“Nor would he need see much more than who comes and who goes, to guess at your intent. If he has wit enough to marry this intent to the rumors of rebellion among the common Welsh, then may you be sure Edward knows all.”

“Aye,” said Eluned, deep in thought. “The king has wit enough, even though his spy may not.”

With Madog, they had examined the family ties of all the household, to see who might betray them. It could be none of the fighting men, whose loyalties were deep and whose actions and words Madog so closely observed. It might be any among the servants here at Tredum, who were not so well known to them, but they could not discover who among the handful of eager faces might hide disloyalty so well.

Gwenllian often thought that this was her only purpose here. It was her own task, her only way to give meaning to her coming here. Find the informant, persuade her mother at least to delay this fight against Edward, and then...

And then her imagination failed her. And then... back to Ruardean, where she could never hope to live as she had before he’d come there. Back to the sword and the daily toiling to prove herself worthy to lead men, when she did not want to lead them. And before any of that, back to a decision that she had put off. Back to myrtle leaves stripped in haste and tucked safely in her saddlebag still, back to a decision she could delay no more.

A disturbance at the door of the hall interrupted her thoughts. Just outside was the sound of men arguing. Not shouting, but voices raised and tense. Then there was quiet, and the door came open.

For a moment she could only see figures backed by daylight. Then he stepped forward, and she heard a soft gasp of surprise from her mother. Gwenllian only felt a mixture of confusion and shock at the sight of her husband. She could only stare at him, wordless, feeling the pounding of her heart.

It seemed to her that her mother said something – to him or to her, she did not know. Nothing in the room, in the world, seemed to matter but him. The beauty and power of him, stark in the bright light, struck her like a blow. All at once she felt how foolish she had been, to believe that any amount of training or balance could ever have prepared her to meet Ranulf of Morency.