her own use. No doubt purses had been sent to Carwyn Hir.

Was that all she was about? Sending money to the rebels, to help sustain them? He did not think so. If tapestry designs could travel, so could letters. He would have to keep a much closer eye on Nesta now, and make sure he intercepted any that did. He began contemplating how to arrange that.

A little commotion at the gate diverted his attention. The last of the market wagons had been stopped, and a few began backing up. The gateway cleared for a short while, and then another wagon appeared, coming in and not going out. On its bench sat a huge blond man, and beside him, looking small in comparison despite his own considerable height, lounged David de Abyndon.

Marcus raised an arm in greeting, and went down to meet them. A merchant’s wagon was no novelty in the yard, but everyone paused to gape at the blond giant.

As he passed Nesta, Marcus gestured for her to join him. “Come and meet an old friend of mine.”

David stopped the wagon near the wall and climbed down to accept Marcus’s greeting. “I thought we’d never get here, Mark,” he said. “We had trouble on the road with bandits. Good thing I brought Sieg here, or I’d be held for ransom with no one to pay it.”

Marcus glanced at Nesta at the mention of bandits. She appeared much more interested in the two visitors and the canvas-shrouded wagon.

“This is Nesta verch Llygad, David. I think you met her once.”

“A man does not forget meeting such beauty. Greetings, my lady.”

Nesta obviously recognized him. Marcus almost heard her mind realize that David had something to do with Marcus discovering she had fled London.

“You sold your newest tapestry design too soon, Nesta. I’m sure that David would have given a better price.”

“Perhaps there will be more before he leaves.”

“I hope you are staying long enough to make that true, David.”

“Several days, if you will have us. My rump is sore from that board, and my back broken and bitten from bad beds.” He paced around to the back of the wagon. “I brought it. I said I would, and I hope that you are grateful since it diverted me seven days from my journey’s path to get it here.”

He untied the canvas and flung it aside. There, amidst some rugs and chests, lay the statue of his father that Rhys and Joan had made.