* * * * *
"I'm fine, Llywelyn," Marged said, as I loaded her onto my horse. "I'm warm enough."
"You're not, cariad. For Anna's sake, if not mine, you will listen to me."
She might not like it, but for once obeyed. I'd dressed her in one of my men's spare clothes-he was only a little taller than she, though twice as wide-and she'd grinned at me through blue lips at the sight of the breeches. Now, she hugged Anna for just a moment before relinquishing her to Goronwy once again. Anna seemed content with that, but I'd observed enough of Marged's mothering to know how few circumstances there were in which she would ask Anna to sit in another's arms if hers were available.
"I don't know why you feel the need to pretend otherwise. Any one of my men would be unwell if they'd experienced the day you've had. We need to get you warm and into a bed, but we've at least an hour's ride before we'll reach Castell y Bere."
Marged pushed her hair out of her face with one hand. The careful style had long since come down and lay a sopping mass around her shoulders. "Yes, Llywelyn," she said.
"I've sent men ahead to warn the castellan that we're coming, and in what condition," Hywel said.
"We're short a horse," Humphrey said. "Yours shouldn't carry two that distance. I'll walk. It's no matter to me."
"You will do no such thing!" Goronwy said. "Although you were far too arrogant before, contrite doesn't suit you either. We won't allow the grandson of the Earl of Hereford to walk ten miles home!"
"Yes, sir," Humphrey said, still looking sheepish.
"Come to think of it," I said, "you may ride Glewdra behind Marged. She's strong enough to carry you both. I'll ride your horse. That way, none must be left behind."
"As you wish, my lord," Humphrey said.
Though I didn't think much of Humphrey's arms around Marged, either in principle or fact, I wasn't concerned about some upstart English youth usurping me. She'd thrown herself out of Dafydd's boat, risking death, rather than sail off with him. Dafydd, who'd never failed to charm any woman he wanted, when he wanted, and none ever seemed to regret the experience. Except Marged.
"Can you tell me what happened, Marged?" Half a dozen men had donated their blankets and she was so bundled up that all I could see of her was her white face, poking out from the blankets. Her cheeks had turned pink, a much healthier color, and from the cold outside, not within.
"Humphrey must have told you what happened at the river, right?" Marged said. She twisted in her seat to look at him.
"Some," I said.
"Dafydd was there to pull us out of the water," Humphrey said. "I have no idea why. But I suppose after our days at your hunting lodge, it would have been easy enough to get here ahead of us. He must have known where we were headed."
"He knew," I said.
"So your brother leagues with Powys," Humphrey said.
"Not for the first time, either."
"Nor the last," Marged said under her breath. I gave her a sharp glance, but Humphrey didn't indicate he'd heard her.
"Go on," I said. "Tell me the rest."
"Dafydd picked Marged out of the water, threw her onto his horse, and off they went," Humphrey said. "That's all I know."
Marged picked up the story. "We rode to the sea shore with its waiting boats."
"What luck that you were so easy to take," I said. "I would have thought they'd come to rescue Humphrey."
"I guess not," Marged said. "From the little Dafydd said it was you, my lord, that he wanted, not me."
"Me? Are you sure?"
"So he said."
"But he settled for you because you're my woman."
"Apparently."
"Because he's concocted yet another nefarious plot that we don't really want to know about," Goronwy said. "That Owain went along with it is astonishing. I thought he'd have better sense."
"Dafydd hasn't any," Humphrey said. "He should have taken me with him or killed me in the clearing."
"And why didn't he?" Marged asked.
Humphrey had the answer. "Because he thinks I'm still on his side, on Owain's side. They left me to be a spy in your camp."
I deliberately didn't look at Humphrey. I wasn't sure he realized what he'd just admitted.
"And now that we know of his perfidy, what do we do about it?" Goronwy said, smoothing over the sudden silence. "Dafydd has sailed away, free and unhindered, as usual. The next time we see him, no doubt he'll try to brazen it out, either denying or laughing off his actions."
"We could run him out of Wales," Hywel said, his voice almost a growl. "He's no soldier."
"Right into Henry's arms again," I said. "Not a plan that I would favor, all things considered."
"My grandfather would support you," Humphrey said. "He and I would tell the truth to the king."
"And I appreciate that," I said. "At the same time, as a future lord of the Marche, you should appreciate my desire to keep the events of Wales, within Wales, without disturbing the King of England with them."
Humphrey snorted. "Disturbing is right."
He knew what I meant, but even in friendly company, was too cautious to say any more.
Although my-and my grandfather's-disputes with the lords of the Marche were legendary, both they and I would do almost anything to avoid entangling our politics with England's. Henry's power and resources were so much greater, his men so much more numerous, that England was always favored in any battle. I had won the right to rule Wales as its Prince, not because King Henry had lacked the power to defeat me, but because he lacked the will.
Given my conversations with Marged, I wasn't confident I would get the same half-hearted response from Edward when he succeeded to the throne of England. I studied her as she leaned back against Humphrey, eyes closed. She'd called me 'my lord'. Once. It pleased me, far out of proportion to what was probably reasonable. At last, maybe I was getting somewhere with her.
Humphrey had wrapped his right arm around Marged's waist, held the reins with his left, and was instructing Glewdra with his knees. At eighteen, he was already a skilled horseman and would be as skilled a warrior as his grandfather when he grew into his man's frame: a fine addition to the Bohun legacy.
Humphrey looked as if he might become a man I could respect, possibly even work with. And for that reason, I would let him return home unhindered, despite the danger in doing so. In time, he might forget what he owed me. The necessities of rule-and the tutelage of his grandfather-might well insure that he would try me for many years to come.