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she agreed to lead the way back to Aber, steadying the prancing, excited horse with gentle hands – too preoccupied to think about Sir William and her mother riding side by side once more.

      XVIII

      The palace was silent. In the hearth the banked-up fire ticked and settled gently into the deep bed of ashes. Rhonwen leaned closer to her sewing and sighed. Her head ached and her eyes refused to focus on the tiny intricate stitches she was inserting into the green velvet gown she had promised to finish for Eleyne. She was well aware why Eleyne wanted the new gown so badly. The child wanted to impress de Braose. She smiled grimly. Well, let her try. At least it would take her mind off Einion.

      Eleyne lay huddled beneath her blankets next to Luned, deeply and dreamlessly asleep. Excited by his race, Invictus had given her an exhausting, exhilarating ride and Sir William, when they had returned, gave her an affectionate hug and rumpled her hair, beneath the seemingly approving eyes of her mother, and promised her another ride tomorrow. Happy, excited and tired, she had not given Einion a thought. Nor Rhonwen. She had not noticed the cold stare Rhonwen threw at the hated de Braose, or the icy politeness with which she greeted Princess Joan.

      Wearily Rhonwen put down her sewing, climbed to her feet and pulled her cloak around her. There had been no sign of Einion at Aber that evening, either in the great hall or in the outer courts and gardens. It would be safe to leave the sleeping children for a while. Folding the heavy velvet into her basket, she picked it up. She tiptoed down the stairs and beckoned one of the guards from the outer door. ‘I have to go to Princess Joan’s bower. Wait outside the Lady Eleyne’s chamber until I return. Let no one in. No one, do you understand?’

      She took a deep breath. Had Einion come to the chamber up the stairs and through the door, or had he floated, ghostlike, through the window? She shuddered.

      Pulling her cloak around her she threaded her way towards Princess Joan’s apartments in the tower at the west end of the ty hir. They were small, sumptuously appointed rooms hung with tapestries and furnished with richly carved and painted furniture. As she had suspected, there was no sign of Princess Joan. There were only two women in the ladies’ bower, huddled over the fire, talking softly, and they greeted Rhonwen with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

      ‘You shouldn’t be here, Lady Rhonwen!’ Marared, the daughter of Madoc, jumped to her feet, agitated. ‘Princess Joan gave specific orders.’

      Rhonwen frowned. ‘Orders that I should not be admitted?’ She found herself a joint stool and setting it in front of the fire sat down firmly and produced her basket. ‘Be that as it may, I’ve promised little Eleyne this gown would be finished for the feast tomorrow and I need some more pairs of hands,’ she said firmly. ‘All I want is a little help. I’ll not stay long.’

      Marared glanced unhappily at her companion, Ethil, who had not moved from her own seat, her toes in the hearth.

      Ethil shrugged. ‘She just gave orders that she shouldn’t be disturbed. And we can all guess why that is. Rhonwen can turn a blind eye as well as we can!’ she commented tartly.

      Marared knew of Rhonwen’s antipathy towards Princess Joan, but she had already given in. ‘I think we should all go through to the solar. The fire there is still hot and I can mull some wine,’ she coaxed.

      Ethil looked up, about to suggest that Marared bring the wine to her where she sat, but something in her companion’s face changed her mind. She stood up. ‘Good idea. Come, Lady Rhonwen, we’ll be more private in the solar. I should hate our talking to disturb the princess. I don’t want another tongue-lashing tonight!’ They glanced at the door to the princess’s chamber in the far wall – firmly closed. Rhonwen followed their gaze. ‘I thought the princess would still be in the hall flirting with Sir William,’ she said acidly. ‘She didn’t look to me as though she intended to go to bed early.’

      There was a horrified silence. She looked from one to the other, then back at the door, and her eyes narrowed. For the first time she noticed the heavy cloak lying across a stool. ‘So,’ she whispered, ‘she went to bed early after all. But not alone.’

      Ethil seized her arm. ‘For the love of the Sweet Blessed Virgin don’t say anything! The prince would kill us all!’ She dragged Rhonwen towards the small solar. ‘Please, Lady Rhonwen, come through here. We’ll do your sewing for you, and we’ll have some wine. And you must forget whatever it is you are thinking!’

      ‘How long has this been going on?’ Rhonwen allowed herself to be pushed into the best seat and accepted some wine as Marared closed the door.

      Ethil shrugged. ‘It started when he was here before. When he was a prisoner. I don’t think the prince ever suspected.’ She closed her eyes miserably. ‘When he went away I was so relieved, but then he came back …’

      ‘So.’ Rhonwen smiled. She bent to take the folded gown out of her basket and handed it to Ethil. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘your secret is safe with me.’

      XIX

      Eleyne sat up, staring into the darkness, her heart thumping with fear. Was he there again, his mind seeking hers, trying to lure her from her bed and down to the river? But no, the room was empty. She could hear the wind moaning in the roof timbers, swaying the trees in the valley below the palace. She shivered. Luned was fast asleep, burrowed like a small animal into the soft sheets. There was no sound from the other bed.

      ‘Rhonwen?’ she whispered.

      She knew already that Rhonwen was not there and neither was the nearly finished gown which had been hung from a bracket near her bed so she could see it as she went to sleep.

      Slipping silently from the bed, she pulled her fur-trimmed bed gown over her bare shoulders and padded over to the fire. The room was cold. She bent and pulled the turf off the banked coals and reached for a log. The fire hissed and a blue flame ran across the wood. She flinched, then, unable to look away, stared down into it.

      She could see the gallows; see the crowds standing around its foot. The people were excited, rowdy, in the mood to be entertained; as she watched, unable to tear her eyes away, she saw them surge forward, shouting. He was there in their midst, surrounded by guards, his short tunic open at the neck, and already he wore the noose. She could see the rope against the softness of his skin, see the artery in his throat beating, throbbing with life. He half turned towards her and she strained forward, trying to see his face, but the crowds seethed round him cutting off her view.

      ‘Wait! please wait!’ she cried out loud. ‘Oh, please …’

      Behind her the door opened and the guard peered into the door.

      ‘Dew!’ He hurled himself across the floor as Eleyne sprawled forward into the fireplace, clawing at the burning logs. She was crying.

      ‘Please, come back! I can’t see you! Please!’

      She let out a scream as the man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Behind them, Luned sat up in bed, frightened.

      ‘What are you doing, princess?’

      The man-at-arms half shook her, slapping in panic at her bed gown, which was covered in ash. ‘Dew! You nearly set yourself on fire! Did you drop something?’

      Eleyne was trembling. Suddenly she began to cry. ‘Rhonwen, where’s Rhonwen?’

      ‘She’s gone to see the princess, your mother,’ he said, and he found himself stepping back sharply as she pushed past him and ran out of the room.

      Barefoot, she ran towards the ladies’ bower and her mother’s bedroom. She threw open the door into the solar and peered in. It was deserted. The fire had burned low and the candles were guttering. She stopped, panting. ‘Rhonwen?’ she whispered. Tears were streaming down her face. Then she heard the murmur of conversation from the bedchamber. Tiptoeing towards her mother’s door, she lifted the latch and pushed it open.

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